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morningberriesao3 · 9 months

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MWMD- Pin Me Down

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: It's Halloween. Things get heated while Eddie and Steve get ready.

Word Count: 4.7K

Chapter: 5 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

A/N: things are starting to heat up ;) just guys doing guy things!! that’s all!

October 31st, 1986

Halloween has always been Eddie’s favourite holiday.

Maybe it’s a little bit predictable, given his ‘scary’ image and the rumours of him being some satanist cult leader. But it’s a holiday where everyone is kind of on the same level as him. Everyone acts a little weird, looks a little scary, dresses a little dark. It’s the one day a year that nobody is ashamed of listening to Highway to Hell or Paranoid. On Halloween, everybody is a bit of a freak.

Honestly, Eddie has never really considered himself a team player, but this year his costume seems too good to pass up.

Maybe he’s gone a bit overboard, but he always does when it comes to costumes.

He’s currently adjusting a pair of (pretty realistic) devil horns on his head. The band gets hidden by his mane of curls, which he’s teased to make sure they stay extra buoyant. He’s wearing his only pair of leather pants that are a size too small because he got them when he was sixteen. They cling to his thighs like paint, he can barely bend his knees. But they look good, he thinks.

He’s also wearing a pair of platform boots that are wrapped in silver buckles. He got them one year when he dressed up as Gene Simmons from KISS. They’re probably six inches tall, which makes him a whopping 6’4”, and it makes him feel admittedly all too powerful.

One might think that the leather pants and the boots are what makes his costume a bit too much. But no, Eddie doesn’t think so. What he thinks might make his costume too much, is what he’s chosen to wear on his top half.

It’s a fishnet shirt that took him nearly twenty minutes to put on. It kept getting caught up on his watch and his rings, which he probably should have taken off. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. It has long sleeves, because he’s modest, but one can still see all his tattoos and his ruined skin poking out from between the large holes.

That’s not even the most risqué part of his getup. Because overtop of that, he’s wearing a red corset with black embroidery. It sinches in his waist – makes him look slutty. The top sits underneath his chest, so his nipple (because he still very much only has one) peaks out from behind the mesh.

The best part is, it’s freshly pierced. A little silver bar pokes from his skin and shines in the light, and it matches the buckles on his boots. And for once Eddie actually feels hot.

Steve is currently changing in their room. Eddie is feeling all fucked up and giddy, because somehow he’s convinced Steve to dress as an angel to match him, and not to dress up as a Smurf to match Robin. Of course, considering his other option was blue body paint, it wasn’t a very hard argument, but Eddie still counts it as a win.

He doesn’t want to consider it a couple’s costume, but it feels like a couple’s costume.

Eddie’s been trying (and failing, as always) to keep his mind from wandering to things like that, ever since their little kissing thing months ago. Because they never talked about it, and they sure as Hell never did anything like it again. Even the few times they’ve gotten tipsy.

So Eddie is guessing it really was just a spin the bottle thing.

Yeah, Steve’s still been sleeping in his bed, they still wake up tanged together half the time, but it never goes further than that. He hasn’t, like, intentionally spooned with Eddie since the night of Fourth of July either. Which shouldn’t shock him because Steve’s straight, and Eddie thinks it’s ridiculous that he even has to convince himself of that.

So yeah, Steve is getting ready in their room while Eddie does his makeup in the bathroom, and he definitely isn’t thinking about couple’s costumes or kisses from three months ago.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door that was never fully closed to begin with. Steve doesn’t wait for Eddie to answer before he’s pushing it open and joining him next to the small vanity.

Steve looks – well, shit – he looks like a dessert, like something sweet that Eddie wants to lick and swallow and consume until there’s nothing left of him. His hair is perfect – it always is – but now there’s a silver tinsel halo that’s floating above it. Steve’s wearing his normal Levi’s because they really didn’t have a lot of pants to choose from, but he stole a white silk blouse from his mother’s closet that’s only half-buttoned, displaying his chest hair like it’s art or something. The arms are cut for a woman, so the shiny fabric is clinging to his biceps.

Eddie drops the eyeshadow in his hands and it clatters into the sink.

They’re both gawking at each other, and it doesn’t make sense why Steve is gawking at Eddie until he remembers he’s kinda half crossdressing, so he probably looks ridiculous to Steve.

He tries to swallow down the saliva that’s pooling under his tongue. Some sort of bodily reaction to something he wants to eat. “You look, uh, good. Real cool.”

Steve’s eyes aren’t looking at Eddie’s and are focused somewhere on his chest. His nipple, to be exact. It looks like it takes an actual force to pry them away. “Yeah. You too. Very cool. Your makeup is awesome, man.”

Eddie smiles, picks up the eyeshadow that’s still in the sink. He has some sort of grungy red and black smoky eye going on, lined in coal liner, and just a secret between you and him, a bit of mascara as well. He used the red eyeshadow as a sort of blush, blended into the hallow of his cheeks and into his temples. It makes his cheekbones look sharp.

“Thanks,” he says, eyeing up Steve like a project he wants to work on. “You know, a bit of makeup would really complete your whole getup, too.”

He expects Steve to scoff, say something like ‘forget it’ or ‘in your dreams’, but instead Steve is nodding and stepping closer to Eddie. “Sure. You have to do it, though. I don’t know how.”

Eddie has never – not once – thought that putting makeup on Steve might be a sexual fantasy of his. But as soon as he hears that, he realises very quickly that it’s going to be another thing that plagues his mind for the rest of eternity.

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Okay.” He fumbles with his makeup kit, which he might be embarrassed he has, but Steve isn’t judging him and doesn’t look like he’s about to, so he opens it and lets Steve peer inside. There are cheap eyeshadows in mostly blacks and browns, but he does have one sheer, sparkly white. He takes that one out. He also has two lipsticks – a red and a black, from previous Halloweens – but neither of them would do. One, however, came with a free pink lip gloss that he never thought he’d use, but he’s plucking it out of his case as well. “Something sweet and simple for your first time, right, angel?”

Eddie doesn’t even have to put blush on Steve’s cheeks if he flushes like that all night. “Sure. Sweet and simple. You’re the boss.”

Eddie’s stomach, and heart, and asshole, and dick(?) are doing backflips as he gets nice and close to Steve. He takes a clean(ish) brush and dips it into the eyeshadow. “Okay. Close your eyes.”

Steve listens so beautifully, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into Eddie. The brush sweeps over his eyelids and leaves a shimmering cast of pearly white that looks amazing against Steve’s olive skin. When Steve’s eyes open again, he looks impossibly more beautiful, and yeah, Eddie is going to be thinking about Steve in makeup for the rest of his life.

“How’s it look?” asks Steve, which is the dumbest question Eddie has ever heard, so he rolls his eyes.

“It looks great.” An understatement.

“What next?”

“You cool with mascara?” Eddie wants to get Steve’s eyes looking all big a doe-like. He already has long lashes, so he knows it’ll absolutely make him look gorgeous and end Eddie’s whole life all at once.

“What’s mascara?”

“Like… eyelashes.”

“Yeah. Do whatever you want to me.”

Eddie chokes on nothing, starts coughing up a storm. He holds a finger up until it calms, then blames it on his smoker’s lungs.

It’s hard getting close to Steve’s eye with the wand, but Eddie can’t blame him. It’s not like Eddie isn’t already super clumsy without the proximity. He still says, “Hold still,” and Steve keeps blinking so it takes a whole five minutes, but eventually the mascara is on. And if Eddie thought that the eyeshadow looked good…

“Cool.” Eddie stares down at where Steve is blinking up at him from sitting on the edge of the tub. He has to physically shake his head to snap himself out of his stupor. “One more thing.”

He unwraps the plastic from the new tube of lip gloss. It’s almost the colour of Steve’s lips, but it has little flecks of glitter in it. So when Eddie applies it, it makes his lips shine, which is what lip gloss is supposed to do, but still it’s almost too much.

“Well?” Steve smiles, and it’s almost enough to send Eddie into a full cardiac arrest. It’s the smile he uses when he knows he looks good, the one he usually reserves for some cute girl that stops by the video store. It’s a little crooked, it flashes his white teeth and makes his eyes crinkle.

And Eddie wants to kiss him – lick that vanilla flavoured gloss right off his lips. Make that mascara run from his eyes.

“Looks good,” he says. He gestures for Steve to stand and that’s exactly what he does, joining Eddie’s side to look at himself in his uncle’s trailer’s mirror.

“Wow.” Steve gets real close to his reflection, squinting his eyes, making them go wide, puckering his lips, poking at his eyelashes with his fingers. “This is crazy. It’s, like, barely noticeable, but it’s still so different.”

“Mhm. You look pretty.” Eddie says it before he really means to say it, which he does a lot these days. He clears the frog from his throat. “I mean, kind of like a girl? Not that you look like a girl. You? Look like a girl? Pfft, never. I mean, girls wear lip gloss and mascara… and it makes them look pretty. So it’s kind of like that.”

He definitely just made it worse.

But Steve doesn’t look mad or anything so Eddie just kind of sucks his lips between his teeth to stop himself from saying anything else.

“Yeah, I guess I get it,” Steve says, even though he still looks confused. “Hey, can I carry the lip stuff with me? I feel like it’ll rub off quick when I drink something.”

“Oh, you mean the lip gloss?” Eddie dangles it between his fingers. “Gotta get the terminology right. You might be able to impress some ladies with your knowledge of their interests.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Lip gloss. Can I have it?”

“Hmm…” Eddie starts backing out of the bathroom with the gloss still very much in his hands. “You’ll have to get it from me first.”

He turns. He sprints. Steve is already hot on his heels.

Another thing that Eddie should probably mention, is that this has become a sort of regular occurrence. Him running, Steve chasing. Sometimes the other way around. But yeah, it’s a thing that they do now, that always ends with one of them getting knocked to the ground, pinned there until they yell uncle.

Eddie really wouldn’t yell uncle, but each time he gets pressed into the ground by Steve he gets one of his commonly occurring boners. So when he starts to feel his dick filling up he taps out so Steve doesn’t notice. But that’s neither here nor there.

“Get back here, Munson!” Steve’s fingers graze the back of Eddie’s pants, but there’s no belt there for him to slip his fingers into.

So Eddie twists and gets out of Steve’s reach. He corners himself in the living room, next to the television. They’re standing across from each other with their hands facing out. “What, Harrington? You scared?”

Eddie fakes left, Steve lunges. He manages to slip past on the right as Steve flounders to get a hold of him, but Eddie is too quick. He jumps onto the couch.

Steve crouches just beyond the coffee table, waiting for Eddie’s next move. “Not fair, man. Your pants make you slippery.”

“Bullshit,” says Eddie. “That fancy lotion you put on your hands makes them slippery. Don’t blame the pants.”

Steve pretends to pounce – it makes Eddie wobble on the sinking cushions of the sofa while he simultaneously tries to balance on his platform boots. His hands flail out to steady himself, but he manages to stay firmly planted on his feet.

“Just surrender yourself, man,” Steve threatens. “I’m not playing around anymore. I will tackle you. It will hurt.”

Eddie’s grin feels feral. “Is that a promise, Steeevie?”

Steve’s eyes go wild, and his face twists into a playful sneer, and he fucking jumps one foot onto the coffee table and flies across the remaining distance onto the couch. This, for once, takes Eddie by surprise, so he has no time to do anything other than wail some sort of shriek from his lungs. His foot gets caught between two couch cushions as Steve’s arms cage around his shoulders, and they both tumble onto their sides.

Eddie thrashes against Steve’s steel grip, but Steve has both size and strength against him, so he somehow get arranged into a compromising position. He’s on his back, his wrists are pinned down on either side of his head, his knees are spread and Steve’s hips are slotted between them. Each time he shuffles, he somehow gets pressed further into the cushions, Steve’s chest somehow gets closer to his own, his hips wiggle a bit more comfortably into the space between his legs.

He's already turned on. There’s way too much friction happening right now – he can feel the slide of Steve’s jeans against him – and remember how Eddie said he often gets hard when he and Steve playfight? Well, he’s getting hard, and it’s extra uncomfortable because his pants are excruciatingly tight, and Steve’s never quite pinned him down like this. Not to mention how goddamn pretty he looks with his shiny lips and long eyelashes.

So he’s about to say uncle before he can get himself into an awkward situation. He’s about to tell Steve to fuck off, and spout something about disadvantages. But when he opens his mouth, Steve shifts so both of Eddie’s wrists are now in one of his hands, until they’re pinned between his devil horns.

Steve’s other hand finds its way between their bodies, and one of his fingers trace against the black boning at the top of Eddie’s corset, right below one of his pecs. So his mouth snaps shut and his eyes go wide, because why is Steve caressing him like that?

He really wants to know.

“Where’d you get this?” Steve asks, cocking his head sideways to look into Eddie’s shell-shocked face.

It takes a minute for him to comprehend Steve’s words. “Uh – a sex store.”

He doesn’t really realise that his answer is just adding to the awkwardness of the moment, because it’s just the simple truth. He bought the corset at a sex shop in Indianapolis. It came with a tiny black G-string, obviously meant for a woman, that he’d tried on anyway. It didn’t really fit, didn’t really contain all of him, but it was still shoved in the back of his underwear drawer anyway. It still made him feel all fluttery when he saw himself scantily clad in such a small scrap of fabric.

“Hmm. I like it.” Steve squeezes his hand around Eddie’s wrists. “Did you get anything else there?”

Eddie’s heart is racing in his chest, like it’s trying to escape. He’s trying to think, ‘did he?’ but his brain is broken. So he just shakes his head.

This is the first time that Eddie clues into their situation – really clues into it. Everything up until this point has been explainable. Weird, sure, but there was always some sort of excuse that could clear away the tension. But Steve has that fuck me look in his eyes, his body is boring down into Eddie’s, his fingers are exploring his costume and his face is fucking inches away.

“That’s too bad. Maybe you can take me there sometime, and we can change that.”

This time Eddie nods. Real words still evade him. What is English? He doesn’t know.

But Steve shifts down on him again and their crotches rub together. And Eddie whimpers. His lips pop open and the noise escapes him before he can hold it in, and he whimpers. He wants to fucking die but he also wants Steve to do that again.

And he does.

Steve drags his body against Eddie’s, this time intentionally, experimentally, and Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, and he bites down onto his lip to stop himself from making another embarrassing noise but it doesn’t really help.

He wants to say something to save the situation, just in case he’s reading it wrong. Just so he doesn’t incriminate himself. But he even more desperately wants whatever is happening to continue, so he averts his eyes from Steve’s and says nothing.

But Steve doesn’t allow that for too long. His free hand forces Eddie’s face back to his.

“You okay?” he asks. Eddie swallows, and nods once more, and still doesn’t say a word. Steve bears down on Eddie further, pressing his wrists and his back into the cushions. “Are you gonna say uncle?”

Steve thrusts against Eddie, and this time his breath hitches in his throat like he’s enjoying it, like he knows Eddie’s enjoying it, like that’s the goal. This time Eddie’s pelvis angles upwards and he chases the feeling. When Steve moves on top of him again, he can feel that Steve is hard, too. So he says, “No.”

He’s felt Steve half hard before, in the night when he’s sleeping. Those times were different. It wasn’t while they were both awake, it wasn’t while they were both aware. It wasn’t while they were rutting against each other like animals in heat. And Eddie was so wildly confused, but even more than that he was ravenous with desire.

Steve’s grip loosens around his wrists, his hands trail lower on Eddie’s body until they squeeze into his hips and shove him into the couch. His hips begin to circle into Eddie’s. This absolutely cannot be construed as anything other than what it is: Steve is also turned on and he knows Eddie is turned on, and they’re very much humping against each other.

“Say uncle and I’ll stop,” Steve says lowly into Eddie’s ear, and Eddie has never shut his mouth so quickly, because there was no way he was going to say uncle, there was no way he wanted this to end.

Steve takes Eddie’s silence the way he means it.

The most arousing sound Eddie has ever heard rumbles from Steve’s chest, and his hands are adjusting again, this time shoving into the limited space behind Eddie’s lower back. His arms wrap behind Eddie and he pulls him into his chest, and his face buries itself into the crook of his neck. Eddie can feel hot puffs of air from Steve’s mouth.

Their hips start circling together.

It’s a timid thing at first, because what the fuck is actually happening? It’s all new – nothing like this has ever happened between them. Something like this has rarely happened to Eddie at all. So no, he doesn’t really dive right in, and neither does Steve because he’s probably having the same thoughts.

But he hears Steve in his ear. He hears these raunchy little sounds bubbling from his throat that are so obviously involuntary because Eddie’s making them, too. And Steve has a death grip around his middle, pulling him hard into his movements, twisting him exactly where he wants him.

They eventually get it right. As right as it can be with a thick layer of denim and an even thicker layer of leather between them. Their cocks slot next to each other, even through those barriers, and the drag has Eddie panting. He’s leaking into his underwear and everything feels so fucking wet because his pants don’t breathe or absorb. So his underwear is doing all of the heavy lifting, which really isn’t enough because everything is getting slick in there.

Maybe it’s a good thing.

“Oh, fuck.” Eddie finally speaks, he finally gives clue to how much he’s enjoying this. He finally moves his arms from above his head and grabs at Steve’s hips. He pulls them against him even though they’re already grinding against each other to the point of near pain, but he pulls Steve into him anyway. And then he shoves his hands into the back pocket of his Levi’s where there’s a lighter and a pack of camels. He tosses them into the living room. He puts his hands back and that’s where they stay, kneading into the muscle of Steve’s perfect ass.

They rock together in deep waves with Steve’s face hidden in Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut. Eddie’s perpetually horny so it really only takes a few minutes until each stroke of denim on leather sends a shock into his guts. That’s when he realises just how close he is to coming and he’s suddenly ashamed again, because he just doesn’t know if that’s the goal to whatever is going on.

He tries to rein himself in, he tries to slow the coil that’s rapidly building in his core, but that mind over matter crap has never really worked with Eddie. He’s hurtling towards the finish line and he has to warn Steve, but he’s terrified of ruining the moment.

If there even is a moment.

As much as he knows that Steve grinding his dick into Eddie’s is anything but platonic, he can’t help but notice that Steve isn’t kissing him. So maybe it’s not a passion thing, but more like a… favour thing? And if that were the case, would it be a favour for Steve or for Eddie? Maybe if Eddie speaks it’ll ruin whatever is happening inside of Steve’s head, whatever he’s thinking about, and it’ll make him… deflate or something.

Eddie gasps as Steve’s fly digs against the underside of his cock, drawing to the tip where he’s sensitive and drooling precum that is not just going to be precum very, very soon.

“Shit! Uh – uh, Steve?”

“Mmm?”

Steve does the thing again, and pleasure zaps through Eddie. His thighs twitch against Steve’s hips that are still moving against his.

“It’s just – I think – If you keep… I don’t know, I don’t know,” he babbles, because he just can’t say ‘I’m about to blow my load’ to Steve. Because he’d hear him.

Steve finally lifts his head from Eddies neck and he looks down on him with heavy eyes so blown out they almost look black. His thrusts become shallower which is so frustrating because Eddie was so close, and now Steve’s movements are keeping him right on the edge, not enough to actually get him there.

“You good?” asks Steve. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Eddie barks, and that’s probably the most embarrassing thing that’s happened yet. He tries to hide his face, but Steve just turns along with him – waiting. He deepens the roll of his hips once more and Eddie is building right back up to where he was a few seconds ago, so he tries again. “I just… Steve. I’m about to… I’m gonna…”

Steve tucks back into Eddie. His lips press against his throat but he doesn’t move them, he doesn’t kiss him. He just presses his lips there and speaks muffled against Eddie’s skin.

“Do it.”

He bites down.

A strangled wail rips from Eddie, and he’s coming inside his pants like a punishment, or a reward, he’s not sure which. He just knows that it hits him like a fucking brick, strong and hard, and he’s shuddering through waves of the most outrageous pleasure he’s ever felt (which is sad, really, because Steve didn’t even technically touch him). He’s convulsing against Steve, and his boxers fill with his cum which is hot and wet and slicks against his skin while Steve still ruts himself against him.

It doesn’t seem to stop either, it just keeps going. His orgasm and his cum, like he hadn’t just jerked himself off that morning. It felt like the first time he came after healing. Dirty and raw and pent up, but better because it wasn’t his own hand that got him there.

Steve’s teeth snap harder into Eddie’s skin and his hips lose their rhythm. A filthy groan rattles Eddie’s eardrums, and from that alone Eddie feels like he could get hard again. Hearing the noise that Steve just made, coming in his jeans like he just did.

Everything goes still – Steve’s body goes slack and his teeth release from Eddie’s skin, and they lay there panting like they ran some kind of marathon instead of just dry humping against each other.

It immediately feels like a fever dream.

Steve is still laying on top of Eddie, and he’s already asking himself if that actually just happened, or if he made it all up. Even as the cum in his boxers is cooling uncomfortably against his softening dick and matting into his pubes like glue.

When Steve’s head finally lifts, Eddie gets a good look at him. His mascara has smudged under his eyes, and there’s red on the tip of his nose where it rubbed against Eddie’s cheek. His lip gloss has smeared sparkles around the border of his lips. He looks completely fucked out. So Eddie laughs.

“What?” Steve says, rolling from Eddie’s body. They scramble up until they’re seated normally in the couch. Steve gropes at his crotch like it’s uncomfortable, which it is. Eddie would know. “Why are you laughing?”

Eddie holds his hand up. “Nothing! Your makeup… it just needs a bit of a touch up.”

“Oh, shit.” Steve wipes under his eyes, just making everything worse.

“No, no, no!” Eddie says, smacking Steve’s hand away from his face. “You’re ruining it. I’ll fix it, just leave it alone for a few minutes, okay?”

“’Kay. Where are you going?” Steve crinkles his brows at Eddie as he stands up.

“I’m gonna change my pants. They’re, uh… too tight.”

“Sure, yeah. Me too.” Steve stands. “Sweats or something?”

“Huh?”

“Sweatpants?” Steve says again. “Are you gonna change into something comfy, or…?”

“Nooo…” Eddie drawls. “Jeans probably. We’re going to that party, right? That’s why we got all dressed up?”

“Oh, yeah. The party,” Steve says, and if Eddie could read people easily, he might think he looks disappointed. But Eddie doesn’t really get social cues, so he’s probably got it all wrong.

Eddie nods and he changes in the bathroom. He examines himself, finds the purple bruise forming on his neck in the shape of Steve’s teeth. He decides not to cover it up, but instead wear it with pride. As a reminder, mostly to himself, that he did not in fact lose his mind and make everything that happened up.

They do go to the party after Eddie fixes their makeup, and it’s fun. They spend the night drinking, and laughing, and dancing.

What they don’t do, is talk about what they did. Steve’s good at acting normal – pretending that nothing happened.

And as confusing as it is, as much as Eddie just doesn’t get it – days passing by without acknowledgment – he takes it that he should probably do the same.

NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

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fluorescentpipedream · 9 months

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I’m supposed to be sleeping but this blurb popped into my head when I tried to push a frightening image of gnashing metal teeth and red eyes out of my head. Much better, I must say but still keeping me up.

“It’s always been like this between the two of us, I push, she pulls. The heat, the fire in her eyes for me..damn woman”

The sting of the whiskey made the man hiss as he slowly rotated the rounded ice around the glass it clinked. In front of him was a picture of a brunette with bedroom eyes wearing a silky teddy. He rapped his tattooed knuckle on the wood of the bar top, a casual request for another shot. The bartender was Asian, short and the man looked them over as they stood before them. Their dark eyes reflected the cool light of the bar, and for a moment they both exchanged the same look. For his part, the man couldn’t figure out if the tender was male or female, and in the same instant he had that thought, it was followed by the realization that he didn’t care.

He took another drink, and the sting was less this time. “No idea why she affects me like that either, only woman to bring me to my knees, ya know? I love her, I hate her and she’s the same. Gotta be why we keep at it for so long”

He smirked, stretching his long fingers so much so they bent back a little. Double jointed, he’d tell people but it was a lie. They’d found some new medical reason why he could hyperextend his fingers but like so many things he was too old to give a shit. The man was tall, nearly 6’2, and to make it worse he was wearing leather biker boots which added an extra couple of inches. His hair was a dark brown but his beard was almost entirely grey. He was well groomed, and spoke with an accent that was hard to place.

“I met her at her sister’s wedding, a friend of a friend doing a favor. I fuckin hate weddings and I ain’t even friends with that schmuck anymore. But she’s not close to her sister now either. I still remember the ugly ass bridesmaid dress” He smirks, in on a joke no one else knows.

That dress was turquoise with a horrible bow in the back barely even holding on. Their first meeting was also the first time they’d fucked. It was rough, fast and excused just as quick as a stupid fling, something to do when the wedding was too boring to do anything else. But then it happened again. And 3 months later, same thing. After that one, there was dinner and something that could be considered a date. They never exactly gave a name to what this was, there was always something else to call it: fun, boredom, Tuesday night.

He scoffed and set his glass down. Behind him the late night stragglers were milling around. There was a hoot and a loud cacophony of bells, whistles and hollering. Someone won a jackpot. He looked down at the picture again. She had given that to him a few weeks ago and he kept it in his wallet. As his gaze fell over the picture he remembered running his hands up her thighs, teasing her sides and the small of her back as she’d straddled him, her legs spread open to envelope him in a sticky warmth. You do that to me she had moaned in his ear, biting his bottom lip as she rolled her hips into him. He had his fingers in her hips, careful not to leave half moon shapes with his nails.

He licked his lips, and cleared his throat before getting up from the bar. The bartender looked at him expectantly. “Charge it to the room…” As he got up he readjusted himself, giving his jeans an unnecessary tug upwards while pulling his heather grey T-shirt down and smoothed it out over his stomach. He wasn’t particularly defined and toned but there was a bit of muscle in his arms. He also had a lot of tattoos on both of his arms, all the way to his knuckles. Despite being inside and it being well past daylight, he had a pair of Rayban sunglasses sitting on top of his head. He took two steps forward before taking one rather large step back.

“Forgot my picture.” He smirks again , trading the place of the portrait with a $20. “I imagine you’ll like that better.”

#character #new #characters #lauren cohan #jeffery dean morgan

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gotnofucks · 3 years

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What do you think Lee or other Seb and Chris characters would be like with a tall, slim and very uncurvy woman? Like only a couple of inches shorter than them, and she never feels feminine enough or sexy enough for them?

We'll start this by establishing that every person is pretty regardless of their body type. Tall, short, chubby or skinny, different complexion and smooth or furry.

As a short girl, this is for my tall skinny sisters who have a difficult time loving themselves:

Warning: sometimes dark themes, allusions to smut, possessiveness, body image issues, breeding kink, 18+ ONLY

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Steve Rogers: The Avengers Charity ball was a big event and though Steve hated the public attention, he's excited to do this with you. You've been dating a few months and coming out in public was something Steve was looking forward to.

He had decorated your neck with marks to show the world who you belonged to. The territorial captain was itching to claim you in front of the world when you told him you'd rather not go.

"What?" He asked, "Why not?"

You bit your lip, shifting on your feet as you looked at him.

"It's nothing...just don't feel like it" You mumbled.

"Is it because we're going to fast? You don't wanna tell the world about us?" Steve asked and you frantically shook your head.

"No, Stevie." You took a deep breath. "It's just...you're Captain America. The people expect you to be with a womanly woman, someone who complements you. I am...me. Tall, not large enough boobs, my ass is skinny and -"

You would have went on had Steve not pulled you in by your waist and crushed your mouth to his. You kissed back, running your hand through his soft hair before he pulled back, panting.

"Are you kidding me? You're listing everything I love about you. I don't have to bend down to kiss you, you breasts feel perfect in my hands and that ass? Baby, that ass is so perfect if people knew the thoughts I get when I see it, they'll douse me with holy water. Captain America doesn't need a womanly woman to compliment him. You’re not my arm candy, I am yours because you’re the perfect one. You get me?"

Choked up with tears you nod, letting him tuck your head in his neck.

Bucky Barnes: He's been looking at you for weeks, just the way you've been looking at him. During training, he makes sure to stay behind you, correcting your posture by putting his hands on you.

For someone who'd lived more than a century, Bucky Barnes had no patience anymore and he promptly sat down his ass in front of you, making you stop mid-chew.

"Why haven't you asked me out on a date yet?" He asked you, the red Henley he wore stretching across his broad chest. You swallowed quickly, sputtering.

"Sargent?" You squeaked, unprepared to be accosted like this.

"I want you, you want me. We've practically been eye fucking each other for months. Why haven't you asked me out yet?" He snapped.

You bite your lip before wetting them with your tongue, unsure how to say this.

"You...you don't wanna go out with some other agent? Maybe Shally?" You asked and winced when he scowled at you. "I'm only saying this 'cause she has you know, a better body. She's...prettier?"

In this moment you realised how scared Bucky's enemies may feel on the battlefield because the expression on his face had you terrified. And turned on.

"You fucking with me doll? I don't want her. I love your body. You're almost my height, think of how easy 69-ing would be! You're perfect in every way. The way you kick those men's asses in the gym...fuck I always need a cold shower after that."

Your mouth dropped open and a small smile lit your face.

"So, you don't mind me being strong and lean and not... feminine?" You asked tentatively and Bucky smirked.

"Come into the bedroom with me and I'll show you how feminine you can be" He challenged.

Really, who were you to say no to him.

Ransom Drysdale: Heels. He got you fucking 6-inch heels. You were nearly his height, already being taunted by your friends for this. And he got you heels.

"Ransom, take them back. You know I don't do heels." You say and he scoffs, pushing them back at you.

"Like shit you don't do them. I want to see you in them, and wear that lingerie I got you." He orders and you frown.

"No Ransom, I just - I don't like them." You said and he turned away from his phone to raise an eyebrow at you.

"I've seen you eyeing that flimsy scarp of fabric for weeks in the mall. You like it, now wear it for me so I can admire it on you." He said.

You finger the delicate material of the bra and panty and wondered how amazing it would feel against your skin. But then you looked at the small size and squeezed your eyes shut. There was a reason you insisted Ransom turn off the lights when you fucked.

"I like them. Just...not on me" You whispered. A finger pulled your chin up and you met Ransom's blue eyes, his gorgeous face peering into you like you were the dumbest person he knew.

"The fuck?" He asked, a warning growl in his tone that had you rubbing your legs.

"Ransom...I'm...not made for these. These heels, I'll be taller than you. I don't have the body to make this gorgeous lingerie come to life. You...I don't want you to see me like that." You say, almost tearing up.

Ransom looked livid for a moment before he gently stood you up, shushing your protests as he one by one stripped you naked. You looked down, ashamed of yourself as he forced you into the tall heels, his head now below yours.

"Look at me" He rasped and you obeyed. His eyes went from your head to down, appreciatively over your breasts and flat stomach and then to the vee between your thighs.

"You're perfect." He said, head dipping only a little to suck a nipple in his mouth. "Perfect figure, perfect face, perfect height. You're the only perfect thing I have in my fucked up life."

You put your hands on his shoulder to stable your wobbling feet, and he held you close.

"Wear this lingerie. I want to tear it off your body with my teeth. And the lights stay on today."

Lee Bodecker: You pushed down on your skirt again, hiding your thin legs the best you could. The demure and pretty girls in the neighborhood snickered as you passed by them, their necklines supporting a beautiful cleavage.

You walked into your home and quickly got to making the dinner. While you didn't look like a normal lady, you were one. You could cook and clean and your daddy hoped that would be enough to get you married and off his hands.

You got dressed for you knew there would be guests tonight and tied your apron around your narrow waist, serving the food on the table for your father and the Sheriff. He came in his uniform, the hat set down on the table and eyes that followed you.

It was no surprise when he cornered you later after your father was drunk and passed out. His hardness dug into you, sweet breath on your face and nose rubbing against yours.

"Where you been all day sweetheart?" He asked, hands groping you like they'd done a thousand times before. You whimpered, tilting your head to allow him access to your neck.

"Shopping for the dinner. Daddy doesn't like stale food." You say and Lee bites you.

"What've I told you about calling him daddy in front of me? I'm the only daddy ya need." He scolded. You waited for his kiss, lips puckered when he stilled. His hands were on your breasts and he paused, reaching inside despite your protests to pull out the rolled up cloth inside.

"What the fuck is this?" He angrily asked and you hid your face in embarrassment. You were tired of having small breasts, tired of not being as pretty as others.

"Just..I wanted more meat on me." You said sullenly and Lee twisted his face in a scowl, pulling you forward with your hair.

"You're not doing this shit again. You want big fucking breasts then ask me to put a baby in you and I will. You want more meat on your body then I'll fuck a child in you right now. You get me?" He snarled and you nodded, clinging to him.

"I...I am sorry. I wanted to be pretty for you." You sob and Lee pulls you closer, taking your hands and pressing them in his belly.

"Sweetheart, you are fuckin' gorgeous. My pretty girl. Daddy's best girl. You don't need more meat. I already got enough for both of us. Kay?" He asked and kissed you deep.

Andy Barber: You hid your insecurities well. Andy didn't give you a reason to have many. He loved you, you knew that. But sometimes, you wondered if he'd have preferred a more bountiful booty to hold at night.

When you tried to eat a little extra than your stomach permitted and puked the next day, he sat you down and asked point blank what was wrong. It was difficult to lie to him, not only because he was a great lawyer but because Andy knew you too well to not know when you're hiding something.

"I wanted to gain some weight I suppose." You said. Andy titled his head, eyes going over your body before he frowned.

"But you're perfect" He said, as if confused. "You can't overeat baby. Talk to me, what's wrong?"

You bit your lip. Dating Andy was daunting. He was someone who had lines of woman waiting to warm his bed. You were surprised when he asked you out, you of all the other softer women. You, your flat figure of the other hourglass ones.

He was an alpha, he was the master. He would have looked so good next to a timid, tiny girl who would easily fold into his body for warmth. And yet, here he was with you.

"I have long legs" You blurted and didn't look at him. "I am taller than almost all women here, I don't have a plump ass you can bounce quarters off and definitely not a chest that is spilling out. I don't know Andy, I...I am not enough I guess."

You wanted to cry after admitting this and maybe you would have had Andy not knelt before you and cupped your face to kiss you deeply.

"Oh honey, you silly thing. You're more than enough. Absolutely stunning." He whispered. He trailed his hands up from your ankle to your thighs and you stifled a moan.

"Your legs are long, and I love them. So much length to run my tongue on" He continued. "You ass may not bounce quarters, but it bounces my balls well when I'm fucking your from behind. And your breasts better not be spilling anywhere, they are mine. The only thing they need to spill is either my seed or the milk that'll be in there after I breed you. You understand?"

Heat rose up from your chest to your neck and ears, eyes watering with love and desire. You put your long legs on Andy's shoulder and hugged him with your thighs, asking him softly to show you his praises again.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #lee bodecker x reader #andy barber x reader #steve x reader #bucky x reader #ransom x reader #lee x reader #andy x reader #steve Rogers #bucky barnes #ransom drysdale #lee bodecker #hoedecker club #andy barber

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 3 years

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Tongue Tied

Notes: This is another Valentine’s Day fic, except it’s a bit shorter.This is for those who rather have pure, straight up fluff

Setting: I wanted childhood friends au. OOC Tai, kinda. Tried to make it short and sweet for Valentine’s Day, along with my other fic that’s more plot-y and smutty tOTALLY does revolve around yokai: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29427309

When you first met him, you were both about eight. He was round, cheeky, and friendly, greeting you to the new neighborhood. Only being eight, and not really having any friends, you were rather shy. He grinned, holding up a bag of blue gummy sharks. Eagerly but hesitantly, you complied, and he beamed at you with a blush, seemingly to rival the sun as he introduced himself.

“-but ya can call me Tai-chan!”

Regularly, his mom and your mom became close friends, and often brought the two of you to the park. Him being the only familiar, friendly face, you followed him everywhere, like a little puppy. He would be always smiling and talking, falling in step beside you as he munched on whatever or whichever his mom had brought for him, sharing with you, and you offered your own snacks.

He grew on you, taking you everywhere, creating blanket and pillow forts, and promised that the two of you will be best friends forever. Although rather shy, you were extremely protective of him, finding your young self snapping at bullies when they’ve made fun of his weight, and making sure that he was alright. He would look at you shyly yet with a soft grin and rub the back of his head, telling you that you were amazing.

………………..

You were both ten. In two years, you’ve grown very close to him. Of course, his family and doctor worrying about his weight, had put him on a diet. He was still a little round, but had grown a few inches taller. You didn’t care, as long as he was your friend. Who you totally did not have a small crush on. Nope.

The two of you were in his living room, resting in your own separate sleeping bags as Bambi played on the VHS. No matter how many times the two of you seen it, his eyes would always water up when a particular scene came along as he shoved popcorn in his mouth. All you could really do was pat his shoulder gently, causing him to stutter and have the same odd red tint to his cheeks as he laughed nervously. You stared at his odd behavior, but shrugged, reaching for the popcorn as the two of you talked about future dreams and other things as the sleepover crawled on.

By this time, you’ve knew him a bit more, use to hanging out at his house, and his yours. Cooking and baking with each other’s respective moms, was a common weekend thing.

……………………………..

He’d gotten a bit more loud and rowdy, but was still sweet as ever. Of course, being twelve, the two of you were experiencing your own physical and mental changes. Voice cracking, outgrowing baby fat, the two of you were still close. He’d gotten many scrapes and bruises, however, while being rowdy and not as careful, and he’d grumble a little with a pink tint to his cheeks, as you hushed him, placing a Hello Kitty band-aid on his cut.

Although a bit more older, the two of you still drank Capri-sun, watched classics on his VCR, and he didn’t mind that you tagged along wherever he went. Imagine his surprise when you’ve gotten a little braver, not hesitating to cheer him on during sports tryouts, or started doing more things of your own without him. Of course, the both of your parents were wary of the two of you spending the entire night for some weird reason, but you still hung out for most of the day, swapping Pokemon cards and playing on the old gaming system while mindlessly talking like you’ve always done.

…………………..

High school was somewhat different. He was an awkward fifteen year old boy, but head-strong, tall, and a bit more lanky. You were still a little quiet and shy, but the two of you stuck close to each other like glue. He’d drag you to his baseball tournaments, and you’d invite him to your archery ones. He still was rowdy and somewhat of a hyper, cute klutz, grinning from ear to ear with pink cheeks as you sighed, wrapping yet another band-aid around his cuts.

You, being still young, had to bite down an odd feeling that came over you when he was surrounded by girls. You didn’t understand it, they were just being friendly, right? He looked rather uncomfortable, but was still red in the face as he kept making glances at you, a silent plea for help.

It’s when the bullying had started. The whispers and rumors, all because you helped him escape from a gaggle of young teens. He, being protective as always, shot glares and scowls at those who dared even came close to you, telling you that it was alright to defend yourself, and to call on him if he needed anything. So, while there was some bullying, the budding attention from kids hitting puberty, was a bit worse.

He was agitated for some weird reason, yet kept a dopey smile for your sake when you kept receiving love letters and confessions. You didn’t miss the relief in his eyes when you turned them all down, and vice versa when he stated that he wasn’t really interested in most of the people in your school. You didn’t fail to notice that he kept looking at you for an extra two seconds, but dismissed it.

……………

Senior year wasn’t as bad as freshman year. He, with all of his practice in sports and such, grew a bit of muscle mass, but at eighteen, was round and taller, around six foot, easily dwarfing you. Although older teens, you’ve kept in touch despite the crazy amount of tests, finals, and new friends. People were murmuring in awe at how the two of you were so close, and yet weren’t a couple. It didn’t stop either of your ears burning, but neither of you had either dated, only fueling those rumors.

He was very popular, as were you, despite your shyness and liking to blend in. Two peas in a pod, yet almost opposite personalities described him and you. You liking to read, and him liking to play sports and be outside. It didn’t stop you from following him around, him chuckling and ruffling your hair as you played a few games with him, or him hanging out with you at the library.

Of course, a lot of admirers from both sides were jealous because of the two of your closeness. You still politely refused the applicants of the love letters, and he, gaining more courage, stated that he wasn’t really interested in the gaggle of fawners who surrounded him. The two of you had constantly protected each other from unwanted bullies and too pushy one-sided interests while living your own lives.

It took longer than you’d like to admit, but you’ve gotten a part-time job as well as your license, him not wanting to be left behind, followed after. You forever had the image burned in your brain that Monday morning. He, waiting for you, sported a Letterman jacket, beat up sneakers, grinning wildly and proudly as he leaned against his new car. It was an older model, but you were proud of him, and plus, he was still doing things to your chest that you did not understand.

“Get in, Sugar, we’re goin’ fer a spin.” He smiled, holding up his new keys, and you couldn’t help but feel cicadas buzz gently within your stomach.

Prom was different. You weren’t really interested in going, and instead, the two of you spent the night at your house, baking cookies and listening to old songs on the radio. He smiled, wearing your mom’s apron as he swiveled to the music, causing you to laugh more than you should as he mimicked her, cursing about the neighborhood children and gushing about soap operas.

The tiny desserts ended up being burnt, his hair was wild, and the two of you were a laughing mess, reflecting childhood days.

By the end of the night, he looked like he wanted to say something before he left, but instead, gave you one of his warm, gooey smiles that made your heartbeat quicken.

……………..

College had a unique spin to it. Tests weren’t as frequent, but they were a bit harder. There were online classes, more deadlines, and yet, despite it all, nicer, calmer teachers. You, being an excellent student, earned your funding through the school. Of course you broke away from living at your parent’s house, and had to support yourself further by working, but it was worth it.

The dorm rooms were roomy, and your roommate, who was blessed with common courtesy, was kind and distant. He, attached to you at the hip, followed the same pattern, almost, except he’d chosen a different career. Oddly, he wanted to become a teacher, but the more you thought about it, the more you could see it. Always friendly, warm, and generous, an inner part of you knew that he was good around children, and it’d be a perfect career choice.

You yourself, only nineteen, had liked the idea of biology, studying animals and their habits. It also put the two of you in a lot of the same classes for the next four years. Despite studying, working, and worrying, the two of you had seemed to find extra time for each other. Granted it was more to study, but a lot of places were in the cafeteria, at the local coffee shops, and sometimes in your dorm room if your roommate was out. Within the four years before graduating, you’ve discovered more about your own feelings for the blond, and had secretly accepted them. You didn’t know of his own feelings towards you other than a very close friend, but you were surprised that he turned down popular, pretty people.

To say that you were relieved, was an understatement, but you couldn’t fathom why he’d turn down so many nice admirers. You’d accepted the fact that he might be asexual, or aromantic, and cherished him as your close friend no matter what the outcome might have been.

……………….

Graduation was celebrated with lots of laughter and cheer from both of you and your families. Not really having a place, the two of you, being really close, decided to rent together on a lease. Age twenty-three, the two of you had to struggle a bit to find jobs, but luckily, with his charm and endearing personality, it didn’t take him too long to land as a kindergarten teacher, and you, with your experiences and tenaciousness, landed in the science lab some miles over.

The two of you worked perfectly together, splitting bills and chores, making meals, it was almost as if the two of you were a couple, due to your wishful thinking. Which, to be fair, you thought and wondered a lot. What was the two of your relationship, what were you waiting for, and so on. It was growing on you, and you were feeling as if you had enough. Although not blaming him, you wanted to spend as much time at work as possible, staying away from the very being who made your heart soar and yet hurt from the questioning and pining.

He, being very keen, noticed immediately of your sudden absence. Going early and coming home later, eating briefly with that odd, distant look in your eyes as you joined in on his conversations, but it was as if you were replaced by something else. It was driving him mad, because in all of his years of knowing you, it didn’t add up.

One night, you came home to an odd sight. The table, although already set neatly, had your favorite dish set out on a platter. He sat there, pouring two glasses of wine as he stared at you.

“This ain’t like ya, Chickadee.” He stated bluntly, setting your glass near the platter, and you sighed, sitting down. Of course he’d notice, and although you felt guilty, you needed to give yourself space from the accepted, yet buzzing emotions welling within you.

“Ya wanna talk about it?” Was the silent plea, and you, caught off guard by the sheer hurt in his voice, found yourself nodding.

…………..

Present. The two of you, adults, sat at the table as he stared at you intently with a look of worry and hurt. He was your friend, and you guessed that it wouldn’t hurt to let loose your feelings, so he could know, and let you down, gently. Taking a breath, you started.

His eyes were widened, but he didn’t speak as you spoke. Letting the weight of your concerns and feelings be lifted off of your shoulders as you could only briefly make eye-contact. He was stunned, to say at least, but it’s what you’ve been feeling for years. As soon as you finished, you bravely stared at him, to drink in his reactions to your inner conflict. Swallowing thickly, he set his utensil down as he gave you a warm, heated stare.

“We’re both a lil’ dense, ain’t we, Sugar?”

You couldn’t help but nod a little as he stood up, walking over towards you to stare at you. It was your turn to look surprised, letting him cup your face, and lean in. Soft and warm, just like him, you couldn’t help but think as finally, finally, the two of you shared a kiss. The soft fluttering of butterflies within your stomach melted with a warm heat within your gut, surprising you in an instant as the two of you had broken away, him staring at you with a soft smile and a hot blush to his cheeks.

“Ya know how long I’ve been wantin’ to do that?” He asked rather shyly.

“Since we were eight?”

“Right on the nose. Ya as well?” He grinned, kissing your forehead gently at your nod.

“We gotta lotta talkin’ to do, but how ‘bout we start things proper with a date?”

You gently took his hand within yours, rubbing your thumb over the back in soft circles.

“Sounds perfect.”

………………

Short bc I had a 12k fic already done not too long ago, and this is for the crowd who just wanted fluff and cuteness.

#Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum #Fatgum x reader #Like I had permission from a sweet artist to let me write the visuals in my other fic #And they gave me permission to post it on A03 #I was unsure about Tumblr so I left a link to my fanfic account

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fairlyaverageff · 3 years

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Brewed Bitter (Caius V. x Leah C.)

Brewed Bitter

(Caius V. & Leah C. One shot)

Disclaimer: Both characters depicted in this one shot are single, consenting adults.

Slightly AU. Timeline of Twilight has been altered a bit and Leah is not a shifter YET in this one shot. Thanks for reading! Warnings: Cursing & Insults. Thats about it.

Volterra, Italy

Working as a barista was certainly not how Leah Clearwater pictured spending her summer. She especially never would have guessed that she would be working as a barista in Italy.

But coming here had been a no brainer. It was all part of a study abroad program offered by Forks Community College. Pay a little bit of extra tuition, and you too can earn some extra college credits while studying for your degree, abroad… at least this was what the brochure said. Only Leah wasn't taking any classes. She had signed up into some weird work program that she hadn't bothered reading all the fine details on as she hastily signed the forms so she could turn them back into the school as quickly as possible.

This work program was meant to help students see if studying abroad was a good fit for them. You pick a program and a location, and instead of taking a gamble in the fall, you'd be sent to work a small, unimportant job over the summer in the location you chose to see if you even liked being abroad.

To be honest Leah couldn't give any less of a shit about studying abroad. She had just needed to get away from Washington. So, she took the first opportunity that presented itself to her.

She needed to get away from the pitying looks of her parents and her little brother Seth. She needed to get away from all the stares on the reservation as everyone whispered to one another about her mysterious breakup with her ex, Sam.

Leah didn't want to hear any more speculations or rumors about why Sam had dumped her and only weeks later ended up dating her cousin Emily after she was mauled by a bear. People liked to speculate that Sam had been cheating on her with Emily for a while, and that his strange disappearance months ago was probably just some act to hide the affair he had been having.

Why else would he have dumped Leah so quickly after coming home? Why else would Sam have, all of the sudden, been following her cousin all around the reservation like a love-struck puppy the very day after Leah had introduced the two of them?

Why else would Sam and Emily be engaged hardly eight months after Emily got out of the hospital after her attack? An attack that took place only a few weeks after Sam returned home.

Leah had been so lost in her thoughts that the girl next to her behind the bar lightly elbowed her in the ribs to get her attention.

Sabrina, a local from Volterra who had been working in this small coffee shop for three years and had therefore had her fair share of incompetent students as coworkers, shoved a tray with seven different ceramic coffee mugs into Leah's hands and rattled off what was in each cup as quickly as she could as she and two other baristas attended to the long line of customers.

"If you aren't going to make any drinks then how about you start dropping these off to the patrons waiting at their tables?" Sabrina hissed under her breath. "The two cappuccinos go to the elderly ladies by the windows, the tea latte goes to the young girl with the book over by the cypress plant, the americanos go to the three gentlemen with the laptops at the center table, and the marocchino goes to teenager by the charging station at the back. Go!"

Leah could only curse under her breath as Sabrina lightly pushed her toward the little swinging divider that would let the baristas exit the area behind the bar and step into the café.

This café was a nice little place. It was very bright and open due to the fact that three of the four walls had many large windows that were all open due to the nice weather. There were many small tables and squashy chairs to relax in, that was probably why this place was so popular.

Nearly every table was taken aside from a small group of tables near the back corner away from the windows where only one man was sitting with his back to her. Leah had thought that since the clouds that had covered the sky this morning finally dissipated enough to allow the sun to shine through that more people would be willing to take their drinks to go and maybe she wouldn't have to wait the tables.

But of course, she was wrong. The sudden beautiful weather had no effect at all on all the patron's desires to sit inside and enjoy their coffees at the tables and chat with their families and friends.

This place isn't even air conditioned, Leah complained mentally as she dropped off the first set of drinks to the two ladies by the window nearest to the door, Seriously it's hot as fucking balls in here.

She could feel her long black pants and her collared white shirt sticking to her in the heat as she weaved her way through the tables and deposited the drinks to the people waiting without stopping to spare a single one of them even the slightest glance. She passed a couple who had pulled their chairs together so they were both sitting on the same side of their little round table. The girl giggled as she pointed something out in the magazine she was looking at to the man beside her.

These two probably wouldn't have attracted Leah's notice at all if it hadn't been for the fact that she noticed that what the woman was pointing at in the magazine was a selection of different bridesmaid dresses.

Emily's face, her expression nervous and sincere, swam to the front of Leah's mind.

"It really would mean so much to us if you would be one of the bridesmaids Leah," Emily smiled, but the smile didn't quite touch her eyes. Her eyes were too sad to fit with the rest of the expression her face was making.

"To us?" Leah's own emotionless voice responded. She had been in shock. Her brain had hardly finished processing Emily's words of "Sam and I are getting married" before Emily had said this.

Before Emily had asked her to be a bridesmaid.

Emily's expression did not change much, but there was just the tiniest amount of hope that had suddenly bloomed on her face as she nodded.

"Yes. To me and to Sam. Please Leah. You mean so much to us."

There had been no words. Leah had not responded. She had turned on her heel and went back into her house after shutting the front door in Emily's hurt face.

For the rest of that week Leah hardly ventured outside of her house. She did a couple of times at first, but she was met with so many stares and whispers as the news of Emily and Sam's engagement spread around the reservation that she just couldn't take it anymore and refused to be around anyone who would look at her and whisper behind their hands.

And then she ended up at Forks Community College and found herself applying to work abroad for the summer. She had just needed to get away. She needed to get somewhere where no one would call her and ask her if she was okay. Where no one would ask what happened with Sam.

Where someone couldn't call her and ask her to be a bridesmaid in their wedding when they both broke her fucking heart.

Leah was nearing the back of the café and only had one cup of coffee left to bring to the kid at the charging station, so rather than balancing one cup on the tray like an idiot she just took the drink in one hand and set down the tray on one of the empty tables she was passing.

What she hadn't been expecting was the loner she had seen at this grouping of tables to stand abruptly in front of here in the isle.

He turned to face her, and she walked right into him.

It was like walking into a fucking wall. The dude did not budge at all when she slammed into him, and she was forced to stumble back a step to keep her footing as she cursed under her breath. When she had walked into him, the drink she had been holding was jostled between the two of them.

Hot coffee spilled over her hand and she yelped in surprise. It took all of her self-control not to drop the cup onto the floor and let it shatter.

The guy she had run into however, wasn't so lucky. Most of the hot coffee spilled right down the front of his shirt.

For a moment Leah was a little horrified, expecting the man to yell out in pain as what was basically boiling hot bean water and milk soaked his shirt.

Her horror very quickly vanished when he hissed "Watch where you're going chihuahua face!"

He had said it low enough that she was sure, in this loud ass café, that only she could her him. She had to look up at him to see his face, and she was a tall girl at 5 foot 9 inches.

He was platinum blonde and pale as a sheet, the most color on him was the coffee staining his crisp white shirt. That and his weird purple-ish colored eyes. Her first thought of him was that he was definitely no more than a pretty boy with a superiority complex. His whole face was aligned in such a way that she was sure he fit the perfect image for these European models, and him being full of himself enough to wear these colored contacts to make him stand out more only put up another red flag that this dude was definitely the embodiment of a fuckboy.

He had an ugly scowl on his face and the first thing that came out of her mouth was "The fuck did you just call me?"

"You heard me you imbecile," He scoffed, motioning to his ruined shirt, "You already had enough of a puss on your face when you were working behind the bar. Walking around the café scowling at everyone as you bring them their drinks really doesn't do anything for your looks."

Leah could feel her mouth hanging open just the slightest bit and she couldn't find it in her to be stung at his words. All she could think of was the fact that since he was talking to her like this, she now had the green light to fire back.

She very obviously appraised him, looking him up and down with the most disgusted look she could manage.

"You're one to talk about anyone walking around with a puss on their face." She scoffed back at him, "Where did you get your contacts? I really need to find something to draw attention to the fact that my father didn't hug me enough as a child but my t-shirt that says daddy issues on it wasn't quite enough."

"I mean-," Leah switched her expression to the most sarcastic, mocking look she could manage. "It seems like you already got past that faze and have it all figured out, that's why I'm asking."

Now it was blondies turn to have his mouth part in surprise. To her left Leah heard two girls giggling, and one glance over showed her that two teenagers were watching her and the blonde man, both covering their mouths with their hands to stifle their laughter.

This only seemed to incite him, which in itself really wasn't that surprising considering assholes like him never took it well when girls laughed at them.

"At least I'm not enough of an idiot that I go walking into people while I'm obviously lost in thought thinking about how the whole world is against me and oh woe is me I can't tolerate seeing all these happy couples sitting together."

Leah could feel the shock on her face, and blondie smirked at her, seeing that he was right in his earlier speculations.

After all, the only reason Caius Volturi even came to this busy café in the center of Volterra was to watch all the drama unfold between the humans. Aro had suggested he started people watching a few months ago to get himself out of a rut and get out of the castle every now and again. Especially after his breakup with Athenadora. Because of course she had found someone else who she had deemed a more fitting mate than himself.

This coffee shop had been the obvious choice. Most humans were usually so self-absorbed and caught up in their own lives they never noticed the gossip, the break ups, the fights, and all the other juicy conversations bubbling around them in a setting like this.

This girl was no different. Obviously she was another exchange student from America here on a work program during the summer. This café and a law firm a mile down the road were the only places in Volterra that participated in the program.

"What? Did your boyfriend dump you a few weeks ago?" Caius said in a mock baby voice, "Is that why you came all the way here? To get away and find yourself again?"

Leah didn't know what reaction he expected from her, but he obviously hadn't been expecting her to glance down at the cup in her hand, see there was still some coffee in it, and willingly splash the rest all over the front of his shirt while grinning the whole time.

She had been very careful to make sure the rest of it stained the collar of his shirt where the coffee had missed when she walked into him.

His surprise was comical. He actually took a step back from her.

She giggled. "Oh no! You know I would say I'm sorry, but you look like an asshole, so no."

The two teenage girls started giggling so hard that it was obvious to everyone in a ten-foot radius what they were laughing at. There was an elderly couple just behind her right shoulder that she couldn't see that were watching her and Caius in amusement, fondly shaking their heads at each other as if they knew what this was all about and had seen this plenty of times before.

Blondie opened and closed his mouth multiple times in the next ten seconds before he spluttered, "I could kill you!" in a whisper low enough that Leah was sure only she knew what he had said. But his shock when he said the words took all of the menace out of them.

"And so could a toddler or a very dedicated duck." She gave him the sweetest smile she could manage, "You're not special, but go off I guess."

It was a surprise that his face didn't get flush with anger when he said "Where is your manager? You need an attitude adjustment."

Leah raised her eyebrows at him, "You're one to talk about an attitude adjustment!"

She didn't answer his question though. Her gut seemed to twist into a knot as she realized the implications of him going to a manager. If he went up to one of the managers or the owner and told them what she had did and said – and he had proof too because of the huge, wet coffee stain all down the front of his shirt – she could be fired. And if she was fired, she would have to go back home.

Back to La Push. Back to all the stares and the judgement.

Back to Emily and Sam's pitying looks.

"And let's not even get started on why you're here all alone." Leah waved a hand to motion to the solitary table he had been sitting at. "A pretty face like yours but still no date to share a cup of coffee with. I'm sure any woman who goes out with you just melts at your charms. I was going to ask who pissed in your cereal this morning, but I think I figured it out."

She gave him and condescendingly sweet look, jutting her lower lip out in a pout. "Did you get stood up again? You know it might help if you stopped wearing that candy perfume you've got on. It really burns the nose."

Caius' attention was on her lips, he couldn't not focus on them when she pouted like that. He had quite a few suggestions on what she could do with that smart mouth of hers.

"Get me your manager." He said icily. "I'd like them to see what you've done to my shirt."

That wiped the sickly-sweet look right off of Leah's face. She felt her cheeks heat up with anger as she spat "I'll clean your stupid fucking shirt."

Caius smirked at her, showing most of his teeth, "Oh really? And when do you plan to do that?"

"I probably won't be off until sundown." She made sure her expression was a haughty as she could manage, hating that smirk on his face. This place was open late, and it would take two hours to clean the café after closing at seven. "Bring back your shirt then and I'll take care of it."

"Good." He was grinning at her in the most patronizing way. He knew how much it injured her pride to have to clean his shirt for him. It probably hurt her pride almost as much as the idea of this mouthy, infuriating woman cleaning for him stroked his ego. He reached up a hand and lightly touched her under the chin with his knuckles. "I'll see you later then…"

He trailed off, looking down at her name tag. "Leah."

And then he turned to go, and Leah snapped, "And you are?" from behind him as he picked up his book off the table and headed for the door.

He turned back to look at her for just the briefest second. "Caius."

BREAK

Leah and the three other employees who had closed with her all stepped out of the café. Cleaning had taken longer than usual tonight since they had been so busy during the day and therefore needed to restock almost everything. The sun was going down and it was twilight in the streets as Sabrina locked the doors behind them and everyone went their separate ways.

None of her coworkers seemed to notice the man sitting on a bench across the street from the café. She liked to think that they probably would have stayed with her if they did, but almost immediately she found herself alone. She and Caius were staring at one another from across the road.

He did not stand from the bench as she came toward him, and it was only when she was directly in front of him that she realized-

"Are you still wearing that fucking shirt?" Leah snapped in disbelief, staring at the now dry coffee stain that had all but ruined the crisp white fabric.

He raised an eyebrow at her as he leaned back with a smirk, "Oh I was worried you might not recognize me if I changed into something else. You've already proven you can be pretty daft."

"And you've already proven you can be quite an asshole." Leah countered

"Quite." Caius agreed, still grinning. "I must say you really have to be desperate to keep your crappy barista job if you're willing to personally clean my shirt for me. You really don't want to be sent home that badly? Your stupid little boyfriend really hurt you that much that you need to cross an ocean to cope with it?"

Leah knew she couldn't tell him he was wrong. When he had guessed at this earlier and she had poured the rest of the coffee on him she had all but proven him right with her reaction.

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black." Leah snapped at him. Of course, she wasn't positive she was right in the assumption that he had been broken up with too – his reaction to her claim of him being stood up hadn't been as obvious as he reaction to him talking about an ex – but she just had a gut feeling there was something there as well.

Caius stood, and that patronizing expression was back on his face. "With your smart mouth I wouldn't have pegged you as a coward."

"I'm not a coward for refusing to acknowledge the ex who dumped me days after I introduced him to my cousin and wanting to get away from all the pitying looks at home because said cousin just asked me to be a bridesmaid in their wedding." She would have screamed the words if she could, they felt so good to finally get out, but her anger was so intense that the words were hardly more than a bitter whisper.

Blondies eyebrows shot up, "Wow. That's… fucked. Honestly. That's fucked."

"Thank you!" Leah exploded, throwing her hands up in the air, "Finally someone fucking gets it!"

It was silent for a few heart beats.

"And what's your deal?" She grumbled at him, watching as his expression went hard for a brief second before he sighed.

"My wife left me rather abruptly because she found someone more suitable for her." Caius answered begrudgingly.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one who's bitter." Leah scoffed. She appraised Caius again, looking him up and down just like she had in the café earlier. But this time it wasn't to be bitchy, this time it was an actual speculation.

Even though he wasn't her usual type, he definitely was a fine piece of ass.

And the look Caius was giving her showed that he was probably thinking the exact same thing.

After all, what better way to get over someone than to get under someone else?

"So... are we fuckin' or killin' each other tonight?" Leah asked when their eyes met after appraising one another, her words causing him to chuckle.

"Oh, I'll leave that part up to you."

"Let's go back to my studio then... so I can take care of your shirt."

Caius smirked at her, waving a hand in front of him vaguely. "Lead the way."

#caius volturi #leah clearwater #oneshot #twilight fanfiction #twilight rennaisance #twilight saga #volturi #volturi fanfiction #volturi one shot

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flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash · 5 years

Text

The Main Course - Jim Hopper x Reader

Summary: Hopper gets stood up on his date, so you decide to make a move.

Characters: Jim Hopper x female reader

Words: 6,816

Warnings: smut, age gap, size kink, unprotected sex, language/dirty talk, Hopper being sexy af

The Main Course

Placing freshly baked pasta down in front of the middle-aged couple at table 5, you turned and headed back towards the kitchen, wishing this night would just be over already. A glance at the clock showed that it was almost 7pm, which meant that, unfortunately, the place wouldn’t die down for at least another hour or two. And since one of the other waitresses had called in sick, leaving you to close the restaurant alone tonight, you’d be happy to get out of here before midnight.

You had been a waitress at Enzo’s for the past three summers in a row, and while it wasn’t your dream gig, it helped save up some extra money before classes resumed in the fall. You were about to start your senior year of college, which meant that this was most likely (and hopefully) your last summer as a waitress, the plan being to move onto bigger and better opportunities after graduation.

Until then, this was your reality: wearing an uncomfortable uniform while balancing trays of food, dodging spills, and giving your customers a fake smile in the hopes that they might add a little extra to their tip.

The clinking of forks on plates mixed with the soothing, yet lively, notes coming from the string quartet. It covered up the creak of the double wooden front doors, so that at first you didn’t notice someone new had even walked in. However, you had just finished refilling a patron’s wine glass when a glance to the left caused you to freeze in surprise at the man who had just entered.

The tall, imposing figure was wearing a surprisingly casual (and bright) Hawaiian shirt underneath a beige blazer and light blue Wranglers. It was a bit of an odd ensemble, but if any man could pull it off, it was the one and only Chief Jim Hopper.

Up until now you had only seen the chief in his uniform, and though part of you lamented its absence, you had to admit that he still looked good. Better than good. He looked delicious. His shoulders appeared even wider than usual in the blazer, and his broad chest filled out what should’ve been a ridiculous-looking shirt, instead making it sexy and masculine. There was even a row of buttons down the front, which made your lips twitch upwards into a tiny smirk. Oh, the fantasies you’d had about unbuttoning Jim out of his shirt. Usually it was his uniform you imagined, but this one was also going into the spank bank for later.

In case it wasn’t already obvious from your thoughts, you had it bad for Hawkins’ chief of police. As a teenager, you’d found the older man to be intimidating and abrasive. But now, as an adult...he was still an older man who was intimidating and abrasive, but that was a large part of his appeal. You couldn’t help but imagine all the ways he could utilize that sharp tongue and wicked mouth, not to mention the mental image of his smug face pressed between your open and willing thighs. Just the thought of all that powerful man on top of you, of the things he could do to your body...

Realizing that you had been standing dumbstruck and staring for way longer than was necessary, you jolted back into action and went to check on another table. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Hopper was seated in the middle of the room, and it wasn’t purely coincidence that you next went to wait on a table right beside his. While writing down the customer's order, you also kept an ear on the conversation Hopper was having with his own waiter. He ordered a double scotch, which wasn’t surprising. Then he asked for a bottle of Chianti, which was surprising. You had to stifle a smirk at the adorable way he butchered the name of the wine, knowing that his waiter, a stuffy jerk named Tom, wouldn’t appreciate the faux pas one bit.

Finished taking your table’s order, you walked slow as molasses back in the direction of the kitchen, still listening intently to the men’s discussion. When Hopper asked for two wine glasses, one for him and one “for the lady,” a jolt of shock went through you at the realization of why the usually casual man was gracing the most upscale restaurant in the area. He was here on a date!

From what you had gathered around town, Hopper wasn’t one to take women out to dinner, instead being more the type to bed ‘em and move on to the next. You instantly wondered who the woman was and why he had picked her for the date. Okay, so you were maybe, quite possibly...just a tad bit...jealous as fuck.

For the next hour, you kept checking on Hopper out of the corner of your eye. He was too fixated on watching the front doors to notice your spying, and as the minutes ticked by, you got more and more anxious to see who would join him.

By the time it was almost 8pm, Hopper had finished his scotch and half the bottle of wine. His hair was a bit ruffled from running his hands through it in increasing frustration, and while he didn’t appear completely drunk, at this rate he was well on his way. Disbelief and an ember of anger pooled in your stomach the longer you watched him. There were plenty of women who would’ve killed to be here with him tonight, yourself included. You wondered for the umpteenth time that evening who the hell this woman was, and why she would be a no-show for a date with such a stud of a man.

Suddenly, an idea hit you. A totally insane, utterly ridiculous...possibly genius idea. It was very likely that this would be your last chance to interact with Hopper before leaving town for college. And once you graduated, who knows when or how often you’d come back to Hawkins. Maybe, just maybe, tonight’s events had unfolded to your advantage.

The important question was, could you go through with it? Worst-case scenario was he’d laugh in your face and say something condescending in front of the entire restaurant. No big deal, you’d only be traumatized for life, never able to show your face here again. But the best-case scenario...you almost stumbled at the thought, ice clinking loudly as the drinks on your tray came dangerously close to sloshing over the edge. Pull yourself together, damnit!

Once the drinks were served and you had overanalyzed the idea to the point that your palms were sweaty and the snug, white button-down shirt felt as though it was constricting your ability to breath, you made up your mind.

It was now or never.

Pulling out your order pad and pencil, you scribbled down a quick, but flirty, message: Her loss, but I’d love for it to be my gain. You considered writing down your number, but since you were staying with your parents over the summer, didn’t want to risk him calling there and your mother or, heaven forbid, your father answering. Besides, he knew where you worked, so it shouldn’t be hard for him to find you if this panned out in a positive direction. Ripping the piece of paper off the pad and folding it in half, you tucked it into the front pocket of your apron.

Before you could totally lose your nerve, you went over to the table next to his, giving the young couple their receipt and wishing them a fantastic evening. Taking a deep breath, you turned around and took the two steps needed to put your hip inches away from Hopper. Pulling out the piece of paper, you discreetly slid it across the table in front of him. He looked up with furrowed brows, probably expecting to see Tom. When his eyes instead found you, a flicker of surprise shot through them. Not wanting to stick around too long and draw the attention of others, you gave what was hopefully a flirty smile, lightly laid your palm on his blazer-covered forearm for a split second, then spun and quickly headed back for the kitchen, praying with each step that you didn’t stumble or run into anyone.

It wasn’t until you made it back through the swinging doors that you were able to let out the breath you’d been holding. Holy shit, you couldn’t believe you had just done that! You really really wished you could see his face when he read the note, but you also didn’t want to risk the humiliation if he laughed or flat out denied your offer. A few minutes later, one of your table’s food orders was ready and anxiety darted through you at the thought of walking back out into the dining room, wondering if Hopper was still there and if he’d say anything.

He was still there, his back to the kitchen and broad shoulders keeping you from seeing what he had done with the note. Heading over to the correct table, you felt the heavy weight of someone watching as you set down the food in front of your customers. When you were done and turned back for the kitchen, sure enough, Hopper’s gaze was zeroed in on you. Goosebumps rose on your arms at his piercing stare and the way he seemed to be intently analyzing you. He was twirling the folded note between his fingers casually, and you were pretty sure your panties became damp at the slow, knowing smile that passed across his face.

Suddenly, he stood up from the table, running into Tom in the process. The waiter had just been coming to check on him, probably in hopes that he was going to leave soon and free up the table for someone who actually wanted to order food. The affronted look on his face when Hopper grabbed the mostly empty bottle of wine and made to leave caused you to give a huffed laugh. Tom was frantically telling the taller man that he couldn’t take any alcohol off the premises, to which Hopper gave a rather impolite noise and growled, “I can do anything I want. I’m the chief of police.”

With that, he strode out of the restaurant, nearby diners staring in shock at the disgruntled man who had caused such a scene. You personally found any situation that ruffled Tom’s feathers to be amusing, but couldn’t help the zing of disappointment that Hopper hadn’t said anything to you before leaving. Sure, he hadn’t laughed or embarrassed you, but his lack of any response other than the stare and smirk caused you to second-guess writing the note in the first place.

Trying to ignore your inner self-doubt, you refocused on customers. However, a little voice in your head kept whispering that you should’ve known better. Why would an older, successful, and sexy as hell man like Chief Hopper be interested in a much younger college student who didn’t even have the guts to actually say anything to him, instead passing a note like you were still in high school. Besides, he had obviously set his sights on someone else tonight, and if she was amazing enough for him to invite on a date, then you probably didn’t even compare.

Determined to shut down the negative thoughts and forget the entire fiasco, you pushed it to the back of your mind and spent the next two hours waiting tables until your feet were sore. You were beyond relieved when 10pm arrived and you were able to close and lock the doors. The string quartet and other waiting staff had left at that point, and the cook was quick to follow. Once the last round of silverware had been washed and folded, you also sent the dishwasher on their way, leaving only you and the vacuum to finish the evening.

Once the tables were all scrubbed clean and the floors vacuumed of any crumbs, all that was left to do was take out a couple remaining bags of trash. Hefting them over your shoulder, you went out the back door and walked across the dimly lit area to the nearby dumpster. Hauling the last bag in, you eagerly looked forward to going back inside, grabbing your purse, and getting the hell out of there. However, you made it halfway to the door before almost screaming in alarm at the realization that you weren’t alone.

The dark outline of a man was leaning against the brick wall beside the back door, and the fact that you hadn’t even noticed him when first coming outside was enough to send a chill down your spine. He was hidden in shadows, only the tiny orange dot of his cigarette visible, which glowed brightly as he inhaled. You started to panic, thoughts of being robbed or assaulted flashing through your head.

“Leave me alone! Or I swear I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Call the cops?” came the husky and amused response.

Recognizing the voice, your shoulders slumped in relief. “Holy shit, Hopper! You scared the crap out of me!”

A low chuckle came out of the darkness, and your initial fear morphed instantly into desire at the sound. You wondered what he was doing lurking around the restaurant after hours, refusing to be so hopeful as to think it was because of you.

“What did you mean by that note?”

“Huh?”

Oh shit, maybe he was here because of you, after all. Your palms started to sweat at the realization that you honestly hadn’t planned this far ahead. After he had left the restaurant without a word, you hadn’t thought he’d respond to the note at all, let alone tonight.

Standing there under the dim glow of a nearby streetlight, while he was still shrouded in darkness, you suddenly felt out of your element. Here is your chance! You wanted his attention and now you’ve got it, so don’t mess this up!

Before you could come up with a better explanation, he questioned you again. “What did you mean by ‘your gain’? Were you hoping I’d wine and dine you, treat you like a lady?”

You could hear the evident sarcasm in his voice, and knew in that moment he was expecting it to be exactly what you wanted. He probably saw you as some naive girl with romantic stars in her eyes, and would turn and walk away if that were the case. However, the fact that he had still wanted to suss out your expectations meant that at least some part of him must be curious. Your note had served as the proper bait, but now you had to use the right words to reel him in.

“Being wined and dined is overrated.” Walking a few steps closer, you were still unable to make out his face in the darkness. Wishing you could see his reaction, you continued, “If there’s anything I’ve learned from waitressing, it’s that no one likes to wait for their meal. I’d rather skip the preliminaries and go straight to the main course. Enjoy it while it’s hot.”

You were honestly pretty damn proud of yourself for getting all that out without any hesitation or stuttering. Now that the possibility of having Hopper was within your grasp, you didn’t want to mess it up. You wanted to fuck a real man, to fuck this man, before you could move on from this town with no regrets.

Evidently, he hadn’t been expecting that response. There was an extended period of silence, as if he were processing your words. You then saw the orange dot fall as he flicked the cigarette to the ground and finally stepped out of the darkness, stalking towards you with the same focused stare as earlier in the restaurant. The intensity on his face caused a flicker of fear, and you wondered if this was a mistake, being alone with him this late at night.

That thought quickly dissipated as your body took over, arousal coursing through you at the sight of all that attractive man headed in your direction. He was so tall, his shadow quickly eclipsing your own as he closed the distance, the top of your head not quite reaching his shoulders. You barely had time to notice that the suit jacket was gone, leaving him in the green and pink patterned shirt and tight blue jeans, before he was on you.

His large hand cupped the back of your head, and a second later you were kissing. Chief. Hopper!

Instinct took over, as your lips opened in submission to his. A whimper escaped your throat when he dove in with no hesitation, staking his claim and leaving no doubt as to who was in charge. He pressed his broad body up into yours as his other hand gripped the side of your waist, the scratch of his mustache on your top lip and beard stubble on your chin a reminder that this wasn’t some hormonal frat boy. There was no mistaking that Hopper was all man and, in return, he made you feel like a desirable woman. The fact that you had evoked this reaction in him was enough to make you light-headed...or maybe that was just the lack of oxygen from being kissed to within an inch of your life.

Using his larger frame, he herded you backwards, your body automatically following his command and backing up step by step, out of the dimly lit area and towards the shadows of the building. The hard surface of the brick wall pressed into your back, but you barely noticed, too fixated on the man in front of you. His mouth trailed downwards, and your head fell back into the wall as he sucked on the side of your throat. Gripping his shoulders to help anchor your suddenly wobbly knees, you moaned when he found a particularly sensitive spot where your neck sloped down into your shoulder.

You felt him smile against your skin, before he lifted his mouth to your ear and purred, “I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, baby girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his deep voice, his words causing puffs of warm air to ruffle tendrils of your hair. Struggling to make your last remaining brain cells function properly enough to respond, you whispered, “Then why don’t you show me, Chief?”

His answering groan made you mentally fist pump in glee, as well as tuck away the knowledge that the title was an apparent turn-on for him. His mouth descended on yours again, at the same time that his hands started untucking the bottom of your shirt. Thankfully, you had taken off the apron earlier while vacuuming, leaving you in a white button-down and slightly-above-the-knee black skirt. You didn’t even hesitate to lift your arms from Hopper’s shoulders when he pulled the shirt up and over your head. It was quickly followed by him also taking off the white cami you wore underneath, leaving you clad in just a light pink bra from the waist up.

You were about to lift your head for another kiss when you felt his hands at your back, and suddenly the bra was also being pulled away. He was wasting no time getting you undressed, and you suddenly realized that, unless you put a stop to it, he was going to fuck you outside and up against this very wall. You probably should’ve been shocked or offended by this, the thought of someone stumbling upon the two of you flickering in the back of your mind, but you were honestly too dead set on knowing what Hopper’s cock felt like inside you to care. Being the recipient of such intense male desire filled you with excitement, anticipation, and a bit of fear. The combination of emotions was exhilarating, and served to increase your own desire even further.

Once your bra was off and flung to the side, Hopper froze and slowly leaned back. Looking up, you felt your panties dampen further at the way he was intensely taking in every exposed inch of flesh, stifling a whimper when he licked his bottom lip.

You gasped softly when his large, warm palms cupped both your breasts, lifting and pressing them together as he stared in awe. “Look at you, baby. You’re so fucking pretty. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here, pushed up against a dirty wall and asking to be fucked by a man twice her age?” His voice was raspy with desire, and both that and the taboo words combined to ramp up your own arousal.

Your panting breaths must not have been enough response for him, because he pinched your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until you let out a moan. Giving a slow, devilish smirk, he continued, “You like that though, don’t you, little girl? You want me to fuck you, to show you just how hard the chief’s dick can make you come. Isn’t that right?”

A harder twist to your nipples made you cry out with the pleasure-pain, your eyes darting up to lock onto his. “I said, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Nodding frantically, you choked out, “Yes, yes...please…”

“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want.”

Brain foggy with arousal, you fought to string together the words needed to express what you wanted. What you needed. “I want you to touch me and fuck me...please, Chief...make me come. Please...do whatever you want with me.”

An anguished groan was his response, the primal sound making your cunt clench with desire, begging to be filled. It seemed your words were the catalyst needed to unleash the beast, as Hopper dropped his head to your breasts at the same time he reached one hand down under your skirt and pushed it up your thighs. A wordless cry left your throat when his lips wrapped around your left nipple, and you trembled like a leaf caught in the wind when he used both palms to push at your inner thighs until they were spread obscenely wide for him. A loud rip a few seconds later, followed by a cool breeze in an unexpected area, told you that he had torn off the flimsy fabric of your panties. This reminder of his size and strength only increased your desire to feel all that power between your thighs, to have him claim your body as his.

He used lips, tongue, and even teeth until your nipple was rock-hard and so raw and sensitive that you weren’t sure if the pathetic little noises you were making were a plea for him to keep going or slow down. He then switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment until you felt dizzy with the sensations. You were so focused on what he was doing to your nipples, that when he moved his hand up between your spread legs and ran a warm, calloused finger along your slit, it was all you could do to keep yourself leveraged against the wall and not fall at his feet.

As if sensing your impending inability to remain upright, Hopper lifted his head from your breasts and stepped in closer, his chest pressed into yours and hand cupped between your thighs possessively. When one thick finger pushed up into your dripping pussy, it was all you could do to remember how to breathe. After a few deep, slow thrusts he added a second finger. The slight burn as you stretched around his digits was yet another reminder of his size...of what even bigger and thicker appendage awaited you.

“Fuck, you’re tight. You sure you can even take my cock, little girl?”

Nails clutching his biceps through the shirt as he thrust in and out of your body, you panted, “Yes, I want it. Make me take it. Make me yours.”

A string of curses, followed by his hand speeding up its movements, served to make your thighs clench and head fall back against the wall. Caught between his large body and the hard brick, you were unable to do anything except stand there and take it. The wet squelch his fingers made with each thrust was a testament to how much his filthy words were affecting you, your body greedily sucking him in and voicing its protest each time he retreated.

You could feel your body ramping up to climax, muscles straining for release and walls beginning to flutter around his fingers. Then, suddenly, his hand was gone, a hoarse groan of need voicing your displeasure as the peak receded before you could reach it. Looking up at him in shock, you tried to form the words to ask why the fuck he had stopped. Instead, your breath hitched when he did something completely unexpected...and dropped to his knees.

“What…” your brain was unable to comprehend the situation, while every fiber of your body was screaming in excitement as he lifted one of your legs and draped it over his massive shoulder.

Gaze fixated on what was between your spread thighs, he growled out, “How about a little dessert before the main course?”

With that, he shoved your skirt even higher around your waist, leaned forward, and put his face between your thighs. The scratch of his facial hair mixed with his hot, wet mouth on your pussy served to make your brain stop working and body freeze in shock before instinctively arching towards him. His tongue tried to gather as much of the dripping wetness from you as it could reach, the feel of his tongue pushing inside you causing your legs to shake. When his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked, you were done for. Between being primed by his fingers, the sensations of his mouth, and the sight of the big, tough Chief of Police kneeling with his face buried in your cunt, it took a ridiculously short amount of time for you to once again be hurtled up towards the peak of pleasure.

Part of you wanted to try and make it last as long as possible, wanting this memory to forever be burned into your brain. The other part of you was too overwhelmed to do anything other than garble unintelligibly and pull at his hair as you hurtled over the edge. Shudders wracked your body as waves of euphoria radiated out from where his mouth was attached to your clit. The leg still on the ground started to collapse, but Hopper’s hands were anchored at your hips and kept you stable as he continued to work you through the orgasm.

When the shaking had reduced to tiny tremors and your over-sensitized clit begged for mercy, you pushed weakly at his head until he pulled back and looked up. His mouth and chin were shiny with your release, and his eyes darkened as a primal sound of need left your lips at the sight.

Gently removing your leg from his shoulder, he made sure you were steadied against the wall before letting go of your hips and raising to his full height once again. A flicker of uncertainty came over his face, as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d want to take this any further. Pfft, as if I’d stop just because I got to come already, you thought, and reached out to do what you had been fantasizing about for years: undoing Hopper’s buttons.

You were too focused on getting each button undone to see the relief on his face at your willingness to continue. Desire reignited between your thighs as each inch of flesh was slowly revealed, and it felt like both a second and an eternity before the buttons were all free and the shirt was hanging open. You pushed it off his shoulders and Hopper shrugged it the rest of the way off, letting it drop to the ground.

He appeared even larger without the shirt, if that were even possible. You hadn’t really seen his biceps exposed before, and they bulged with thick muscle that came not from a gym but from hours out in the field. He might not be one of the ripped meatheads that some women preferred, but there was a strength and size to him that spoke to you on a deep, primal level. His masculinity called to your femininity, and you wanted nothing more than for him to showcase his maleness in the most basic way possible: by fucking you until you screamed.

Obviously reaching his limit with letting you look your fill, he moved into action and started unbuckling his belt. Not wanting any barriers to get in the way, you quickly shoved the skirt, which was scrunched around your waist, down your legs and onto the ground with the other garments. Naked as the day you were born, you leaned back against the wall and watched Hopper with anticipation, eyes locked on the impressive bulge in his pants that was about to be unveiled.

His eyes were on you in return, scanning lewdly up and down your exposed body as he pulled down the zipper on his jeans. Pushing off both the denim and his boxer briefs in the same fluid movement, he kicked them to the side, leaving him naked before you.

And holy hell was naked Hopper a sight to behold! You were suddenly incredibly glad he had prepped you with an orgasm first, as it was going to take all the lubrication at your body’s disposal to take him in. He easily had the largest cock you’d ever been with, and you’d actually be pretty worried about the mechanics if you weren’t so far gone with lust.

As if reading your mind, he took the massive organ in his fist and started stroking up and down slowly. “Is this what you wanted, little girl?”

Mesmerized by his size and the way in which the reddened tip had a drop of fluid leaking from the tip, you felt any initial hesitancy float away. You wanted that cock inside you, and weren’t about to back out now. Nodding, you finally tore your eyes away from the sight and locked eyes with him, giving a raspy, “Please.”

Lips quirking upwards, he stepped forward, his naked body pressing into yours and causing you to gasp. He was so big and hard, making you feel tiny and soft in comparison. When his cock prodded your stomach, you were unable to resist temptation. Hopper groaned in agonized pleasure when your fist wrapped around him, and you only got in a few strokes before he pulled your hand away.

He reached down between your bodies, causing an instant shudder and your thighs to fall open instinctively for him. He gave a hum of approval, gathering some of your wetness on his fingers. You watched as he lifted the glistening digits to his dick and transferred the fluids, so that he was coated with your natural lubrication.

Too busy being mesmerized by the sight of your arousal on his cock, you were startled when he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted. Body responding automatically, you wrapped your legs around his hips and arms around his neck. The fact that he could lift and situate you to his liking with barely any effort was sexy as hell, and you didn’t even notice the uncomfortably hard wall at your back since Hopper owned something even harder that held your attention.

His cock bobbed underneath your ass, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were literally dripping onto it at this point, already overwhelmed by the feel of his naked and aroused body pressed up against you. When he reached down with one hand to grab his dick and rub it along your folds, you gave a needy whimper and squirmed in impatience. While you were glad he was taking the time to utilize all the lubrication available, you were about to scream with frustration if he didn’t fill you soon, the emptiness in your pussy an almost painful throb at this point. Giving a soft sob of relief when he finally positioned the head at your entrance, your thighs tightened around him in encouragement as he started pushing inside.

It quickly became apparent that, despite your arousal, this was going to be a tight fit. A shaky gasp was all you could manage when the flared part of his head stretched you with a slight burn. Pausing for a few seconds so that the two of you could catch your breath and regroup, he then pulled back slightly before pushing forward again. He was patient, but insistent, working his way into your body inch by inch until your world was narrowed down to the feel of his massive cock claiming you. When the stretch became too overwhelming, your nails dug into the back of his neck. It was a signal he thankfully acknowledged, halting again before pulling back and thrusting shallowly until you were better adjusted and ready for more.

“That’s it, baby, relax and let me in. I can feel your tight little pussy stretching around my dick, begging for more.”

His words made you dizzy with desire. The pleasure-pain of taking him in, combined with his primal enjoyment of conquering you to an extent that it was obvious no man had before, caused a myriad of overwhelming sensations and emotions. With a groan of satisfaction, he thrust the entire way inside, a slight shudder passing through his large body at the feel of you totally encompassing his cock. You clung to him, unable to speak or moan or even whimper, his cock filling you so full that it was as if it had reached up to your lungs and stole the breath right out of your body.

Your vocal cords decided to restart when he slowly pulled most of the way out and then thrust the entire way back in without pausing. Giving a needy cry, your walls involuntarily clamped down on him when he started to withdraw again, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a wrecked moan. The sound shot through you, causing more wetness to coat his dick and your back to arch so that your hardened nipples scraped deliciously against his chest hair.

Gripping your hips tightly, he started up a steady and intense rhythm, pulling back until just the tip was inside before thrusting deep, causing you to stretch around him again and again. It was as if he was trying to recreate that initial penetration with each thrust, and the sensation of him claiming you over and over made your eyes roll back in your head.

“So wet, baby. So wet and tight for me,” he murmured into your neck.

Trying to also verbalize your pleasure, you got out a few garbled words before your voice broke at the end, “Yes...oh, god...so good...please.”

He must’ve gotten the message because his pace picked up a bit, the heavy drag of his thick cock hitting every pleasurable nerve ending until you were softly whispering please over and over without even realizing it.

“That’s it, baby. I like it when you beg for me.”

With that, he moved a hand downwards and placed two fingers on your clit. The effect was immediate, a hoarse cry echoing out into the night as the pleasure became almost unbearable. You were poised on the edge of something earth-shattering, and it was beckoning for you to fall over the edge and into the abyss.

“Fuck, yes. You gonna come for me, baby? Be a good girl and come on my cock.”

Those words gave your body the final push it needed. Your pussy clenched down on his cock as the orgasm ripped through you, teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle your scream. These weren’t the typical waves or ripples of pleasure; your body was instead overcome with jolts of rapture so intense that it almost felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt the electric pulses race from your flexed toes to the top of your head, and everywhere in between. Your vision blanked out as the world narrowed down to Hopper and the bliss he was providing, as he continued to thrust and work your clit, intent on wringing as much pleasure from you as possible. A distant-sounding groan came from above you, followed by the warm gushes of Hopper’s own release, the added sensation causing you to gasp and tremble against him.

When your body came back down to Earth, muscles still randomly jerking with the aftereffects, you felt as though your entire body was humming with boneless contentment. Hopper must’ve been feeling something similar, as he had collapsed into you, pressing you so tightly into the wall that it was almost hard to breathe. But you didn’t mind; if being smothered by his naked, sweaty body was how you went out of this world then...well, no one could say you’d died unhappy.

After a few long moments of trying to catch both your breaths, he gathered his strength and lifted his weight off of you. Unwrapping your legs from his waist and biting your lip to stifle the whimper of loss when his cock left your body, you slid down until your feet were on the ground. A bit unsure what to do or say next, you were relieved when he leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t as intense as before; instead, it was slow, gentle, and reassuring. The gesture let you know that he wasn’t going to turn into a jerk the moment his cock was limp and he’d had his fill of you, and you were grateful to him for it. Bending down, he picked up your bra and skirt, handing the garments to you while he fished his own briefs and jeans from the ground. It was a good thing it was late and there wasn’t likely to be anyone else around, since you both were going to have some hard-to-explain dirt stains on your clothing.

Once all of the garments were located and you were both fully dressed, you walked back inside the restaurant with Hopper following behind. Ever the protector, he scanned the empty space while you grabbed your purse and the keys to lock up, trying to ignore your still-shaky legs and the feel of your combined releases dripping into the crotch of your underwear. When the doors were locked and the building secured, he made sure to walk you down the block to your car. While the gesture was appreciated, you tried not to hide your disappointment when he didn’t even say goodbye as you got in and closed the door. However, once you had turned the key in the ignition, you heard a tap on the driver’s window. Glancing up, you saw that he was leaning down with one arm resting on the roof of the car and peering in at you.

Rolling down the window, you looked at him expectantly. He appeared almost uncertain at first, glancing downwards for a few seconds before meeting your gaze and giving a warm smile.

“In case I don’t see you beforehand...good luck with your senior year.”

Not expecting the kind words, it took a few seconds to respond. Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “Well, I got to finish the summer by marking you off my bucket list, so I’d say luck is in my favor this year.”

You saw his eyes widen and eyebrows lift in surprise. “I was on your bucket list?”

Giving a saucy grin, you honestly replied, “Chief, you were the bucket list.”

With that, you leaned out of the window and gave him a peck on the cheek, causing him to give a boyish grin that made you feel giddy. He stood up from the car, allowing you to put it in drive and pull out. Looking into the rearview window, you saw him stare after you for a few seconds before turning towards his own vehicle. While there was a bittersweet part of you that wanted to wish for more, you knew that this was how it was meant to end.

One of these days, you’d find your own Hopper. A man who went out of his comfort zone to meet you at a fancy Italian restaurant, who wanted to wine and dine you…and then fuck you senseless up against a wall.

Until then, you had other things to focus on in life, and exciting adventures that awaited you outside of Hawkins. Not to mention you now had a new memory to replay over and over...the memory of what had been the best night of your life. Smiling to yourself, you turned up the radio just as one of your favorite songs came on, and sang along the entire way home.

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

Text

My sexual re-education in the Unification Church

All that heaven allows

I learned the identity of my husband-to-be at the end of a forty-day Divine Principle workshop. Situated in upstate New York, the Unification theological seminary had the hushed libraries, dorms and chapel of a medieval monastery. As my footsteps echoed through the stark, stone hallways, I imagined hooded friars whispering beside me. On the final evening, a Korean minister announced from a pulpit the name and nationality of each student’s “eternal spouse.” Mine was Gabriel from Ecuador.

One week after the workshop, all eligible members were sent to Korea, where we would be blessed in marriage along with 30,000 other couples. Gabriel and I met for the first time in the waiting room at JFK airport. I wore a navy skirt suit, my hair in a french pleat. Gabriel wore a gray jacket, white shirt and gray tie, his wiry hair slicked back into a solid black helmet. I’m five-four; he was a significant inch shorter than me. In our photographs from that day, we stand inches away from each other, staring at opposite ends of space, our bodies pointing keenly apart, our lips stretched vaguely upward in imitations of smiles.

One of the sisters with whom I shared a room said Gabriel looked like a miniature Sylvester Stallone. Another said he was the best-looking brother of the bunch. Occasionally I see someone and immediately feel that I want to know them better. Gabriel’s face did not have that quality. I felt bemused as I regarded this person — my soul mate — who was a total stranger. If he had approached me in the street, I would have walked away.   

Two years earlier, in 1990, I had walked away from my family, my apartment in London, my friends, and the man I loved to enter the Unification Church, a.k.a. “the Moonies,” a Christian sect which originated in Korea and is led by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, who claimed that Jesus Christ had appeared to him when he was sixteen. I had just produced a TV documentary called Soul-Searching, which was funded by the Arts Council of Great Britain. One of the men I interviewed was a Unification Church member named Jurgen.

After the documentary was finished, I crossed Jurgen’s path several times in one week. This seemed fateful. On my way home from the Cafe de Paris one night, I saw him standing on Charing Cross Road, a tall, potbellied, balding German with sensual lips and cold sores, drenched with rain at three a.m. I wondered: what would possess anyone to stand outside at all hours, in any weather, to ask people to talk about the “purpose of life”? 

We talked. Jurgen told me about the “Divine Principle,” which I later learned was Unification theology. He explained that true love could exist only in a monogamous marriage, blessed by God, and that my relationship with my lover was wrong. He promised that if I dedicated my life to God, my brother, who had recently been diagnosed with schizophrenia, would be healed.

Tired of my unfaithful lover and frustrated by my inability to help my brother, I was attracted to the extreme nature of the group. They asked me to leave my life behind, claimed they had a living messiah. I agreed to try it out for three months, knowing that once I was in, it would not be so easy to walk away.

I felt pious when I covered my body in frumpy pantsuits, shaved off my hair (against the church’s wishes), spent my days raising money for the church, praying and vowing never again to think about sex. During four years of living in church centers in London, Edinburgh and New York, I enjoyed cultivating my lack of desire, pushing out thoughts of sex the instant they surfaced, focusing on one aim: I will save my brother. I will do anything necessary to help those who are suffering.

▲ The author with Gabriel during the marriage ceremony.

Inside the church centers, men and women referred to each other as brothers and sisters, to emphasize the absence of sexuality in our relationships. We slept in different areas, sat on opposite sides of the room during meetings — the brothers always above, to the right, or in front, to signify their superior status. This subtle detail sank into the minds of the women, helping them realize they were in the “object position” and should follow the men’s lead. This viewpoint was reinforced regularly: Women were shorter because they should look up to men. Women had big hips because they were made to sit down. Women couldn’t run. In sex, women should be underneath.

I heard about the blessing of marriage but imagined I would never attain the “level of perfection” necessary to participate. One elder brother defined perfection as the state whereby everyone you meet feels loved by you. I knew that my ability to love fell short.    

During the fifteen-hour flight to Seoul, I had the window seat; Gabriel took the aisle. I had no idea what to say to him. He told me that he was raised as one of nine brothers and sisters in an Ecuadorian mountain village which still had no garbage collection and barely had running water. His elder sister had nursed him at the same time as her own son. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. I grew up with my mother and brother in the English countryside, in an eccentric, artsy broken family.

“Repeat after me,” he whispered. “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero.” I knew what it meant but attached no importance to the words. “I love you.”

I remembered Jurgen’s speech to me on the night I joined the church. “Never flirt with brothers,” he had said, fixing me with a glare. This meant no touching, no staring, no flattery, no immodest body language, no fantasizing. Now I glanced at Gabriel’s steady tar-black eyes. Had I failed to learn a new set of rules now that I was preparing for marriage? Was flirting now required? Or was I supposed to maintain chastity while he taunted me with romance?

“When I saw your picture, I thought you were too old for me,” Gabriel said. I was twenty-eight. Although he was a year older, Gabriel considered himself hot, eligible and worthy of a much younger wife. “But I liked your lips,” he continued, emboldened. “I dreamt that you were a prostitute. I saw you wearing a short dress and red lipstick and you were almost falling over. I thought, that is a sick woman.” He paused, allowing this image to linger. “Tell me about your boyfriends.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about that.”

“I had sex with a prostitute,” he said, “but I believe that makes me more pure because I didn’t have a relationship with the person. I had a girlfriend also, in Ecuador, but she went out with someone else,” he continued.

I imagined Gabriel’s girlfriend, a petite, pretty Ecuadorian girl in her late teens, with thick, glossy black hair that reached down to her thighs. I imagined them dancing together at a family party, and felt sorry for him. I wished she hadn’t broken his heart.

Confused by my distraction, Gabriel leaned over. “I am a crazy lover,” he said.

I wondered if he had learned this statement from a Spanish-English phrase book under “Dating.”

For single members of the Unification Church, the topic of sex was taboo, except to admit sins or recognize the sins of others. Abstinence until marriage was required. Since most of us were no longer virgins, we had already failed and were required to start anew. Considering the misery I’d experienced because of my lover’s infidelity, abstinence appealed to my desire for peace.

Lack of sleep, intense scheduling and daily exposure to the church’s theology kept me involved. My contact with outside family and friends was almost nonexistent, and I knew nothing of news or popular culture save what was selectively analyzed by my Central Figure, or advisor, according to the church’s theology. Within three months, the thought of moving away from the church center terrified me. I shared a room with six women, woke at five a.m. for a prayer meeting, spent the day raising money or encouraging others to study the Divine Principle, then returned to sleep around ten p.m., shortly after the evening meeting. When members’ attention slackened, extra requirements were enforced, such as fasting for days or praying for hours.

For years, I never looked at a man with desire, never touched myself. To resist the occasional attractions I felt to brothers, or fantasies I had about my ex-lover, I took daily cold showers, throwing 120 buckets of icy water over my body with the intention of subjugating my subconscious mind. This took considerable time, and was done in a symmetrical pattern of ten buckets over one shoulder, ten over the other. The frigid water slapping my skin felt like a whip across my back, so cold that it burned.

   For four days, Gabriel and I stayed at the North American camp in Seoul’s Olympic Stadium. The complex was huge, housing church members from almost 200 different countries in different buildings. Our building was a flat gray rectangle. One hundred women slept next to each other in sleeping bags on the floor of one large concrete room, our possessions crammed into small plastic bags. Although our group lived in North America, most of the women were Japanese. There were less than twenty sisters originally from Europe and America. Church leaders claimed this was because Western women were self-centered, unable to subjugate to masculine will.

In the sisters’ camp, the variety of couples was the main topic of conversation. Within the church, there was an unspoken hierarchy: Asian spouses were considered most favorable, then Caucasian, then black and Hispanic. A blonde American sister who shared my room bemoaned that she was given a Dominican husband rather than a Korean. She and I wondered whether our extreme sinfulness had placed us with our non-Asian spouses. We decided it was, instead, our dedication and ability to endure difficulties. 

Gabriel waited outside our building at 6:30 every evening, his hair freshly gelled back, his shirt tucked into belted black pants. Side by side, we would walk to the meal room. I listened to Gabriel’s plans to help his hometown, and spoke little. Occasionally, I noticed him staring at my breasts and felt liberated that I could allow this without shame, since he was my betrothed.

▲ The 1992 mass marriage – publicity and profit for Sun Myung Moon.

In our week-long stay in Korea, Gabriel and I participated in three ceremonies. In the Holy Wine Ceremony, we wore white, prayed and drank a thimbleful of grape juice from a white plastic tumbler. This symbolized new blood, heralding our entry into the True Lineage. The Blessing Ceremony joined us in matrimony, as 60,000 individuals arranged geometrically in black-suited and white-gowned rows yelled “Yeh!” Our pledge, recited in Korean, expressed our resolve to sacrifice our physical and personal desires for the sake of the greater good. I had seen photographs of these ceremonies and thought they seemed like grand, empty gestures. Being a part of the event, even knowing its spiritual significance, I felt detached, like a fragment in an abstract work of art.

Finally, in the Indemnity Ceremony, each couple bestowed a symbolic beating to their partner. After listening to a speech detailing how we were to forget our past history with, and resentment toward, the opposite sex, we lined up two by two with several hundred members of the North American camp, in one of the concrete meeting rooms. We dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts. A few members arrived wearing short shorts and leather pants.

“The more you love your partner, the harder you will hit,” our Central Figure said. “Just imagine your spouse is a big baby.”

A three-hundred-pound brother beside us turned to his petite Japanese wife. “A VERY big baby!” he laughed.

▲ The Indemnity Stick Ceremony – a few members were hospitalized with injuries (several in Japan).

When we reached the front, a Korean brother handed Gabriel a wooden baseball bat, watched while he whacked me three times on the backside, then handed the bat to me. We bent over to receive our blows, and were advised to hit our partner only on the buttocks and upper thighs. After this, my only physical contact with a man for over two years, I lay on my stomach on my sleeping bag, concentrating on the tingling sensation where wood had met flesh.

   Upon returning from Korea, we were moved to different centers to continue fundraising and witnessing until we completed three years of separation from our spouse or reached the age of thirty. For the next two years, until our Three Day Ceremony, Gabriel and I were forbidden to have any physical contact. I lived in the Brooklyn church center. Gabriel lived sometimes in the Bronx center, sometimes with his family members, who had moved to Manhattan to raise money for their family back home. He studied accounting. We saw each other occasionally at religious events. I found myself daydreaming about him sometimes; I believed that fantasizing was not quite as sinful since we were married. In my imagination, our eventual union would be explosive.

Toward the end of our separation period, I moved to a church-owned hotel to work at their video post-production facility. At around the same time, Gabriel moved to work and live in the same hotel. For the first time in four years, I slept alone. In my twelve-feet square box of a room, its window facing dozens of similar rooms, I began to question if unity of purpose existed within this organization. Before, my every moment had been monitored; now, I could be gone for days before anyone would notice.

Once, I accompanied Gabriel on a visit to his family in Ecuador, failing to anticipate the difficulty of maintaining chastity away from the church. 

“If you don’t let me kiss you, I will break this blessing,” Gabriel challenged me on a street corner in Quito. Pressing me against a faux Spanish wall in eighty-degree twilight, he pushed his tongue in my mouth, grabbed my breasts in his fists.

Shortly after the kissing incident, Gabriel lay on top of me, fully clothed. The sensation of his erection pressing between my legs was so long-forgotten and exciting that I came within moments, a short, tingling burst through my stomach. I told no one. The premature kissing and closeness would have necessitated a Repentance Ceremony, and a longer separation. When I made a partial confession to my Central Figure, he let me off with a prayer.

The love of my life, whom I left to join the church, was a seductively androgynous filmmaker. With his camera, he could enhance the beauty of a homeless person or a perfect white daisy. He could laugh hysterically at some stupid joke I made, or threaten to rip out my guts if he suspected (needlessly) that I fancied someone else.

Gabriel was a steady, methodical man who rarely laughed. He drove me frantic with the slow way he set up a computer or checked his accounts. I admired his ambition and felt secure that he would never be unfaithful — his parents were nearing their sixtieth anniversary. In my mind, I built him into an icon of virtue. Secretly, I worried that I might never love freely again.

I plunged into our marriage, dutiful, determined to succeed, convinced that I was soiled goods and fortunate to be with someone so stable and faithful. Still, I was unsure of how to approach intimacy.

It was essential that I banish all memories of past experience. I could not be overenthusiastic, because our first days together would be ceremonial. So, with my mind twisting with doubt, desire and fear, we began our married life.

Two years after our wedding, I gathered our checklist of items for the Three Day Ceremony, the consummation of our marriage: 1) Two Holy Handkerchiefs. These were to wash our bodies prior to intimacy, then to collect the fluids produced by our final union in the ceremony; they were to be kept “eternally.” 2) Holy Salt. This was sprinkled over everything used for the ceremony, to sanctify the proceedings. 3) Two Holy Gowns. These ankle-length white satin gowns were to be worn before and after each act of love during the Three Day Ceremony. 4) Two Basins. These were to fill with Holy Water in which to soak the Holy Handkerchiefs before use. 5) A picture of True Parents. Since the fall of Adam and Eve occurred out of the sight of God, this picture of Rev. and Mrs. Moon stood in for God’s eyes. 6) Two cushions to designate the places of True Parents. 7) A Shim Jung (True Heart) candle.

The first night of the ceremony, I arrived at our room in the church-owned hotel at nine. It was on the nineteenth floor, with windows facing the Empire State Building on the east and the Chrysler Building to the south. Gabriel returned from college at ten, pulled out a book on accounting and a folder, and sat at the desk to write.

“What time should we start?” I asked.

He didn’t look up. “I have to finish my homework. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Still wearing my black skirt and white shirt, I lay on the tightly made bed and closed my eyes. No thoughts came, just the distant roar of traffic on Thirty-Fourth Street, the smell of sterile linen. When he finally said my name, I was startled.

“I’ve finished,” he said. “Shall we do it now?”

I pulled the pamphlet of instructions out of my bag. We showered separately, never having seen each other naked. After he emerged, I took my turn in the steamy bathroom, then put on my new underwear. Our undergarments had to be new for each day of the ceremony; black satin felt luxurious after the baggy cotton underpants I’d been slouching around in for years. I dressed in my ivory wedding gown, and over that my white holy robe. The sash of my robe was decorated with pink beads, Gabriel’s trim was green.  

“What’s next?” He sat impatiently on the side of the bed. “I have to get up early for class.”

“We’re supposed to pray.” I placed the red-and-green embroidered cushions in front of the prayer table I had set up. A picture of Rev. and Mrs. Moon glared out humorlessly, next to the white, vanilla-scented holy candle.

We bowed to the ground in front of the picture, and prayed for four minutes.

“All right, let’s do it now.” Gabriel threw off his holy robe and lay on the bed in his underpants. His body looked small and dark on the king-size bed. I removed my clothing, then his underpants.

In the first part of the ceremony, the woman had to be on top, symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s act of love with Lucifer. After two minutes of foreplay, I guided him inside me. Instantly, I felt the emotional disconnect. It was the first time I had felt a man inside me for four years, and it felt good, but there was no holy passion, no divine ecstasy. I moved on top of him, concentrated on bringing him to an orgasm, then removed myself and lay next to him.

Our ritualistic act of love was over in ten minutes. We wiped the fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs.

The official handbook said, “Go to sleep in peace. Sleep in pajamas and nightgown. Do not have a physical relationship outside of the content of the ceremony.” We lay on our backs next to each other, not touching, nor speaking. 

The next evening we repeated the same ritual, this time symbolizing the restoration of Eve’s fall with Adam. We hardly spoke; there was nothing to say. When Gabriel withdrew, still erect, I was confused. According to the pamphlet, penetration should happen only once on each day. Seeing Gabriel’s distress, I decided it would be acceptable to bring him to an orgasm with my mouth. His satisfaction relieved me, but I felt no emotional closeness.

The next day, our final ritualistic act of love was completed in less than ten minutes. We wiped the resulting fluids onto our Holy Handkerchiefs, which I had embroidered with a red X for him, and a red Y for me. Observing the clear, slippery fluid on the handkerchief, I held it to my nose, thought of a baby’s head on a sunny, salty beach. Not allowing our skin to touch, we lay beside each other on cold, white hotel sheets.

“So we can’t do it again for twenty-four hours?” Gabriel asked, matter-of-factly.

“I guess not.” I lay there dry, untouched. I was flooded with desire that had no possibility of fulfillment. Would Gabriel and I ever laugh together? Would we ravish each other in an elevator, or in a parking lot? Would we even hold hands and kiss on the street? I wanted to feel wholehearted attraction to, and passion for, my partner. This man knew nothing about me, nor did he care to find out. 

After the twenty-four-hour waiting period, Gabriel and I took every possible opportunity to get close to each other. Our conversations were nonexistent, yet we attempted to sate our physical loneliness in each other. We met during our lunch break, had sex propped on a bathroom sink, in bed, on the floor, sometimes several times a day. For him, sex seemed mainly a release of tension; for me, it was a welcome distraction from the tedium of work.

Six weeks after we first slept together, I felt the trembling super-reality and nausea that told me I was pregnant. Nine months later, I gave birth to a daughter. She emerged red-skinned, black-haired, screaming. I held her to me like an extension of my body for the next nine months. Soon I was pregnant again, this time with a son: soft-eyed, unblinking, trying to crawl as soon as he drew breath.

Two miscarriages later, sex with Gabriel — at first a hopeful distraction — became a fearful thing. Contraception was forbidden, but I couldn’t bring more children into the lonely relationship we had built. For six years, we moved from one apartment to another in the hotel. When we moved away from the built-in religious community and into a Manhattan apartment, the reality of our separateness became stark. When our daughter was six and our son four, Gabriel stated the truth: “You don’t love me.”

He left. I resigned myself to the life of a celibate, single mother. I stopped attending church. I freelanced for various TV shows in New York, gradually allowing myself more freedom to be irreverent, laugh, have my own opinions. I visited my brother, who some years ago was well enough to teach computer programming; today he sits in a darkened room, wearing sunglasses, drawing detailed diagrams which only he understands. For two years after the breakup of my marriage, I feared intimate relationships, still believing sex outside marriage to be sinful.

But I couldn’t help but notice the flirtations people dabbled in daily at work. I began to feel a desire to rebel against my failed attempt at purity. At a bar after work, I had one drink, kissed a coworker and realized I still had desire. From then on, I decided anything was acceptable, as long as it felt right at the time. Fuck you, God, I wanted to say. I promised my life to you, and you didn’t keep your part of the bargain. You didn’t give me love, you didn’t change the world, you didn’t even save my brother.

The random post-work kiss initiated a frenzy of meeting men on the internet, through speed-dating and in any other way possible. Frustrated by the lack of intimacy, I decided to turn it into a project: I would date fifty men and write about the results. Date number three became a painful infatuation. After three months, I decided if number three wasn’t interested, I’d get intimate with someone who was. Number twenty-five was the one, although I knew it would go no further.

The next day I abandoned my dating project, and also fell in love with a man I met on the subway. Henceforth, I happily acceded to anything he wanted, however irregular. His rough, uninhibited lovemaking unearthed the desire I buried so long ago. Day to day, I’m unsure whether he will declare me the love of his life, or say he never wants to see me again. But even the pain of the relationship is freeing — it strips away the falseness and piety I strove to affect for so long.

Last month, my ex-boyfriend whom I left to join the Unification Church, the man I hadn’t dated for fifteen years, theorized over the phone: “You’ve created a new cult centered on your lover. When will you ever learn?”

But he was wrong. This is the anti-cult. There are no rules. This is life: it grows, changes; it surprises you; it lets you down, then builds you up. As I write this, my boyfriend is breaking it off with his fiancée. I know we may not last. But is any ending really final, and does it matter? I love him; he loves me. Now, the only eternity I hope for is that which exists in the moment.

Yolande Elise Brener lived in New York with her two children. She now lives in London.

http://www.yolandebrener.com

Holy Candy: Why I Joined A Cult And Married A Stranger

Down Is The Only Way Out: An Interview With Ben Lorentzen

#Yolande Elise Brener #Sun Myung Moon #mass marriage

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encouleurdevie · 4 years

Note

maybe you should do a timmy x tall!reader?? just a suggestion!!!

High Heels, Red Dress

a/n: here’s a lil blurb thing bc i loved this request. if u are tall u are hot. that’s all.

word count: 990

If one thing was certain, it was that the flats killed your outfit. A fiery red dress hugged you in all the right places, and made your legs look absolutely incredible, but the pair of flats instantly dimmed the flame, as if you hadn’t quite unlocked the potential of the dress. They made it look like you were hesitant, a bit unsure of yourself. You yanked your flats off your feet and flung them back into the closet, scanning the row of shoes in an attempt to find something that would ignite the look. Flats, sandals, Vans… nothing was standing out to you.

Then your eyes landed on them: the heels you had shoved in the back of your closet ages ago. Black suede with a skinny strap, the hottest pair of shoes you had never gotten to show off. Every time you had planned on wearing them, the night had ended up with you feeling self-conscious. It wasn’t that you didn’t look good, it was just that you towered over nearly every girl and a lot of guys as well without them on. The shoes added a couple extra inches that didn’t go unnoticed. The curse of the tall girl: admiring heels from afar while remembering the last thing you needed was extra height.

It had been the same growing up. Always standing in the back for group pictures, always having to look in seven different stores to find jeans that were long enough, and always having to awkwardly respond to family members who “just couldn’t get over how tall you were.”

Your height made you feel like you stuck out, especially when you started dating people, most of whom were little bit shorter than you. It didn’t matter to you how tall a guy was; it was always how the guy made you feel that created the hesitation. Some were appreciative, but others were hesitant to let things go further, under the stupid guise that having a tall girlfriend was socially taboo.

However, you’d been seeing a boy named Timothee lately. He was initially surprised at your height the first time he met you, but hadn’t said much else. A little part of you remained nervous that he didn’t like the fact that the two of you were eye level and a bigger part of you worried that if you wore your heels, leaving you a few inches taller than him, he wouldn’t want to see you anymore.

It was irrational. You knew it shouldn’t matter, but the little voice in your head refused to relent. Timothee was someone you enjoyed spending time with. You wanted to impress him, but you also didn’t want to scare him off. He seemed so genuine and passionate compared to the other men you had only seen for a few dates before realizing their personalities were essentially nonexistent. He was someone you wanted to see more of, in more ways than one.

You gazed at the black heels, mulling over the potential reactions you might receive.

“Fuck it.” you said to your reflection in the mirror. You were going to wear the heels. And you were gonna look hot as hell. You carefully placed them on your feet, feeling a little bit like Cinderella putting on her glass slippers. And it was like your fairy godmother had come to you in the form of stilettos, sprinkling the last bit of magic on your appearance.

The girl that looked back at you in the mirror was fierce, hot, and tall. And you felt damn good.

A few minutes later the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of your date and the beginning of your rapid heartbeat. You took one last glance at yourself, channeling some inner confidence, and walked down the hallway to answer the door. You took a moment to focus on the satisfying click of your heels on the floor, which made you feel sophisticated and self-assured.

You swung open the door, revealing a sharply dressed Timothee. He wore a loose black shirt dotted with big read hearts and black pants, coupled with a pair of lace-up black shoes that made the outfit go from formal to edgy. You silently thanked yourself for choosing your red dress, which his jacket complemented perfectly.

As you absorbed the striking image of him, you realized he was gaping at you. Instinctively, you went into self-conscious mode, leaning into one hip to make yourself appear a bit shorter. You were clearly an inch or two taller than him with the heels on.

“Hi, Timothee.. um, I-”

“Holy shit,” he cut you off, “You look fucking incredible.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that lit up your face and he couldn’t stop his eyes from looking you up and down, drinking in the beautiful girl in front of him.

“You know, I was nervous to wear these,” you admitted.

“Nervous?” he questioned, “No way. You were made to wear those shoes.”

He held your gaze for a second. “You’re so beautiful.”

All thoughts and hesitations were immediately expelled from your head. You were taller than your date, and you felt good. Those ideas coexisted, and you felt so relieved.

You leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his lips, savoring the moment.

He smiled. “Let’s get going.”

The rest of the night was even better. Timothee took you to a local club, filled with fancy socialites and budding celebrities. He proudly kept his arm around your waist as he introduced you to friends, and didn’t hide the amount of times his eyes were glued to your legs, long and lean. The two of you danced, drank, and had an unbelievably fun evening.

And in a poetic finish, the night ended back in your apartment where you started, this time with your red dress on the floor, a beautiful boy in your bed, and your heels standing tall by the door.

#Timothee Chalamet #timothee fluff #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timmy x reader #high heels #red dress #tall!reader #timothee imagine #timmy imagine #little women #blurb #timothee blurb #tall girl #timothee one shot

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lcyalty · 4 years

Text

i don’t feel like making a joke to break the ice so here’s one of my favorite tiktoks: https://vm.tiktok.com/s1rSS5/ . anyways, hiii, fed admin sabrina here :) time to check off the introductory personality checklist: i’m 20, a leo, a slytherin, a woc, a pre-law major on the east coast, uhhhh harry styles and marvel trash, i play over 10 instruments, i prefer the thigh over the chicken breast, and i’m really happy u all r here and joined my little creation :’) smack that read more to learn abt my children daisy moretti and jude valentine so we can plot !!

DAISY MORETTI. pinterest: https://pin.it/7unKPi8 the basics: full name: daisy mia moretti | hometown: the bronx, new york | zodiac: aries | orientation: bisexual | employment status: intern on the news broadcasts floor | positive traits: social, determined, hardworking, attentive, confident, smart | negative traits: rude, irresponsible, cunning, cutthroat, insensitive, selfish

the backstory:

here’s the best way i can describe daisy: take the love for fashion and luxury of carrie bradshaw and cher horowitz, mix it with the power and intensity of olivia pope, and add in all the meanness of every single rude, b*tchy person you can think of. that’s her.

daisy was born to a huge italian family who all had odd jobs; her dad specialized in fixing the batteries on smoke detectors. her mom ran the laundromat down the street. a lot of her uncles owned car detailing businesses and she had a couple of older cousins who were janitors or low-level staff members at the local middle schools. while her family was fine with this, because hey, it paid the bills, daisy, who had always had expensive tastes from the start, turned her nose at it all.

she, unsurprisingly, became the first in her family to make it past high school. daisy did absolutely every major, resume-boosting thing while she was in school, because she learned very quickly that she liked power and being better than others. there was something she loved about coming home from school and getting to brag about her debate team win while her cousins could only nod.

she was great at school, and she made sure everyone knew. she did mock trial, debate, sga -- she even joined the environmental club just for the clout. and then one of the people in her model un group said she should run for president one day.

it made sense. daisy likes power, she likes bossing people around and always being right, and she doesn’t take shit from anyone. she’d be a fantastic fucking president. so, naturally, after finishing college and pushing through an internship she didn’t really like just so she could have another bullet point on her resume, daisy applied for an internship at masters international. she knew she’d get the gig, obviously.

daisy loves fashion and luxury. she spends majority of her money on vintage chanel tweed matching sets to wear into the office, she has red bottoms that give her four extra inches of height, and her foundation costs over a hundred dollars. you’d think she’d want to be on the floors that deal with vogue and help organize new york fashion week, but that’s not going to get her a presidency, duh. daisy interns on the floors that handle the news broadcasts so she gets firsthand knowledge on all the shit, political or otherwise, that goes down in the country.

i would love to type more but i don’t want to hint at anything that points to her secret, so i’m going to explain a little more about daisy’s personality

she’s so, so controlling and bossy. she wants to be the absolute best at everything, and the shining star of it all. daisy’s definitely an attention hog, and she’ll bust her ass on her work to make sure she’s better than everyone else on the floor with her.

daisy’s very picky about who she hangs out with. as a future presidential candidate, optics are very important, obviously. she only surrounds herself with people she deems to be good for her image, and she’ll gladly let you know that she thinks you’re too shitty to be around. she cares a lot about how she appears to other people, you know.

daisy is selfish and rude, and truly doesn’t care if she hurts someone’s feelings. she speaks her mind and has absolutely no filter -- which gets her into a lot of trouble, i’m sure you can imagine.

wanted connections:

enemies: if you need a bad guy or work rival in your character’s life, i wholly volunteer miss daisy moretti as that bad guy. it’s not hard for her to make enemies when you consider her personality.

ex: please please give me an angsty ex plot filled with depth and all the details. there’s gotta’ be a reason why daisy wants to be not only the first female president, but also the first president without a spouse, after all.

hookups: listen. she has needs.

JUDE VALENTINE. pinterest: https://pin.it/1dfK9dE the basics: full name: jude lee valentine | hometown: tuscaloosa, alabama | zodiac: gemini | orientation: heterosexual | employment status: corporate attorney for masters international | positive traits: friendly, warm, sociable, extroverted, smart, witty, energetic | negative traits: compulsive, secretive, disloyal, impulsive, ignorant, desensitized

the backstory:

picture it with me: a ranch. nice pale green shutters and a huge yard. there’s cows in this picture, too, and horses. there might even be goats. there’s a tractor by the two ford trucks, a dog sleeping on the porch, and not another house for another twenty minute drive. this is what jude valentine is used to. he’s a country boy from alabama, equipped with the southern accent and everything. yes, he has a pair of cowboy boots. yes, he brought them to new york with him. yes, he pronounces creek as ‘crick’.

jude is a very sweet boy. he was quarterback in high school, got good grades, and every sunday he went to church with his family because Bible Belt things. homeboy is named after a book in the Bible. he’s all about southern manners and hospitality, about treating people kindly and always putting others first, and he always keeps his morals in check. or, he used to.

when you’re home it’s hard to stray away from what you’re used to. the same held true for jude in college, because even though he went to u of alabama (can you hear him yelling roll tide), he was still in his home state so he felt those morals still stuck with him. but then he applied for law school and got a full ride to nyu law, and whew, the Temptation

‘cuz you see, jude was always a sweetie pie. he still is! in high school he was super popular because he was tall and cute and athletic but funny and brought extra biscuits from home to hand out in homeroom. i’m not gonna lie, he’s charming af. he’s smooth and he has good jokes. the girls loved him but the little sh*t had a purity ring.

but then he got to nyc for law school and let me tell you. alabama is not close at all to manhattan, now is it. jude was fine the first couple of weeks, just worked on his case briefs in his shoe box of a starter apartment... but the women. homeboy started sleeping around a LOT after a while. y’know wet dreamz by j cole where he’s like haven’t been inside p*ssy since i came out one? yeah, that was jude until ny, and he’s very much still like that

is jude still the sweetest, nicest guy ever? yes. is jude still the type of guy to knock on your office door and ask if you want to walk to get coffee with him even though you guys have probably never met? yes. is jude the first guy on the dance floor when there’s a midnight party on the rooftop? yes. is jude the type of guy who’ll fuck with you and say no, he only listens to music made by a spoon and a blade of grass if you think he only listens to country music? yes. but he also has slept with at least twenty different interns and employees at the office, so.

he also dabbles in the occasional little pill when he’s got eight depositions to write up before tomorrow but he was too busy screwing some chick the night before. he first did this in law school. but we don’t worry about that.

stop it, i know what you’re thinking: sabrina, come on. so he sleeps around, okay. what’s the big deal about that?

here’s the big deal: he’s engaged.

lil (i say lil but he’s 6’3” while i’m only 5’0”, so lemme stfu) cupcake jude is a cheater. he’s got a whole fiancée and yet he still sleeps with other women, and each time he’s like no, okay, that was the last time for real, but then there’s a new intern at the office and the higher ups always throw the new people at him because he knows how to make people feel comfortable, and his country accent is cute and refreshing among all the new york bs, and the whole attorney thing certainly isn’t a negative, and, well. he gets tempted. and afterwards he always tells the girl okay, please, can this stay between us.

u wouldn’t know he’s engaged either bc it’s not like he’s wearing the engagement ring, now is he

i’m staying hush on daisy’s secret but jude’s is that he’s cheating on his significant other with people in the office. is he still a nice guy? heck yeah, but also, you have to be a certain kind of messed up to keep cheating on your s/o and just not tell them. that’s a lotttt of lying you’re just comfortable with. oh, what’s that? you’re threatening to tell his fiancée that you two slept together because you think she deserves to know? well. he’d hate having to do it, but... jude’s not above knocking someone down if it means his secret stays hidden.

wanted connections:

hookups: literally i will take as many hookup plots i can get. doesn’t matter if they’re an intern or an employee; jude will sleep w them and then make them promise not to tell anyone in the office afterwards because “wE’rE nOt sUpPoSeD tO sLeEp wItH cOwOrKeRs” but we all know why he wants to keep it under wraps. this also doesn’t have to be an only connection; he can be friends w someone but also hook up w them on the low too

fiancée: this one is huge for me so pls pls message me if ur seriously interested in this plot and we’ll talk !!

friends: this one is so easy bc jude will literally make conversation with a chair. he’s super sociable and fun and approachable and he loves making friends !! give me some ppl he can pester during lunch break and throw balled up pieces of paper at

best friend: he’s gotta have that one person that he just clicks really, really well with. jude talks to everyone and he’s super friendly but this person is his confidant. he goes to them w almost all of his problems and rants to them and asks for advice and likes to just be around this person. trusts them w his entire life. hmuuuuu :)

ex: listen. we all need a good ex plot and this person is probably the only one in the office jude isn’t bringing a complimentary donut to

sister: jude has a younger sister and honestly she was gonna be a npc but the idea of him looking out for her at the office and getting all (ง•̀_•́)ง when ppl r mean to her is smth i reeeeally like. or maybe they actually don’t get along that well and bicker a lot but there’s still that underlying hey i’ve got your back. you piece of shit. type feel going on !!

#MASTERS.INTRO #shoot ya plot shot w me on discord or tumblr ims !! :)

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softmoxymuffin · 5 years

Text

“Cinched”

the angsty ambreigns fic is taking a lot longer than i had anticipated and is also making me a lot sadder than i wanted so i took a break to finish this smut for you guys and hopefully garner myself a little more patience

idea for this fic came from one of the comments regarding dean’s waist i remember corsets being mentioned and i wanted to try my hand in writing this it’s not exactly what the user wanted but hope it’s still good for you guys

if anyone knows who’s idea was the corset thing please message me and i’ll tag you accordingly

It was a rare and lazy evening at home for Roman. He and Dean had eaten a light dinner a couple of hours earlier, just enjoying spending their what little sporadic domesticated life they had together before they’d have to hit the road again in a day or two. The Samoan had gone ahead and sat in their giant leather couch in the living room, mostly settled in to watch tonight’s game.

Dean on the other hand had said he had some laundry he had left unfolded and felt he had to get that over with so as to not have it ruin the rest of their down time. Roman was patiently waiting for his boyfriend to finish when the doorbell had suddenly rang.

Roman was just about to rise to his feet to answer, when Dean had yelled out ‘I got it’ right before stepping out of their laundry room to open the front door.

After a minute of a whispered exchange, Dean reenters their home with a small black plastic bag in hand which seemed to have a note with it.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Delivery guy.” He answered, his blue eyes still on the label which he was still reading.

Curiosity getting the better of him Roman had to asked “What’s it say?”

“For your challenge; fulfill as soon as you can. Take pictures. Love, Seth.” He read out loud with a smirk on his face.

Roman smiled worriedly. Knowing Seth, though he presented himself as the calculating architect to the WWE universe, he had a fairly bad reputation for pranks ever since he and Dean had became friends. It was never hurtful, at least not intentionally, but still Roman couldn’t help but eye the plastic bag suspiciously.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I think I know.” Dean chuckled and added “Only one way to find out.” He added as he walked down the hall towards their bathroom.

Whatever it was Roman was glad Dean had decided to open it away from him. He really did not need another incident like that time the Armenian had sent them a ‘care package’ to encourage them to eat more fruits. It wasn’t until they had opened the Tupperware when they had realized the other man had sent them Durian or the smelliest fruit in the world. Honest to God, it was like a bomb had gone off and the stink of it hung in the air for the next week. Fortunately Daniel and Brie were fairly close by and were eager to take the offending produce away from them. They got their payback when they traumatized their youngest member by sending him cans upon cans of that stinky Swedish fish they had found online.

Roman was so busy reminiscing that he had barely paid attention to the game on the TV in front of him, nor did he hear the first time Dean’s voice had come through from their bathroom.

“Hey Romie!” he called out.

“Yeah?” he called back.

“Need a little help here.” He replied.

‘Uh oh…’ Roman was really hoping it wasn’t anything too bad. He turned off the TV, and put down the remote before following his boyfriend’s voice down the hall.

Roman found himself standing right outside their bathroom door that was ajar. The white light from inside shining a beam across their carpet. He was so relieved there was no smell. Whatever Roman was expecting it to be, it really wasn’t what his eyes saw the moment he pushed the door wide open.

Dean was standing in front of their bathroom mirror. The shirt he had been wearing only moments ago was now discarded on the tiled floor. His back was towards Roman. Across that lower half of that broad back was wide belt of blue satin and what looked like silky black ribbon. Roman could make an educated guess of what exactly it was, but his brain was currently being fried to a crisp by the very thought of it.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice sounding nervously higher.

Dean was still preoccupied, he hadn’t even bothered looking at him when he answered. “A corset.”

From Roman’s view from the reflection of the mirror, Dean’s nimble hands clasping the front to his stomach. The way it clung to his body like the countless belts he had won over the years of his career. He never thought Dean could look any hotter than with a championship belt around that damn waist of his, but clearly Roman was wrong.

“A corset?” he asked, he tried his very best to keep his voice even.

“Yeah,” again blue eyes still hadn’t met brown. “Seth was trying to convince me again to get back to crossfit. Actually get me those washboard abs he practically drools for whenever Finn enters the room.” He joked which Roman could not appreciate while he was much too preoccupied by the sight in front of him.

“Anyway, he pointed out how I needed to tone my stomach and not rely so much on who skinny I am.” Dean had added with a tone of annoyance in his voice. “He said I’d probably fit into one of Bliss’ corset’s if given the chance.” He huffed out a laugh.

The younger man would never come across as insecure. Dean always had that cocky, devil-may-care attitude and he carried it well. But being around him as much as Roman has, he knew his boyfriend had his fair share of insecurities. One of which was how he was never able to bulk up much like Roman or Seth or anyone else in the roster could.

Dean was far from being skinny. He was tall and broad shouldered, and his legs were so goddamn long. But one of the things Roman had always loved about his lover’s body was that tiny ass waist of his. He’d be damned if he was going to some throw away line like that make his boy feel bad.

“And of course, I just had to fucking comeback at him telling him that I think I’d look fucking good in a corset, as a joke.” That annoyance in his voice growing a bit more, maybe because he was remembering his conversation with Seth or maybe because he had been struggling with the damn lingerie for a couple of minutes now.

“You said you would wear a corset?” Roman’s voice was growing squeaky high from watching what he was looking at right now. If it was so damn easy to get his boy in something as hot as a corset, he should have challenged him a lot sooner then.

“No, I said would look damn good in one, given the chance-” he answered as he secured the last clasp in the front. “-looks like Seth was calling my bluff.. but I’ll show him.”

As annoyed his boyfriend was at their teammate, some deep carnal part in Roman was tempted to send their third member a thank you card with care package for giving Dean this gift.

“Romieee…” Dean called out to him again, finally getting his full attention. “You mind helping me out here big dog?”

Roman gulped and took a deep breath before he made his way towards the other man. Dean was too busy trying to read the instructions that came with the package, if he would have looked up at the mirror in front of him then he would have been able to see Roman’s face absolutely slacked at the image he made in front of him.

The corset was a pretty little thing. It I didn’t go high enough to cover Dean’s chest. The edge just meeting under his pecs. The baby blue of the satin reminded him of Dean’s own baby blue eyes just looking too sweet and innocent to belong to a man as wild as his lover was. The black lace piping running down the whole thing curving inward and out shaping Dean’s middle already smaller than usual. Roman couldn’t help but wonder how much smaller it would look when he wore it properly.

“It says here there should be two pieces of ribbon; one running down from the top, and one running up from the bottom.” Dean read out loud.

Roman could only nod and grunt affirmatively, not knowing the filth that would have spilled out if he dared to speak.

“Ok, next the ribbon should already have gone through the holes in a crisscross manner.” Dean continued to read along.

Again, Roman could only nod.

“Ok, so now, listen carefully.” Dean casually commanded, at this point the Samoan was so hung up on the blonds every word he would be able to make him do anything right now. “You carefully pull on the ends of the ribbon alternating between the top and the bottom ribbons, all the while adjusting the modesty flap..”

Roman couldn’t stop himself but reach out to the soft looking ribbon. The silk feeling so smooth against his fingers. Carefully, he searched about to find the modesty flap on the back made to cover any skin from being exposed where the ends of the corset met. He couldn’t help but run one of his fingers down that tiny patch of skin underneath the ribbon before covering it with the extra piece of satin.

“Do this carefully, and slowly…” Dean continued to read.

Roman absolutely did not need to be told. He was more than ready to savor such an intimate act between them. His eyes were laser focused on the delicate fabric right in front of him. He pulled at the ribbon cautiously at first, starting with the top portion slowly getting pulling it tighter and tighter to show how his lover’s ribs could be drawn inward like the funnel of the hour glass.

Next, he concentrated on the lower ribbon which was tasked to cinched in his boyfriend’s soft middle even smaller than it already was. Slowly, inch by gentle inch, Roman got to witness the shape that was forming in front of his eyes.

“Is this ok?” he asked breathlessly, sounding like he was running a marathon rather than help his boyfriend with is lingerie.

“Yeah… feels good.” He gasped out an answer.

Dean’s voice making Roman’s blood boil. He really should be asking more frequently, but his eyes and his hands and everything in his body was just screaming at him, hell bent on seeing how much smaller his lover’s waist could get.

“Hmmmmmm…” Dean moaned between his bitten lower lip.

Roman looked up at the mirror, worried he’d see Dean’s beautiful face in pain but was only met with flushed cheeks and blown out eyes. Those eyes he had thought matched the light blue of the lingerie now grew dark and wide. He couldn’t get his own eyes off of him.

It was the sudden feel of Dean’s backside against his raging hardon that made him break eye contact. He screwed his eyes shut, and groaned, willing himself to keep it together and not cum right then and there.

“Romie…” Dean’s voice came through teasingly musical to his ears. Roman finally found the concentration to open his eyes to look up at him again, this time meeting his lovers smirk on his lips. “You like it?” he asked and before Roman could even begin to think of an answer, Dean had pushed back his ass again, certainly meeting the bulge that was forming under Roman’s sweats.

That’s when he snapped.

Roman practically roared as he pulled off Dean’s own sweatpants and have it fall down to his ankles. The sight of his lover’s ass making him kneel right in front of it. Roman had always loved Dean’s ass. It was wide and soft and firm. He had always loved how big it would look given Dean’s shape, but now with the damn corset on it made the contrast even more evident. The wide back, falling to that little waist, followed by an even more pronounced hips and ass. Roman was fucking ready to worship what laid in front of him.

He grabbed the globes of his ass greedily. The darkness of his own skin contrasting beautifully against his lover’s creamy white complexion. His thumbs meeting in the middle only to pull them apart to reveal the tight little bud in between. That made Roman groan once more as he just fell forward to cover that lovely ass in kisses. His mouth moving closer and closer to the center where his tongue could finally taste his lover in the best possible way.

Dean moaned as he bucked his hips forward and back, Roman just following everyway possible chasing his lover’s taste. He flicked his tongue up and down, and around, making that tight little bud soft and pliant. Broad strokes of flat of his tongue covering it with so much spit some of it fell down the Samoan’s goatee. Going between licking his asshole to making tiny love bites all around. Roman was moaning so loudly he knew he sounded obscene even with his lover’s skin muffling every sound he made.

“Roman, please…” Dean begged.

The other man found the strength to pull back. His eyes looking up finding his lover’s arched back beautifully, and his face right against the mirror, covering it in steam. Dean was wrecked, and a deep sense of pride grew inside of Roman knowing exactly that he was the very cause of that.

“What is it baby boy?” he asked, his voice raggedly harsh. When Dean could only moan an intelligible answer. Roman made quick little spank on one ass cheek, which made Dean jump and practically hump the bathroom counter. Roman knew his baby would have a bruise on his hip later, but neither of them really cared. Maybe Roman could add a couple of bruises there himself later on. “I asked what do you need baby boy?”

Dean shook his head as if to scatter away the cloudiness of his arousal to find the words he was so desperately trying to find.

“More. Please...” He begged again.

Roman rose to his feet and grabbed Dean, one hand on his hip and another hand on his shoulder to pull him flushed, Dean’s back meeting Roman’s front. He moved from shoulder, across his collarbone. Roman’s large hand possessively wrapped around Dean’s vulnerable neck. Under anyone else’s, Dean might have flinched, but not with Roman. Never with him. Roman’s other hand ran from hip to Dean’s exposed chest. His kneading his chest and playing with his nipples.

He couldn’t help himself but look up at the mirror to stare at the image his boy made. Dean’s face flushed and sweaty and blushing. His bottom lip between his teeth. His broad shoulder and chest looking even more so before it met the lingerie. The corset looking so fucking perfect on his lover. Tight and strong as it held his cinched shape underneath all that, but also soft and delectable. Again, perfect like his baby boy.

“You look so fucking good like this baby boy.” Roman said against the soft skin where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. Leaving even more kisses and bites as he spoke. “Just so fucking beautiful for me baby… your shoulders-” kiss. “Your chest-” pinch. “And that goddamn delicate looking waist of yours, driving me crazy” thrust, his still covered erection against he wet, soft, and pliant curve of his ass.

Too his credit, Dean gave as much as he got. Ducking his head down to find Roman’s thumb and taking it into his mouth. His soft lips and tongue wrapping themselves warmly around the appendage before giving it a bite then letting go. Roman didn’t think he could want the other man even more.

“Fuck me.” Dean commanded, before he pushed his ass back even harder against his lover’s bulge. “Fuck me just like this…” another push back.

He frantically reached over to their bathroom counter, searching for any form of lube he could find. Thankfully he did find a somewhat forgotten bottle in the back, thank god for shower sex. He covered his fingers in the gel, warming it up for a second before he reached down and started to tease his lover’s tight hole. No matter how many times they had done this, Roman was always amazed at how fucking tight Dean always seemed to be. His tiny little bud, wet from being under the onslaught of his tongue only minutes ago, began to open up welcoming Roman’s thick fingers into his pliant heat. Dean began to moan as fingers pushed inside him, only to come back out wet and hot. It didn’t take long until he was taking three at a time, and he was begging for more. Roman will never grow tired of this.

“Ro, please.. fuck me ready.” He begged.

Roman knew he was right. Dean was ready, but he couldn’t help but teased him just even just a little bit. “So fucking needy for me are you baby…” he shoved his fingers deeper into him, making his lover gasp once more. “Just can’t fucking wait to have my cock in to, can you?” he teased with a twist of his fingers.

“Hmmmm… can’t wait for you to fuck me so hard you make m cum all over myself” Dean moaned one more time before he gave that devilish smile of his with that challenge in his eyes.

Once that seed was planted into Roman’s mind, there was no getting rid of it until he fulfilled his lover’s demand. Me made quick work of his sweats, pushing them down and letting them fall to his ankles, and practically ripping his shirt as he pulled it off of him. Using the excess lube on his hand, he quickly coated his cock till it shined, matching his lover’s hole which was impatiently winking at him.

He wanted him. He wanted him so fucking badly. He had to force himself to slow, to make this last. With measured breathes, he carefully guided himself into his lover. Watching his cock slowly disappear inch by inch. Whatever worry he had for his lover’s state faded as quickly as he felt Dean’s welcoming heat swallow him up. Goddamn so fucking tight, it made him light headed. He closed his eyes needing to get a some fucking control over himself. Once he felt like he did, he slowly opened his eyes and fucking lost it all over again.

The looking down he could only see the very base of himself peaking between those soft mounds. His hips meeting his curves. His eyes slowly trailing up reminded by the gorgeous way his lover’s waist looked so beautifully delicate and tight and soft. Roman had to grab Dean by the hips to steady himself, that tender bruise from the counter most probably blooming prettily. Roman wanted to make it worse.

“God damn it Roman, fuck me already!” Dean’s desperate plea finally breaking through his lovers daze.

That was all the encouragement Roman need. Pulling out until only his cockhead was left, Roman made a vicious thrust back in that made his lover arch against his corset and scream his name. Roman needed to do that again. Did it again. And again. His thrusting growing manic. The slap of their skin filling their tiny bathroom. The smell of their sweat mingling with the scent of their soap and shampoo oddly reminding Roman who fucking intimate this was.

“Oh my God…” Dean was moaning against he glass. His face smushed carelessly against the cool surface. His mouth open steaming up desperately. His tongue hanging off after a particularly loud moan before he bit his lips close. “So good.. so fucking good.. Roman.. fuck…”

No one’s ever seen Dean look like this; in a beautiful silk and satin blue corset that molded him into soft curves. No one’s ever made Dean sound like this; begging and pleading for his cock. No one’s ever made Dean feel this way, like he said so. No one but fucking Roman. He will that that fucking honor to his grave.

Roman fucked Dean like the world was ending. Like this was their last night together and they had nothing left to lose. Roman fucked Dean worrying this could be the only time he gets to see him this fucking pretty and cinched up for him. He fucked him harder than they have ever had before so his baby boy will never forget the time he drove Roman so fucking crazy like this.

“Close… close…” Dean warned him, his voice hitting almost a panic. “So fucking close. Roman…”

With as much strength he could muster, Roman pulled Dean back onto his dick, forcing the younger man to fall forward landing on his elbows on top of the marble counter top. Bent over to Roman’s fucking mercy.

Roman followed. His bare chest and stomach against Dean’s sweaty back and smooth corset. Sacrificing one hand away from Dean’s hip, he reached down to wrap his fingers around lover’s needy cock. His touch was like a live wire, making Dean’s pull his head back up and practically howl appreciatively. With every long and quick stroke, Roman matched it with a thrust. His hips and hand working together to bring his baby boy to newer heights as he climbed and he climbed. When his breath started to hitch the way it did right on the cusp of an orgasm, Roman leaned forward and latched his teeth on his lover’s shoulder and bit down. Hard.

Dean screamed but without any sound as his orgasm was ripped from him. His cock spurting all over their tiled floor and covering Roman’s warm and demanding hand. His elbows finally giving up on him and made Dean lay his blushing face against the cold marble.

The way his lover’s ass spasmed around his cock so tight it nearly made Roman shed tears it felt so good. Just a little bit more. Just a couple more strokes.

“Pull out!” Dean commanded in a tired and raspy voice.

Roman heard but couldn’t listen. How the fuck could he. He only groaned in protest, for an inkling of a thought he reminded himself of an animal right now.

“I said, pull out!” He commanded again, before Roman could complain Dean added. “I want you to cum all over my corset.”

Like a switch only Dean could flip, Roman thrusted just a couple more times until he was right almost there and pulled away from his lovers warmth. He then grasped himself in his hand. The same hand still covered in his baby boy’s cum, now all over himself as he touched himself to completion. Aiming his hot hard cock at pale soft blue and ribbons.

That fucking image of his spent lover in nothing but a corset bent over their bathroom counter finally made him explode. His body violently jerking as he felt his desperate release. Thick ribbons of cum falling on black ribbons and satin. Roman was felt himself leave himself if that were fucking possible.

The only sounds filling the room was their harsh breaths, and the wild beating of his heart. Though Roman couldn’t hear Dean’s directly, he was sure it beat just as hard. Roman was still somewhat out of it when he felt Dean’s delicate fingers reaching out towards him. His hand meeting his own while it remained wrapped around his still hard cock. He didn’t know what he was doing until Dean had guided him back into himself and Roman felt the hypersensitivity prickling his skin it was so good. Absolutely nothing beat being inside of him. Nothing.

Roman fell forward. His face falling against Dean’s spine, cradled by his shoulder blades. He never wanted to move again. But Dean had another idea.

He felt his hand again passing him hard plastic, which after gaining some level of full consciousness back he realized was his phone. Before he could ask him the question, he answered breathlessly.

“Take a picture.” He said.

“What?” Roman asked.

“I said take a picture.” He repeated, while he seemed to motion to the corset.

Maybe Roman was just too damn out of it to argue, but he found the energy to lift himself off of him and point the camera phone on the sight he had left. Thick creamy cum contrast on black and blue lingerie. If he wasn’t so damn spent, he was sure he would have gotten hard in an instant. He took the photo and gave the phone back to Dean and instantly fell back against his back.

Dean only laughed breathlessly as he quickly attached the picture to a message and sent it to a soon to be traumatized Seth Rollins with the message ‘thanks’.

***

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drink-the-midnight-oil · 6 years

Text

Our Eternity

Bughead AU: It’s been a decade since Betty left Riverdale when she was sixteen. Now, the death of an old friend brings her back to the town she grew up in and loved. And along with it, the return of old friends, memories, and a love that has haunted her for the past ten years.

Welcome to Riverdale

The Town With PEP!

The once freshly painted sign now stood old and damaged, the paint peeling. Vines crept up the sides and spread across, like fingers trying to cover the words.

Betty sighed to herself. It had been ten years. Ten years since she had left the town, trying to get away from the heartbreak and misery. Ten years since she’d last seen her parents before they both died. She hadn’t even attended their funeral after what they had done to her, no matter how much Polly pleaded. All the drama and chaos had shattered her, causing her to nearly end her life.

It had been ten years since Polly had helped her run, giving her a chance to start a brand new life. And Betty had done just that. She’d moved to Washington and had gotten a job as a journalist. She had taken down her iconic ponytail as a sign of clearing the slate. She’d just recently gotten a job in New York. And ten years later, there she was, the chief editor of The New York Times.

But then the phone call had come. Archie Andrews, her childhood best friend had passed away after a terrible car accident. It had come as a shock to her. How could Archie be gone? It had been a month since the funeral but Betty made a split decision on Friday afternoon to head down to visit his grave. And here she was, in her car, heading back to the town of her nightmares.

The houses that blurred past held a sense of familiarity. Betty still remembered the shops and buildings like it was yesterday. The grocery store, the candy shop, the bakery- a decade had gone by, yet everything still looked as it had when she left. Brightly painted homes lined the streets, the image of perfection. But underneath Riverdale’s flawless façade, lay a darkness that swallowed you whole. You could fight it all you wanted, but in the end you could either succumb to it or be destroyed.

The mere thought of spiraling back into the hole made Betty’s throat tighten up. Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the car and she felt herself choking. Rushing to open a window, she gulped in the fresh air that poured through. A sense of relief flooded through her veins as her breathing slowed.

Betty spotted a familiar stretch of road, and checked the clock. Just enough time for a quick milkshake. Smiling to herself, she turned and entered the parking lot of Pop’s Chock Lit Shoppe. Parking her car, Betty climbed out and walked up to the door. The bell rang above her head as she pushed it open.

The smell of onions frying wafted to her nose, making her mouth water. A wave of nostalgia hit her and suddenly she was sixteen again, coming to Pop’s with her friends to hang out or do homework. It had been a safe space throughout her childhood. The sound of someone calling her name brought her back to the real world.

“Betty? Betty Cooper? Is that really you?”

Betty turned to see an old man in a white apron and a paper hat looking at her earnestly from behind the counter. Age spots dotted his face but his eyes still twinkled and he wore a hopeful smile.

“Hi Pop Tate. Yeah, it’s Betty,” Betty replied, glad to see the man. Pop Tate was known to be the nicest guy in Riverdale. He owned the diner that had been around since Betty’s own parents had been teenagers. He had given her vanilla milkshakes on the house when she’d been going through tough times. Once in a while, he would keep the diner open a little while longer so she could sit there. He’d been a friend.

“Why, I never thought I’d ever see you again. How are you?” He sounded so happy to see her, it almost broke Betty’s heart.

“I’m fine, Pop. Doing pretty well.”

“What can I get you?”

“Just a vanilla milkshake Pop, thanks.”

Pop chuckled.

“Ten years have passed and it’s still the same order. We’ve missed you around here, Betty.”

“Me too, Pop. Me too.”

Betty headed to the back of the diner, and slid into her old booth. Memories surrounded this booth, some good, some bad. Pulling out her phone, Betty switched it on to see that she had two missed calls from Polly. Betty texted her with a quick “Reached safely. Call you later.”

The ringing of a bell as the door to Pop’s opened, caused her to look up from her phone. A woman entered, dressed in an expensive maroon dress, her five-inch stilettos clacking against the tile floor. Raven black hair fell to her shoulders and Betty saw a string of pearls resting of the base of her neck.

“Veronica?”

The woman turned to see who spoke and spotted Betty sitting in the booth. A series of expressions crossed her face – bewilderment, recognition, shock, and then-

“Betty Cooper? Oh my god, is that really you?”

She walked towards her, and Betty stood up. Veronica engulfed her in a tight hug, cutting off Betty’s air supply. But Betty didn’t care. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed her best friend. Pulling away, Veronica clasped Betty’s hands.

“Betty where have you BEEN? No calls, no texts, not even a note? Ten years, Betty. It’s been ten years. How could you DO THAT to me?”

Veronica started rapidly berating Betty in Spanish, and Betty found this comforting in a way. Veronica Lodge, Riverdale High’s It girl. The daughter of Hiram Lodge, a notorious mobster who had been in and out of jail during their high school years. She and Veronica had had some good times together. Veronica had been one of the few people who Betty had trusted before she ran away.

Now, here they were, back again at Pop’s. Betty looked down at their clasped hands and saw a diamond ring on Veronica’s finger.

“V, is that..?”

Veronica noticed what Betty was looking at and smiled proudly.

“But who-“ Betty was interrupted by the door bell ringing again as a tall, muscular man walked in, wearing a dark blazer. His black hair was combed back and the top of a tattoo peeked out from his collar. He looked around and saw the two women standing. Disbelief registered on his face when he saw Betty.

“Look who’s back, honey,” Veronica said to the man. He cautiously walked over to them, eyeing Betty as if she were a ghost.

“You and Sweet Pea?” It was Betty’s turn to be surprised. “But Archie-“

“Archie and I decided that it was better if we were just friends. For both of us. And then I met this dazzling prince. Archie was incredibly supportive. He even helped organize our wedding. We would have called you, B, but there was no way to contact you. No phone number, no address, nothing.”

Betty looked at the couple. Sweet Pea was still staring at her in shock. But it warmed her heart to see Veronica so happy.

“I’m happy for the two of you. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Betty.”

“Betty Cooper’s back? Who would’ve ever thought?” Sweet Pea shook his head, smiling.

“Shall we take a seat?” He gestured to the booth. They all sat down and Pop came over with more milkshakes and burgers, including an extra burger for Betty. “It’s on the house,” he said with a wink.

Pop left them to their food and Betty dove right in, inhaling the burger. Ten years gone and not one single place in Washington or New York could match the quality of Pop’s. One person in particular had been known throughout the town for his adoration of Pop’s burgers. But Betty couldn’t bring herself to think about him. She had left his memory behind a long time ago. She had sewn together her torn heart. But the scar still remained. She took a long sip of her milkshake, marveling in the taste.

“So what have you been up to, Betty?” Sweet Pea asked.

“I’ve been writing for the New York Times actually. I started just a few weeks ago.” Betty replied.

“The New York Times, huh? That’s amazing.”

“You ran away to New York?!” Veronica exclaimed. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“No, V. I went to Boston first. Polly helped me. I just moved to New York a month ago.”

“A month ago. That’s around the same time of Archie’s car accident.” Veronica looked down at her food.

Betty cleared her throat.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I came back to visit his grave. Say goodbye.”

“It was a horrible day. Fred called and told us and we rushed down from a meeting in Greendale. Everyone came. It was like the very soul of Riverdale had died.”

Sweet Pea put an arm around Veronica’s quivering shoulders. His thumb rubbed against her arm and he murmured soothing words to her.

Betty picked at her burger. A somber silence had filled the diner as the gloom weighed down on her. Veronica seemed to have pulled herself back together.

“So, we let him go.” She said softly. They sat there, mourning their friend.

“What are you doing nowadays, V?” Betty asked, desperate to rid the diner of the sadness.

Veronica smiled at her meekly.

“I’m running Lodge Industries. After daddy got incarcerated, I took over the broken business. Rebuilt it from the ground up.”

“She did more than that,” Sweet Pea said. “She changed it. Lodge Industries became a foundation for children’s homes and schools and helping the underprivileged. It became a beacon of hope for the South Side. It’s what drew me to her. This woman who could get anything she ever wanted used her power to help people in difficult places. It was remarkable, the change. Kids started getting proper educations and got into good colleges. It was a miracle to us South Siders. And she was our angel.”

Sweet Pea was looking at Veronica in awe. It was clear how proud he was of her and how much he loved her. The sight made Betty’s heart clench, reminding her of what she used to have.

Sweet Pea broke his gaze from Veronica’s blushing face.

“And we ended up like this.”

Veronica smiled.

“How have the others been?” Betty enquired.

“Toni and Cheryl are engaged, and Kevin and Moose are married with a little boy. Josie’s been touring what with her music career having took off. Everyone’s been wonderful.” Veronica stated. Suddenly her expression changed.

“We spent weeks looking for you, B. But it was to no avail. So in the end, we gave up. We figured you had moved on. And so did we. Everyone missed you terribly but we had our own lives to live, Betty. At least most of us moved on. He never stopped looking for you, Betty. He nearly went crazy after you left.”

The atmosphere became tense and Betty knew Veronica didn’t mean Archie. She didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, a customer entering the diner saved her answering.

“Wait didn’t you say you lived in New York?” Sweet Pea questioned. “Babe, doesn’t Ju-“

He was interrupted with a sharp jab to the ribs, courtesy of Veronica. She gave him a stern look and shook her head ever so subtly.

“So, B. How long are you in town for?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Just the weekend. I have to head back home on Sunday.”

“Oh,” Veronica replied. “Where are you staying?”

Betty blushed and looked down at her lap.

“I don’t really know. Polly said that my parents’ house was sold after they passed. I figured I’d stay at a motel.”

“Nonsense!” Veronica interrupted. “You can stay at the Pembrooke with us.”

“No, that’s alright, V. I’ll be fine-“ Betty tried to say but Veronica wouldn’t let her speak.

“Betty, you are staying with us and that is final.”

It was useless to argue once Veronica had made up her mind. Betty knew that. Sighing, she agreed to stay with them.

Veronica clapped her hands together.

“Wonderful.”

The breeze blew through the trees, rustling the leaves and causing the tree branches to creak. They hovered above the cemetery like claws ready to snatch the souls of the living. She pulled her shrug tighter around her. Her black dress didn’t do much to prevent the cold wind from from coming in contact with her skin.

Goosebumps appeared on Betty’s arms as she stood in front of Archie’s decorated grave. Kneeling down, she lay her own small bouquet at the base of the headstone. The epitaph read:

ARCHIBALD ANDREWS

The song has ended, but the melody lingers on.

May his memory be eternal.

“I’m so sorry, Archie. I’m sorry for leaving without a word. I’m sorry for not contacting anyone. I was just too scared. And stupid. I needed to get away from this town. It wasn’t your fault or Veronica’s, or anyone’s. It was my own. I wish I had been here to hold your hand and say goodbye. I wish I could talk to you one more time. I wish-“ her voice broke.

“I made it Archie. I became a journalist. I’m working at the New York Times now, just like you said I would one day. I just wish I had been around to see everything that you achieved in the past decade which I’m sure is a lot. You were a wonderful person. Loyal, and kind, and trustworthy. The epitome of good man. And I’m so glad I had the privilege of being your friend. Rest in peace, Arch.”

Betty wiped away the tears and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small tacky ring, the kind you could buy in a gumball machine. It had a blue plastic gem glued on to it. Archie had given her that ring in second grade, telling her that they would always be best friends. And Betty had kept it ever since.

Now, she took it out and placed it next to her bouquet on the grave stone. A symbol of their friendship. Of their philia. Standing up she dusted the front of her dress and smoothed her hair. She was about to turn around when a voice stopped her.

“He’d like that.”

A sudden chill ran up Betty’s spine turning the tips of her fingers icy cold. She turned around and spotted a man standing but a few feet away wearing a black suit, his hands in his pockets. His ebony hair blew in the wind as he watched her, his gaze piercing.

Recognition dawned on her and images through her mind- a grey crown beanie, comforting hugs, stolen kisses, whispered words, fingers pressed against her waist, tangled bed sheets, and a pair of striking blue eyes. Eyes that she could never forget.

She felt as if she had been sucker punched, when the man spoke again.

“Betty Cooper. It’s been a while.”

Hi guys! *waves*

I hope you liked the first chapter. I don’t know how regularly I will be uploading but I promise that I won’t take too long. This is a prompt-inspired fanfic so thank you to the anon who sent me the prompt; I sincerely hope you find it interesting.

Also, I’ve been trying to get an Ao3 account for quite a few months now, but I seem to be facing a problem because I still haven’t gotten an email although I’ve applied quite a few times. The waiting list says that I haven’t requested an invite which is FRUSTRATING because that’s what I’ve been doing for almost five months now. Thank you for listening to my short rant. If anyone has any suggestions for what I should do, feel free to message me.

Other than that, I’m really excited to continue with this fic which I PROMISE I will complete. (Or at least do my best to. Writing and I have a love-hate relationship.) Feel free to send me feedback because I freaking love to hear from you guys.

XOXO

Rhea

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bugheadedit #riverdale #betty cooper #betty x jughead #jughead jones #sprousehart-stan fanfics #FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED #also a sprinkle of #sweetvee #cuz they're SO FRIGGIN CUTE

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sherlocklaura1992 · 4 years

Text

How To Get Taller Naturally Creative And Inexpensive Useful Ideas

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growningupgeek · 7 years

Text

Seven Years Gone (Part 5)

Word Count-1262

Characters-Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Cat Mousseau(Me)

Warnings-Injuries, puking, Death

Series Masterpost

A/N-Still working in the YouAu, it’s pretty much taken on a life of it’s own at this point. Many thanks to @wheresthekillswitch for the beta on this part. Love ya, babe. I honestly tried to get this up before work but some moron hit a something and knocked out all the internet and 2/3s of the cell service around here.

-JediCat

The light was too bright; even with my eyes closed I could see how bright it was. My nose was assaulted by too many smells, from the boys’ aftershave to the cleaners that had been used in the room. Sounds were far too loud: traffic noise from the freeway competed with a closer sound of two drumbeats in unison with each other, breathing and what sounded like water rushing through pipes. Every inch of my skin seemed to be overly sensitive, the motel blankets felt extra scratchy, I could actually feel the air pressing against my skin and every ridge and callus of the hand that was holding mine. And on top of everything I was hungry, and something smelled delicious

“What’s happening to me,” I moaned.

There was a sigh of relief as someone brushed my hair off my forehead. “You’re awake. I was worried, kitten.”

“Sam, make it stop,” my voice was strained and sounded strange to my own ears. “It’s too loud and too bright.”

There was a whispered “Son of a bitch” and before I could move I was handcuffed to the headboard of the bed. Sam touched my cheek softly and asked, “What do you remember?”

I racked my brain. “I called Castiel, we got into the building. We took out six or eight vamps between the two of us. We found the room where you were being held…”

I trailed off because after that there was nothing, just a blank space in my memory. I could feel the panic rising. “What happened? Why can’t I remember what happened?”

“You and Cas busted in like a couple of bad asses,” Dean said in a voice filled with admiration. “You took on the nest leader while Cas got us free.”

Sam’s voice shook, “By the time we were free he had you on the ground with his hand over your face. I took him out but we didn’t know…”

Images and feelings flashed through my mind: my head being smashed against the floor, his voice whispering in my ear, his hand covering my nose and mouth, being forced to swallow because I couldn’t breathe. Fear flooded me when I realized that I’d been turned. I opened my eyes, finding myself staring into Sam’s hazel ones, God this was going to be hard.

“You have to kill me.” I said firmly.

“Mic, no-” he said.

“Sam, yes,” I replied firmly. “I will not become one of the things we hunt.”

“You don’t have to,” Dean cut in. “There’s a cure, but we have to-”

I sat up, flexing my arms, surprised at how easily I broke the chain of the handcuffs that held me to the bed. “You don’t understand. I can hear the blood rushing through your veins and I’m starving. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to rip your throats out.”

The boys took a step back; Dean looking worried but sympathetic and Sam just looked worried. Sam held out a glass of something that looked like mud and blood mixed together, I wrinkled my nose at the smell of it.

“Don’t ask what’s in it, just drink it,” he ordered.

I gave him a dirty look that made Dean laugh. “Get it down, Mouse, the sooner you drink it the faster it works.”

I transferred the glare to Dean. “And how would you know?”

“I’ve been there, Cat,” he replied, serious for the first time. “I was turned a few years back and it works.”

I took the glass with as much good grace as I could muster and gulped it down. I almost spit it out when it hit my taste buds but controlled the impulse and swallowed it. “Son of a bitch that tastes like…”

That’s when I started puking; Sam got the garbage can in place just in time for me to spew black bile into it. With one hand he held my hair back while the other supported my head as I heaved up what felt like everything inside my body. It seemed to go on for hours but eventually it stopped. Sam picked me up from where I’d fallen to the floor at some point and put me back on the bed.

“I’m going to get you some water and a few other things,” he said softly. “Dean is going to stay with you until I get back.”

I gave a slight nod, unable to hold back a moan of pain when it felt like my brain was sliding around in my head. I heard the door open and close, then the Impala roared to life. Tires squealed as Sam pulled away, the noise making me flinch.

“It’ll get worse before it gets better,” Dean said, keeping his voice soft.

“How do you know,” I asked him,

“Told you, I was-” he began.

“About Sam,” I interrupted him. “How can you be sure it’s really Sam?”

He smiled at me. “Is that what's been bothering you? Cat, no one but Sammy would have stood by me through the shit we've been through.”

I opened my eyes. “I want to trust him, Dean, but I just don't know if I can.”

“A lady once told me follow your heart and the rest will figure itself out,” Dean said after thinking a minute.

His words followed me as I spiraled down into hallucinations. Some were just weird; others so horrific that I woke myself up screaming. When that happened Sam was there to calm me down. He was there with extra blankets when I was cold or water when I got too hot. He was my anchor to reality when I thought I was losing my mind. The one time I opened my eyes he was surrounded by a silvery glow that was so bright that I immediately closed them again.

“That's his soul you're seeing,” a mellow voice said.

I turned to find myself in a rustic looking room facing a tall, thin man with a pale solemn face. He was wearing an old fashioned looking dark suit and leaning on a black cane. When he saw that he had my attention he stepped aside, gesturing to one of the chairs that sat in front of a crackling fire.

I eyed him warily as I moved towards the chair; there was a sense of power around him that frightened me. “Do you mind if I ask who you are?”

“I'm Death,” he replied folding himself into the other seat. “I'm... acquainted with your friends, the Winchesters.”

I sat silently, torn between curiosity and fear while I waited for him to continue. As we looked at each other a slight smile crossed his face.

“I can see the questions in your mind,” he said finally. “But you have patience which will make you a good balance for those boys. Ask, I'll answer you the best I can.”

“Why, how can I see you,” I blurted out.

“Technically, you're dead,” he replied. “Also, I want you to see me. But that's not the question you want answered most.”

I couldn't see any point in further evasion; this man knew what was on my mind. “How can I be sure that's Sam? I want to believe it's really him…”

“My dear girl, I'm the one who put his soul back,” he interrupted me. “You have my promise that it really is Samuel Winchester.”

Then he gave me that almost smile again. “Their cure is working, you have to go back but your friend gave you some good advice. Remember that and this conversation.”

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