#you don’t see us as people you see us as a profile that spits out shit for you to read
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Really Drives Me Mad | EX-bfs dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+
Previous Part | Master List | Next Part
Word Count: 12.8k
Big big thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing for me I appreciate it, bestie
Another big thank you to @bebe07011 for spitting ideas and giving feedback.
Warnings: Degradation/praise, eating out, public sex, daddy kink, and several scenes where smut is mentioned but not described. There is about 1k of words just from Dylan's perspective but its worth it trust me.
Eddie is a bit of a sugar daddy in this part, but its ok cause we all want him to spoil us anyway.
Author's note: Some of y'all are gonna make me cry with how kind you are with your words for this fic. I cannot believe how much this story has truly taken over my life. People have expressed sharing it with friends and I just cannot get over that. Thank you.
-
Your hands held a home-made cocktail on ice while The Princess Diaries played on the tv, a soft blanket covered your crossed legs as you sat with both Sky and Bethany in your living room, scattered along your couch.
Bethany often snuck a joint or two while she visited, the window staying open to minimize a smell with a 20-dollar fan in front of it to promote air circulation. It was nice to have a girls’ night, to order bags of chips and candy over SkiptheDishes, wear face masks, do your makeup for the hell of it, and just let loose.
Bethany made her way over about a movie and a half ago, and she was now explaining a stupid mishap from her office administrative position that quite literally pulled the company to a halt for 45 minutes. “I swear, you could not pay me enough to put up with those drivers.” She claims, taking an inhale from the joint in her two painted fingers.
Sky makes a sudden movement in her seat, reaching to the remote next to her to pause the movie. “Holy shit. Did I tell you I saw Eddie?” Her question is directed across you to Bethany, and you’re left wondering why the hell your boyfriend is the new topic of discussion.
“Wait, what?” Bethany asks, wide green eyes moving back and forth between you and Sky. “When and where?”
“Our date?” You interject her, a little weirded out by the turn this conversation has taken. “When Eddie picked me up, she was here.”
“Oh, I see.” She hums to herself. “Well, since she won’t show us a photo, please tell me what the man who’s old enough to be her father looks like.”
You roll your eyes at this, a cheeky thought occurring to you. “Well Dylan might be great; but he is a sequel. Ain’t nothing compared to the original.”
Sky nods, agreeing. “Eddie is… very good looking.” You shoot her a warning look, for some reason, her just alluding to his good looks makes you feel territorial. “Show her a picture if you don’t want to hear it, damn! Just telling the truth…”
“It’s not that I won’t show you guys,” you explain, unlocking your phone. “It’s that he doesn’t use social media, so he has no good photos of himself.” On the internet, at least.
“What, no throw back photos from Dylan’s insta?” Sky asks, mostly joking.
You go to Dylan’s insta, and you can’t view it. Fuck, you forgot. He blocked you. Even though he seems to be on better terms with you, simple reminders like being blocked from his social media or him refusing to tell any details about his life remind you he’s still nursing a healing wound. “Still blocked.” You look up, and their faces tell you they’re not letting up on it. “Fine. I’ll go to Eddie’s Facebook.”
Eddie added you as a friend the day after your date, adorably waiting as you went on your phone to accept it. The moment you did he went onto your profile and dove into your photos. His eyes were comically wide as he scrolled through them, and after the first few swipes he lifted his head to you. “You just put these on here? Fuck.” The photos weren’t even particularly bad, just you in a bikini on the beach or in a summer dress, he’s just that obsessed with you. You asked him if he minded and he shook his head comically, his dimples so prominent from his wide smile, he looked manic. “Oh, I never said to stop, sweetheart.”
Your thumb slides into Eddie’s profile, and while you were afraid of the calls from a judgemental relative about the relationship with him the word single on his relationship status still hits you hard in the chest. You move to his photos, past the useless profile picture that was his company logo of Munson’s Garage and swipe through the regular posts, past Dylan’s graduation from college, from high school, a picture of a nice car, an old one of his ex with Dylan, (barf), until you finally got through to a throwback, one posted in 2011.
It was taken in the 90s, so a picture of a picture of him sitting at an old kitchen table arm in arm with another dude. One of his feet was up on the table, and he was clutching a beer, lifting it to the camera. His friend was talking to someone off camera, distracted for the moment, his slightly freckled face in a scowl. His friend had brown hair down to his neck styled specifically in a swoop, and they seemed about the same age.
His friend was quite attractive, but younger Eddie made you fucking drool. God, he was so gorgeous. He wore a leather jacket under a denim vest, ripped blue jeans over his big black boots. Fuck. You almost didn’t want to share this photo.
You go to the next photo, and a giggle leaves your mouth as you see him posing with a friend, tongues out and devil horns on their heads as smiles peek through. The background is a stage at an Iron Maiden concert, and they both look ecstatic. It’s a different friend in this one with curly hair, but it looked like he had posted from the Iron Maiden concert. A few more scrolls told you that the throwback photo would be the best option.
“Ok.” You finally say, and both girls have been waiting so long at this point they’ve started scrolling on their own phones. “Guys. You wanna see it or not?”
You hand your phone to Bethany, indicating he was the one on the right. The possessiveness that hits you when you see her reaction, her wide eyes and jaw literally dropping, stunted you. “Holy shit. This is him from how long ago?”
“In the late 90s, I guess.” You tell her.
She hands the phone to Sky, who was asking for it repeatedly as soon as Bethany let out her reaction. “Oh, yeah. He was a cutie. Honestly, he’s hotter now.” Your teeth grit, and you take a deep breath in to calm yourself.
“How?” Bethany asks, gesturing to your phone.
“Ok. Enough. He’s very good looking. But he’s fucking taken.” You bark out, holding your hand out for the phone.
They both stop talking, your sudden anger very uncharacteristic of you. Usually when you find someone particularly good looking, you’d show them off, agreeing with your two friends when they would praise their good looks. This wasn’t anything like those times. Hearing their praises just makes you want to sink your teeth into Eddie’s neck and mark your territory the next time you see him.
“Woah, girl.” Sky says, laughing lightly to diffuse the tension. “Never seen that side of you before.”
“Well, I didn’t even know she existed until a waitress looked at Eddie on our date and I wanted to throttle her,” You admit, grabbing the nearly empty cocktail and taking a sip. “I just…I don’t know why I’m so territorial over him, but God, the thought of him with someone else makes me sick to my stomach.”
Bethany holds her hands up in surrender, “Alright, we won’t compliment him anymore. But you did good, girl. You did mighty good.”
-
As per usual, the girls'-day-in resulted in the three of you falling asleep in the living room, blankets and pillows scattered across the three of you. The sun cascading through a window by the couch wakes you up, disgruntled, as you pat around for your phone. The screen greets you harshly, your notifications indicating you have three messages from Eddie, two from a manager at work, and the several random ones, which you clear out, not caring about Instagram stories for the moment. Eddie texted to say he was going into work for a few hours. The next two messages indicated if you were there when he got home, he wouldn’t be against it.
Basically, he just told you to please be there when he got home. Fuck, the feeling of him reaching out first was enough to send a wide smile to your face, staring stupidly at your phone. You message him back, letting him know you’ll be there.
The messages from your manager were one from two hours ago, asking if you’d be able to come in for 10 o’clock– Which was thirty-five minutes ago– and the second asked if you were able to come in at all. You quirk your eyebrow, glad your read receipts are off for her, because you’re planning now to text at 3 o'clock to let her know that, oops, you just saw this. No, you’re not going in on your day off, you’ll be spending it with your ridiculously hot boyfriend.
You leap from your couch, running into your room to pack another overnight bag. You’re out the door before the others even stir.
As you pull into Eddie’s driveway, you notice Dylan’s truck there, but Eddie’s is still gone. You wonder when he’ll be back, because although Dylan is civil towards you, interactions with him are still stunted. You open the front door, grateful Dylan tended to leave it unlocked. You drop your overnight bag and pillow off at the staircase, its usual spot, before you trot off to the living room where Dylan sits watching tv.
As you plop down next to him on the other side of the couch, Dylan looks to you, startled by the movement, but his eyes roll in exasperation when he realizes that it’s you. “Hi.” You sing-song to him, knowing you’re annoying him, but having fun with it anyways.
“Hey.” He deadpans, watching the tv instead of looking over to you.
“Oh, wow you’re almost caught up.” You say, indicating to a show that you had recommended he watched a while back.
“Turned out to be a good show.” He comments, sounding annoyed.
“Well, how about that?” You retort, and Dylan rolls his eyes before a small smile lands on his face.
Progress.
Less than an hour later, the front door closes, indicating Eddie’s homecoming. He walks in, and as you pay attention to a particularly good episode in this series, you hear a big stretch come from him. “Hi, Ed!” You call out, finally turning towards him.
Fuck. Holy shit.
A few grease stains paint Eddie’s hands and chin, and he’s wearing a pair of blue coveralls from work with a patch on his chest of his name. The grease monkey suit shows off his muscles beautifully, both sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair is tied back into a messy bun, and you’re sure he forgot about the reading glasses on his head. Oh god, he is mouth watering.
A throw pillow hits your face, completely startling you. You whip your head around, glaring at the culprit. “Little drool.” Dylan mouths, pointing to his chin.
“Oh, little drool?” You mock, getting up to hit him with the pillow hard. He chuckles, fighting you off.
You push his shoulder off, shuffling into the kitchen. You turn to see Eddie moving around the kitchen, making himself a quick sandwich. “Hi baby!” You greet him, reaching out for him.
“Oh, hi baby.” He says, following up with an air kiss. He breaks into laughter at your scowl. “Sorry, you don’t want this grease on you. It smells terrible and it’s not fun to wash off.”
“But there’s no grease on your lips.” You point out, staring at those pretty pink lips of his.
“Baby, I cannot kiss you without touching you and there is grease all over my hands.” He chuckles, holding them out.
You want to point out that he’s getting things dirty with grease in the kitchen, including his sandwich, by his own logic, but you have a feeling you won’t get away with it very easily. “Fine. Come see me when you’ve had a shower then.” You tell him, attempting to waddle back to the living room.
“Ah, ah.” Eddie tuts, grabbing your hand. “Come with me, after I shower, I need time with you in my bed.”
“In your bed? Or, in your bed?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing suggestively at the second option.
“If you didn’t know the answer by now, clearly I haven’t done my job right.” He says in a lowly, his eyes darkening in an instant.
Eddie turns around to the sandwich he made as if he hadn’t said a word, grabbing it quickly before tugging on your hand to take you up the stairs.
He hops into the shower, you scroll through your phone on his bed as you wait, somewhat impatiently, your panties already uncomfortable from his stroll into the house in his work uniform.
Fuck, he was hot. You thought about him. His muscles, the slight glisten of sweat, and your phone was tossed aside before you even realized your hands were roaming over your body. You close your eyes, the image of him busy at work on his back on one of those…rolly things in your head. His forearms flexing, the look of concentration on his face.
Your hands itch for your center and you can barely hold back anymore, thankful you opted for a pair of stretchy shorts. Your fingers graze your center easily, rolling around in small circles as you picture the easy access his coveralls would give you, showing up with a dress and no panties and just riding him in his office. Fuck, maybe you wouldn’t even make it there. Goddamn, the images were too hot, your panties finding their way around your ankles as you grind up against your own fingers.
“Fuck.”
Your eyes fling open to see your boyfriend in his towel. You were so wrapped up you didn’t even notice the water from his shower turn off. He’s staring, open mouthed and eyes dark, and Jesus… This was a fantasy of yours from the beginning. You continue, staring half lidded back at him, hand grabbing up at his bed frame when it started to feel so fucking good.
Eddie’s towel drops when his brain catches up, jumping into his bed to lay next to you. “Couldn’t even wait, huh?” He asks, and you let out a whimper as he lightly kisses your neck. “Just couldn’t fucking wait.”
“You were so hot—” you gasp out, moving faster on yourself now. “—in that goddamn uniform. Wanna…wanna ride you in it.”
The very indication that you were playing with yourself because you found him that hot in his uniform is too much for Eddie to process. He nearly moans, leaning for another kiss on your neck. His hands are itching to help you, itching to take off the rest of those clothes that hide your gorgeous body, but he holds back, needing to know more about it. “What—what were you thinkin’ ‘bout, baby?”
“You, in the uniform…” you tell him, your hips starting to move when your want grows. Why isn’t he helping?
“C’mon, baby. I wanna touch you but I just gotta know.” Eddie tells you, his voice gruff.
A gulp moves through your throat before opening your mouth to tell him. “Your dick out of the uniform, and me with no panties and a dress at your shop, riding you anywhere…your office, the rolly thing, god, just you in that uniform…Ed…”
Goddammit, was that an idea Eddie certainly had before. He has wanted to show you around his workplace, but also christen it with you, and he had had the exact idea with his uniform and you in a dress, to boot. “Fuck, my horny, eager little slut, hey?” Eddie asks, watching your closed eyes as you continue to work yourself.
“Please…please touch me?” You ask him, the torture of his voice there but not actually helping you is too much. “Want…want you.”
“Hmm. Horny little slut didn’t wait for me…I dunno if she even deserves my help.” He bluffs, wanting nothing more than to reach out and feel the slick of your wet pussy.
You nearly cry out in protest, not calling him on his bluff. “I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself…you’re just so…fuck…you’re so fucking hot, Ed.”
He leans in to kiss you and you accept it gratefully, a smile against his lips. As his lips move against yours, deepening the kiss to easily work his tongue against yours, his hands land on yours against your pussy delicately, gently pulling your fingers to the side. He slides a digit in and you whimper into his mouth, your hips thrusting up. “Oh, so fucking desperate.” You nod your head, agreeing with him. You’re desperate for more. Even with Eddie on your mind, your fingers never even compared to his.
He leans into your neck, the scent of his aftershave and body wash strong but oh-so-goddamn good. He slides your shirt up your torso smoothly with his free hand and pulls it from your neck fiercely. You feel his hand somewhat desperately go around your back to unhook your bra, and as it falls casually over the edge onto the floor, he moans at the sight of your exposed tit, your nipple just begging to be touched.
He leans in to mouth the bud, and you whimper at the sensation. He pauses, breathing heavily and open mouthed onto it. You gasp, his hot breath sending waves down your body. “Fuck, so pretty.” Eddie mutters to himself, dark eyes watching your face as you get closer.
A desperate hand of yours tugs him up to your face, desperate for more of his wet and hypnotizing kisses. “Fuck me.” You gasp, suddenly feeling that his fingers weren’t enough. “Need…need your cock. Please.”
Eddie’s mouth opens at the prospect of you simply begging for him, and you can feel a shift in his energy as he starts to kiss you deeper and hungrier. “When you beg so sweetly, how could I possibly say no?” He hums, his hand framing your face.
He finishes yanking the last of your pants off your ankles. As he settles himself in between your legs, he can’t help himself. He leans down, taking one long lick along your folds, for just a taste. You whimper in response, knees springing up to your chest. Eddie chuckles, crawling up slowly until his chest lines up with yours, the tingle of him against you too much to handle. Slowly, he moves into you, and as he stretches you open, your eyes roll back and your toes curl. Eddie watches the utter bliss that takes over your face.
“Oh that beautiful face you make, sweetheart.” He grunts, smoothing his hands over your forehead. His words make you pulse around him. “This fucking tight little pussy wrapped around—” he stops, grunting as you continue to pulse around him. One hand moves down to your hip, caressing it softly he uses the leverage to buck into you.
A hushed swear comes out of you, the simple pleasure from his cock alone sending you into euphoria. Eddie continues slowly, enjoying every inch of your heat around him. “Your pussy…god how did I live without it?”
You clutch onto him, staring up into his darkened brown eyes. You open your mouth to respond in kind, but the particularly harsh rut into you leaves your mouth gasping open and your eyes fluttering shut in pure heaven. “Oh, that’s it.” He mutters, hips moving faster. “That’s my cock-drunk little whore.”
Your nails scratch down his back, and he moans in response. “Eddie, your cock. There’s…I…please.”
“I-I know, baby. I know.”
He collapses onto your chest, and you feel his cock twitch into you as your orgasm takes over your body. His hand carefully sweeps your sweaty forehead as he watches you recover, your eyes losing their haze as you return to earth. “Hi.” He mutters, leaning in to kiss you softly.
“Hi.” You smile. For once, he does take his dick out of you right away, despite your protests. However, you can’t protest any further when he comes back and wraps his arms around you with his chest pressed against your back, his still steadying breaths lulling you into a quiet nap.
Somehow, you know that his arms are always going to be the best place in the world.
-
About an hour later, you’re snuggled against his side, legs intertwined as Eddie watches his show and you work on a crossword puzzle. “What’s a six-letter word for angry?” You ask him, stumped for a good minute.
“Uh…grumpy? Heated? Hmm…raging?”
“Raging! Fuck, I couldn’t get that one. Thanks, baby.” You tell him, receiving a kiss on the head as a response. “Why’d you go in for work, Ed?”
“Other than making my baby horny?” He jokes, muttering it into your hair. “Well, one of my best-known clients called and my men know that when he calls, they need to call me in, because his car is just—” he cuts himself off, holding out the OK sign. He continues talking about the mechanics/politics of handling a car like this in his job. The caliber, the horsepower, the specialized engine, and everything else.
It’s not like you know a whole lot about cars. Most of what he is saying comes out as gibberish. But you listen to him, watching as he gets more and more animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he excitedly explains his morning. You watch him, a soft smile creeping up your face as he describes…what, you weren’t even sure, to you.
He stops as he notices the peculiar look on your face, your eyes glazed over. “What?” he asks, wondering if you caught even a word of his story.
“I love you.” It comes out before you even realize. But it’s true.
With your whole chest, you love him.
Eddie inhales sharply, and he looks at you like you had placed each star in the sky just for him. Because you did. “I-I’ve been wanting to say that to you since I first saw you.”
His words feel both impossible and like they make the most sense in the entire world. Because since day one, you have been captivated by him in every sense imaginable. Taking the time to get to know, see and love every inch of him before recognizing that yes, this is love.
This all occurs to you within a second, because Eddie’s hand is framing your face and you feel his lips on yours, deep and caring to a point that takes your goddamn breath away. Your tongue collides with his, and his fingers are so gentle as they cradle your face it barely feels like he’s holding it. He tastes so good, like the air you breathe is suddenly useless, and all you need to do is breathe him. His fingers intertwine in your hair, he gasps as his forehead collides with your own, clinging onto you for dear life.
“Will you say it?” You ask, realizing he still hasn’t.
“I fucking love you.” He says in a low, soft voice. He uses a hand to force you back and you open your eyes to look into his beautiful brown ones. “I love you.”
Your chest inflates rapidly, like all the emotion just bursts into it. A giggle escapes your lips, the smile on your face seeming to be permanently etched there. He tugs you into the tightest hug, and you feel his heart beat rapidly against your own as your arms fling themselves around his torso, burying your head in his neck.
God, it’s like you fit perfectly there.
He slouches down, ignoring the book you dropped and the forgotten tv show, and lays you down, chest to chest, his arms wrapped around you as you curl into his chest. He nestles his nose into your hair, breathing you in, feeling the breath, the life in you as you breathe in sync with him.
Any sense of time, responsibilities, or the outside world become muted and pale in comparison.
It’s just you and him.
-
The sizzling sounds of bacon for dinner mixed with Eddie’s humming to some oldies fill the kitchen. Every time he turns around from the stove to grab something, he shoots you a smile that captivates his face, something that you wholeheartedly return each time. The acknowledgement that this is love somehow didn’t feel like it had tied you to anything or that any new expectations were put on either one of you. You simply want his company and he, yours.
You scroll through your phone absentmindedly, though the sight of his hips in his low sitting sweatpants are much more enticing than anything your phone’s algorithms have to show you. Playfully, Eddie keeps dancing a little too hard to the music, head banging and swinging his hips to even the softest of Dad Rock.
God, it’s Heaven. As Eddie serves up a few plates, Dylan comes down dressed in one of his better date night outfits.
“Ooh, hot date?” You ask him, leaning forward onto the kitchen island.
Dylan’s brows furrow, stopping mid stride. “Yeah. Not talking to you about that. You’re still my ex. And you’re still seeing my dad. Weirdo.”
Eddie sends a glare his way, eyes darkening in a split second. Dylan rolls his eyes, sneaking around him to grab a bite of bacon. Ignoring it, Eddie places a plate in front of you with eggs, bacon and toast, and you thank him as he leans in for a kiss.
“Love you.” Eddie mutters, and you smile into his lips and feel him do the same.
“L-love?” Dylan spits out, his voice exasperated. He shakes his head, still chewing on the bacon. “Fuck right off.”
“Dyl.” Eddie starts, leaning forward as he takes a bite from his toast. He has a devious smile on his face, chewing on his idea. “Quiet. The adults are talking.”
If you had expected something out of pocket, it certainly wasn’t that.
The brown eyes Dylan shares with his father widen in pure exasperation. “What?? Dad, I’m six months older than her!”
You barely keep in the laughter that bubbles out of your chest. Eddie grins at you and lets out his own chuckle. “That’ll teach you to be an ass, huh?”
Dylan doesn’t respond, just grits his teeth and yanks one more piece of bacon before leaving through the front door.
-
Dylan Munson got dealt a dirty fucking hand from whoever the fuck is in charge of this shit.
It was only a mere nine weeks ago when you made your way across the mixer to say hi to him that he thought things were going his way. The more he saw you, the more he thought that this had to be leading to something. It made sense to him, but as he had started mentioning long term plans or anything of the like, he could feel you clam up. Every time he mentioned something requiring commitment, your shoulders tensed up, your face winced by only a smidge, but when it became a regular occurrence, Dylan realized you might not have been ready as you thought you were.
He was willing to accept it. So, he took matters into his own hands. Honestly, he would’ve been fine paying the daily fee for parking, but he knew his dad was there, and he was excited to introduce you to him. Boy, what a shit show that turned out to be.
As he woke up to an empty bed, he had expected you to be downstairs. Instead, he was faced with a bowl of cereal without the milk, and he couldn’t tell how long it had been there. He searched the whole house. Your bag, clothes, and shoes were still there, so he knew you couldn’t have gone far. Turns out, he was right. You didn’t. You went two doors down from his own.
The sight of you and his fucking dad in the white sheets was already too much to bear, and then the stab of betrayal from his own father hurt more the initial shock of yours, tugging angry tears from his eyes as he ran to his room. The torture of hearing your whimpers, a sound he knew well, while downstairs trying to cheer himself up was fucking brutal.
When you finally left, his dad came home with a terribly apologetic look on his face as he walked through the front door. Dylan refused to hear a damn word out of his mouth, dismissing all his claims of ‘holding back as long as he could’ and ‘I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before.’ Shit just hurt.
A day later, Dylan couldn’t hold it in anymore. He screamed at the top of his lungs, the anger finally kicking in. His dad did yell back, but mostly at the choice words aimed at you. It hurt for a moment, as it felt like he cared more about someone he had met last week, his (now ex) girlfriend.
When you and his dad showed no signs of slowing or stopping any time soon, he realized this would become a new normal. Didn’t mean he liked it.
He came home after a relatively long day at work to you and his dad sitting and watching a movie comfortably. His knee jerk reaction was to swear angrily, but the look on your face stuck with him. You had never relaxed with him. You were always looking around corners or there was some part in your body unable to lean into him completely.
As you apologized awkwardly on his bed, his hurt finally felt acknowledged by you, and fuck, he needed to hear that he didn’t do anything wrong. He genuinely started to wonder if he did.
Most of his nights he spent going out, his friends asking where the hot new girlfriend he was bragging about now was. He just said you cheated on him and it was over and they called you a bitch and moved on.
Yes, even Ethan. (The one friend you actually liked)
He drowned his sorrows in alcohol, always making his way back to the house where his ex was expected to be at any given time. God, it was so shit.
After your apology, though, he had to admit, you looked good together. It seemed like his dad’s smile just hadn’t left his face for days, and goddamn, was it annoying to admit that you were good for him. That remaining anger seemed to itch at him, unable to forgive or forget, a buried hatchet with an X to mark the spot.
Ethan eventually brought his girlfriend to boys’ night out, which was met with disgruntled groans from the collective group. Ethan’s girlfriend invited a friend who would be joining, and Dylan fought hard not to roll his eyes.
An hour into the night, a drink, and a few good dances in, Ethan’s girlfriend brought her in, and Dylan stopped dead in his tracks. Okay, no one said she would be fucking gorgeous.
If Dylan thought you were out of his league, then Maya wasn’t even playing the same game. His heart pounded out of his chest, and he knew he had to grab this girl a drink and get her number, now. As he pulled into an easy conversation with her, the hairs stood on his arms as it felt electric just being near her.
Maya met his enthusiasm, agreeing to a date within the first hour of conversation with him. One of his buddies mentioned Dylan had been cheated on by his most recent girlfriend, and Maya was floored. If any girl was lucky enough to have him, how could they even think of cheating?
As Dylan rode home in the backseat of his friend’s truck, drunk on her undivided attention and, well, plain ol’ drunk, something his dad had said came to mind. “I can’t explain it, I just had to know her. In every sense of the word.”
He felt the same way about Maya. Everything about her drew him in. Her smell, the way her jeans hugged her hips, the shine of her red hair. God, she was fucking beautiful.
As he smelled bacon on the way down the stairs, he decided to grab a piece on his way out to his first date with Maya, jitters galore. You asking him about the date was kind, but still too weird for him to gush about the gorgeous girl from the bar he met when that ‘gorgeous girl’ was once you.
Love you, his dad said. The word struck him, it occurred to him he doesn’t truly understand how much you and his father cared for one another. The L word didn’t come easily to Munson men, after all. Dylan walked to his car, disgruntled as the interaction rolled over in his mind.
What a mess he would be bringing her home to, if he ever got lucky enough.
-
Since you worked the next day, you had to go home for the night. The lingering kisses at Eddie’s door were too much to bear.
Too much for Eddie, too. You get a text about twenty minutes after you get home, Need you.
You grit your teeth, you need him, too. Working four days in a row sounds manageable, at least it usually does. Without Eddie to come home to or to wake up with, it’s nearly torture. You ignore Skylar’s comment of codependency. Fuck co-dependency, it isn’t that you depend on him too much, you just need him too much. You need to come home to him, to sit and watch tv with him… It’s the domestic bliss you miss.
Somehow, just reading a book at the end of the night without his even breaths has you on edge. You shoot him a text letting him know you’d be there soon.
As you walk through the doorway of Eddie’s house, he welcomes you and you hop into his arms, inhaling his shampoo as soon as you get close enough to, his familiar scent bringing you an indescribable feeling of safety. “Need you to stop leaving for so long.” He mutters, feeling nearly crazy for missing you so much while you were gone.
You hum in response, staring into his pretty eyes as they stare down at you lovingly, resting your chin on his chest.
“Move in with me.” It’s impulsive.
You blink, unable to register what he just said. “Uh, what?”
He chuckles, hoping the stunned look on your face is a good thing. “It’s stupid for you to keep moving back and forth between here and your apartment all the time. Move in with me.”
It’s a tempting offer. Could you do it? Realistically, could you bring your things in, set up your skin care routine in his bathroom, have a horde of snacks at your disposal, bring Bethany over for sleepovers…is it possible? He watches as you think it through, and his heart skips a beat as he watches it falter. “I-I can’t. Not yet, at least.”
His head tilts curiously, eyebrows furrowed. “Hmm?”
“I’m still tied to my lease for another three months.” You can’t abandon Sky, not after all this time. “Skylar would be pissed if I just up and left her to either scramble for a new roommate or for a new apartment.”
Was that it? “Oh,” Eddie says, relieved. “I can pay that.”
His answer momentarily stuns you, and a gorgeous laugh escapes his lips as he takes in your slack jaw and wide eyes. “W-what?”
He leans in, kissing your lips sweetly. “Sweetheart. I’m not gonna wait another ninety days when I can just pay it now and get you here tomorrow.”
“You’ll pay my half?” You ask, eyebrows raised, a light smile on your face.
“What’s your rent?”
“1800 for the apartment, we both pay 900 plus utilities.”
He does the quick math. “Oh, so 54 (hundred) to buy the lease out? Yeah, I’ll pay it. Might relieve Sky from being pissed at me for stealing her roommate.”
The casualty of his words drench your underwear, his urge to take care of you sending a heat to your center you can’t explain. You lean in, swiping your tongue on his bottom lip, showing your appreciation. “Can-can we go upstairs?” You ask him, out of breath.
Eddie smiles, taking in your lust-blown eyes and slack expression. “You know that’s not why I offered, right?”
The overwhelming happiness bubbles up from the inside and you shoot a wide smile up at him, chin resting on his chest again. “I know. Still, baby. Want you. Please,”
Eddie smirks, framing your face with his thumbs lightly. “When you say it so nicely, how could I ever refuse?”
You tug him by the hand and start running up the stairs. A yelp echoes through the house as Eddie grabs at your ass near the top, and when he lies down on the bed, you can’t get his cock down your throat fast enough.
-
To say the least, Sky couldn’t find it in her to be angry. She was going to miss you, more than she could describe as her roommate. She also had a three month warning to find a new roommate or a new apartment and had ample time to put at least some money aside while she didn’t have to pay for rent. She really had nothing to complain about. Still, she was gonna miss you.
As soon as the lust of him offering to take care of you died down, you went into overdrive, remembering how stressed you were when you had to move in your current apartment, a lease you’ve renewed twice now. You started making a list of things you needed, working between your phone and a random spiral notebook you found in a junk drawer. How many boxes did you need to get? If you used both Eddie and Dylan’s trucks how many hours would it take to move down the stairs-only building you had?
“What’re you working on?” You hear his voice over your shoulder.
“Oh, just working out the kinks of moving. My car won’t be enough, I’ll need your guys’ trucks to help. I also have my own furniture to worry about. The entertainment center is hers, but the couch is mine. My dresser, my bed, my bathroom shelf, all my bathroom junk—”
“Baby.” He interrupts you, a hand sliding up to your neck. “Relax. I can hire someone to take care of all of this for you. Just focus on packing your things and directing the men around on where to put them.” He places his hands delicately beneath your chin. “Ok?”
Fuck, you might just blow him again.
“Ok.”
And you did just that. You shared your list to Eddie’s phone, who called a smaller moving truck with three men to assist, hired an organizer to assist in organizing what you do or don’t need and who will handle selling your furniture, and finally, paying the rest of your rent to your front office without blinking an eye to get you out of the lease.
Soon, you were on the driveway on a hot day, watching as all the boxes containing your clothes, shoes, makeup, and other junk went up the stairs to Eddie’s (and now your) bedroom, a few staying downstairs.
He stands next to you in a white muscle shirt with a band you don’t know pictured on the front and some sweats, hands on his hips as he watches the movers go back and forth between the house and the truck. He radiates authority, each mover couldn’t be much older or younger than you, but they all look to him with respect, all of their words followed by the word ‘sir’.
“Sir, huh?” You ask, teasing him.
Eddie slightly grimaces, rejecting it. “Yeah, they insisted.”
“Dunno, kinda suits you.” You tease, and you walk back to the house, missing the audible gulp that comes from his throat, imagining it. You, on your knees, begging for him, calling him sir…
“Sir?” One of the movers asks, getting his attention. He flicks back, seeing the clipboard held in front of him. “Need you to sign.”
“Oh, shit, sorry.” He mumbles, picking up the pen to sign.
As he signs his name, Dylan pulls up, taking in the men, the truck, the boxes on the floor visible past the open front door. “She’s moving in?”
Eddie looks at him, apologetic. He had asked you yesterday, and since then, he hasn’t had time to sit down and tell Dylan in person. “Sorry, bud. Kind of just happened all at once.”
Dylan thinks of his new girlfriend’s apartment, the night he had just spent wrapped up in her sheets. “I-I get that.”
Eddie blinks, expecting more of a push-back. “So, dad. I met this girl.” Oh, that explains it. “She’s…” the smile that lands on Dylan’s face is peaceful, and Eddie feels both curious and reassured. “Anyway. I wanted to bring her over for dinner to introduce her. Is that okay?”
A firm hand lands on Dylan’s shoulder, bringing him for a hug. “Of course, bud. When did you want to bring her over?”
“Friday at 6?”
It’s Wednesday, so that gives you both ample time to unpack and get the house ready for a dinner guest. “Friday works. Bring her over.”
“Hey, do you guys need any more help with the boxes?” He asks, running into the house.
Eddie doesn’t answer as he stands, stunned at the change in his son over the last, what, week?
The next two days make Dylan realize although he was in a much forgiving mood, he’s going to need to move out and fast. Just when he thought the two of you were bad, he didn’t realize how much worse you’d be when you moved in. In hindsight, he wasn’t sure how he didn’t see it coming.
Soon, he texted a friend he knew who was looking for another apartment about maybe moving in together after realizing your moans were not coming from your bedroom as he grabbed his keys and booked it for the front door.
You were on Eddie’s laundry room floor, wrapped in his arms, with only your shirt around your torso and his hair halfway out of its ponytail. You were still in the middle of recovering; Eddie edged you twice before finally letting you finish. “Did you hear the front door close?” Eddie asks, still breathing heavily as he does.
“N-no.” You gasp, moving your head up to face him, his chest hair tickling your chin. “Were we that loud?”
Eddie laughs, letting a thumb pet your face lightly. “Have you ever tried to be quiet, sweetheart?”
You shut him up with a kiss, slippery, but filled to the brim with everything you had. “Shut up.”
“I love you.” He mutters as you wrap yourself in his arms, and you whisper it back into his chest. “We do have company coming over, so we should probably finish unpacking.”
You groan lightly, but Eddie takes your hands and forces the two of you onto your feet, your knees lightly buckling. “I have so much stuff! There’s so much left to unpack.”
“Oh, I’m sure unpacking yourself into the second half of the walk-in is so hard, baby. C’mon, I’ll help you out.”
Again, Eddie’s house looks humble from the outside, but it was nothing to snark at. As he made more money, he slowly upgraded and renovated instead of just moving into a bigger house. The one upgrade that wasn’t really for him, but a constant reminder of what he lost, was the his-and-hers closet he had made for his ex, something she only enjoyed for six months before leaving him. He was excited to see your dresses, skirts, pants, and underwear in his closet, and especially your smell. Basically, he was excited for your invasion of the house.
You walk over to his–your–room where there are still boxes sitting, waiting to be unpacked. You start unpacking the one labeled dresses/skirts. As you start laying out a pile, separating the skirts you knew you weren’t gonna wear from the ones you would, Eddie sidled up beside you, pulling one you knew looked good on you up from the pile you weren’t gonna wear. “Hey, hey. Why haven’t I seen you in this one?”
You hesitate in your answer, pulling two more dresses out before answering. “Dylan fucked me while I wore that.” You admit, and he drops it immediately. He pulls another one up, hands moving over the silky blue fabric. Damn that one looked great on you. “That one, too.”
He drops it unceremoniously, hands moving to his hips. “Which ones hasn’t he touched you in?”
You put your hands on the much smaller, less appealing pile. “These.”
Eddie sighs, scratching his head. “Alright. We’re going shopping.” He announces, placing the pile of your old ‘rejects’ onto the floor.
“Huh?” You ask him, not sure you heard him correctly.
“Yep. Just leave all the clothes in a pile right there, and on Saturday I’m taking you shopping.”
“Baby, I work Saturday.”
“So call in.”
After Eddie helps you settle in for the next day and a half, you spend a good portion of your Friday in the kitchen, working in tandem to make supper together. You place plates at the dining room table Eddie and Dylan barely used, straighten up the napkins and the utensils when Eddie comes from behind you, and you feel his cock press right up against your ass. You grind back into it, closing your eyes and whimpering.
“Ed, they’ll be here in like,” you let out a sigh, “half an hour.”
He turns you, giving you a dirty kiss and gripping your hips harshly. “Then we better get moving.” He slips your dress up your hips and your underwear down.
“Hmm…take off your pants.”
He slips his cock in, bending you over the table, making you gasp. “Already off, baby.”
-
Dylan pulls up in his truck, now having to park in the same spot you did in the street since you took over his spot on the driveway. “So, this is my house.”
“For three more weeks?” Maya asks, teasing him.
He lets their hands intertwine, leading her to the door. “I did grow up here.”
“Yet your dad is kicking you out.” She says, eyes narrowed.
“No, not kicking me out…” He drifts off, when Maya’s green eyes silently ask him, he dismisses it. “I’ll tell you later. C’mon.” He unlocks the front door, and as soon as it’s open, a very peculiar, very annoying sound is heard echoing in the house.
“Fuck, Ed, oh shit.”
Maya’s eyes go wide, it takes her a second longer to understand what they were listening to than it did for Dylan. Dylan shuts the front door, shoving his hand into his pocket for his phone. He dials his dad right away. “…Hello?” Eddie asks after three rings.
Dylan puts him on speaker. “Dad, wrap it up, we’re here.”
“Shit, sorry. Give us five—” the sound of your giggles interrupts him, “sorry, ten minutes. W-we’ll call you.”
He hangs up.
Maya’s face is the picture-perfect expression of what the fuck. “Dyl, when you said your family dynamic is odd…”
“I meant it. C’mon, let’s go for a walk to the corner store.”
Maya is taken aback, but she easily falls in line as Dylan holds his hand out for her. “Can’t believe the first thing I heard from your dad was that.”
“Darling, I have never meant it more than I have right now.” Dylan assures her, and she can see how much he means it in his brown eyes. “My dad has met my girlfriends in worse situations. Just be glad we didn’t see anything…’cause that was not coming from their bedroom.”
-
Eventually, you had to go upstairs to find a new dress to wear, Eddie having completely soiled it during your tryst as he phoned Dylan to let them know they were in the clear. Turns out, the two of you had time blindness when it came to one another, because neither of you were even close to done when Dylan had called.
As you climb down the stairs, there’s a knock on the door, and Eddie meets you there in time to open it to face Dylan and his new girlfriend. It was an intriguing feeling, opening the door to Dylan while Eddie’s arm was behind your back. Like a couple welcoming their son home. It was…bizarre to say the least. “Hey, sorry about—”
“It’s fine, dad. Rather not talk about it.” Dylan insists, his arm around a pretty redhead.
“Sure. Come on in.”
They step in, Maya taking a look around at the place as she does. “Maya, this is my dad and his girlfriend, Y/N. Guys, this is Maya.”
You weren’t used to Dylan being suddenly so cool with you and Eddie being together. He’s never out loud said that you were his dad’s girlfriend before without rolling his eyes or gagging. Whatever he had with Maya seemed to bring him some peace.
Thank god, you didn’t know if you could handle more eye rolls from Eddie’s 25-year-old teenage son. “Maya! Nice to meet you.” You hold your hand out to her, which she accepts graciously.
You remember meeting Eddie as a father to Dylan, and while your thoughts were occupied, whatever you were expecting for Dylan’s dad, it certainly wasn’t Eddie. You could see it clear in her face she wasn’t expecting this metalhead, either.
“Hi, Mr. Munson, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand to Eddie, and Eddie just about loses his mind.
“Ew. Don’t. Call me Eddie. Please.” Eddie gags, the same reaction he had when you addressed him that way when you first met.
“Oh. Sorry. Nice to meet you, Eddie.”
Eddie smiles back, purposefully dressing himself down as a parental figure. You could tell he was poising himself differently for them. Whether it was self consciousness over the last time he met a girlfriend, or making it clear to Dylan he had no plans for a second contender, it did the job.
“Alright, the dining room is this way.” You extend your hand out down the hall, leading the way out of a somewhat awkward situation.
The four of you sit at the table, both men at the heads of the table while you and Maya sit across from one another. Eddie picks up the salad bowl, plating himself quickly and handing it over to you. “So, Dylan. Tell us how you and Maya met.”
They both start the story, eager to share. “Oh, can I tell, Dyl? You always get to.”
“Fine by me.”
Maya giggles softly before facing you and Eddie. “Well, my best friend sort of ditched me to tag along to guys’ night, and I refused to be ditched, so I got myself ready and ended up being fashionably late. When she invited me, I was already done for the night, pajamas and all but I got dressed up out of pure spite.” You chuckle, that’s something Bethany would do. “I got to the club, and suddenly I saw Dylan, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone else for the rest of the night.” She looks over to him, her eyes soft and her pink lips in a sweet smile. “He just drew me right in. We talked for so long we didn’t even realize it was time for last call.”
“Wow.” You comment, taking the last bowl in rotation from Eddie’s hands, the stir-fry vegetables. “Sounds like you guys have a great connection.” You look at Dylan at the last word, hoping he receives your message.
“Oh, we truly do.” Maya grins, Dylan shooting a wink at her in response.
Eddie grabs your hand under the table, and you hold it, petting at the tough skin and colliding with his rings.
“Our first date was incredible.” Maya mentions off-hand but doesn’t elaborate. If it was anything like your first date with Eddie, you knew better than to pry further. “So Dylan told me how you guys met, tell me about that.”
You and Eddie share a look of surprise at how casually she mentions it. You weren’t expecting her to know yet, in fact you were wondering if Dylan was going to tell her at all. Eddie lets out a chuckle. “A shitshow, let’s just say. When Dylan found us, it just became real messy in here.”
Unfortunately, Eddie missed the continuous waving Dylan was doing across the table to stop, please!
“How would meeting online make things messy?” Maya asks, the story Eddie had just told her and the story Dylan explained not exactly lining up.
“What?” Eddie asks, now unsure himself.
Your hand meets your mouth in understanding, facing Dylan with his head in his own hands. “Baby, I don’t think he told her, yet.”
“Nope.” Dylan musters out, annoyed.
“Oh.”
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” Maya asks, watching everyone’s facial expressions one by one.
Dylan sighs, not ready to explain this part. “They didn’t meet online. Remember, my ex? The one who cheated on me?”
Maya rolls her eyes. “Of course I remember that bitch.” She says, giving you a look that says, ‘am I right’.
Dylan sighs, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Uh, Maya?”
“Hmm?”
“That’s her.” He says, pointing to you. “She cheated with my dad.”
Maya looks at you, dumbfounded, as you wave with a tight smile on your face. Being called that cheating bitch behind your back was certainly a new development from him. Not the…greatest feeling in the world. She looks to Eddie, who isn’t smiling, somewhat insulted on your behalf, but gives a friendly wave nonetheless.
“O-oh.”
“I said my family dynamic is different, didn’t I?”
“I thought you meant with how young she is…”
“There’s that…and there’s this. It used to hurt me a lot more, but honestly, since I met you, I don’t really feel that pain anymore.” He says to her. “I wish we could’ve had this conversation in private, but I guess I didn’t warn them.” A new hardness reaches Maya’s eyes as she looks at you, and you’re slightly taken aback by it. “Don’t be mad at them, because I’m not anymore. Well, mostly anyway. My dad said when he met her that he had to know everything about her or he was going to lose his mind.” You look to Eddie, and he winks at you slyly as you mouth the words I love you to him. “I used to think that was bullshit… But when I met you, Maya, I felt the same way, and I realized I couldn’t blame them for pursuing it if it was half as strong as what I felt when I saw you.”
The ice in Maya’s stare all melts the gloss in her eyes. “That’s still super messed up.”
“One hundred percent.” Dylan looks over to you and Eddie, and you’re wondering if the two of you were supposed to leave the table and give them privacy. “But now…they look good together. They’re good for one another. She puts this smile on his face that I never get to see anymore, and she seems more happy with him than she ever was with me.”
Your phone buzzes in your chair under your thigh. A text from Eddie. For the record, no one feels as strongly for anyone as I do for you. No one ever will.
You look at him and he nods once, his lips in a firm line. Your hands reach for his, interlocking with his. “Maya, I know you didn’t mean to but I would appreciate you not calling her a bitch.” Eddie tells her, parent voice on. “Now that we have all that out of the way, Maya, tell us what you do for work.”
-
Maya was a peach, and she seemed great for Dylan. As she helped clear the table she asked Dylan a question and it led to him announcing he was moving out. Out loud, Eddie gave him a proud hug, telling him it was a great idea.
To you, Eddie pumped his fist in celebration. As you washed the dishes that night, insisting Dylan and Maya go enjoy a movie on the couch, Eddie comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. “When Dylan finally moves out, I’m fucking you on every surface in this house. I might just tell you to stay naked for easier access.” He leaves a wet kiss on your neck, and you’re left to imagine the possibilities as he adjusts himself while clearing the rest of the table.
True to his word, as Saturday dawns, Eddie wakes you up two hours before you start work and tosses your phone to call in sick for it. You text your manager at his request, and as soon as you hit send, Eddie sends you to his bathroom to get ready for a shopping day. In your first outfit, a pair of shorts and an oversized sweater, Eddie looks up and down at you exasperated and tells you to go get all dressed up and put some makeup on.
When your hands land on your hips at this he backtracks hard. “Of course you can wear what you want, baby! I just know that you love to get all dressed up, and I thought it would be fun for you. That’s all. We’re going to be trying on lots of clothes and I want my girl feeling her best.”
Okay, he has a point. An hour passes by, Eddie moving around you as he gets dressed up himself, less dramatic than his date night outfit, but dressed up all the same. As you finish, a wing on your eye, he comes behind you, looking over your shoulder for something. “You know I used to wear eyeliner all the time?”
“I…no?” You stutter, turning to face him.
“Might put some on today.” He mutters, slightly teasing you.
“If you don’t want to scare the general public, maybe we’ll save it for a date night, Ed.” You yank the pencil away from him, terrified that if you look away for one second, he’ll go overboard.
“Not even a little on my water line?” He asks, and you suddenly realize that yes, he does want some makeup for the day.
“I don’t see why not.” You shrug.
Now you walk hand in hand in the largest mall in town, starting the journey down the large aisle, leading Eddie. But eventually, Eddie ends up leading you, knowing exactly which stores he wants to go to. In the first store he takes you to, you look around the racks timidly, putting away anything you see over 20 bucks. In less than five minutes, Eddie comes by with a pile of clothes in his arms. “I’m gonna get a dressing room started, ok?” He pauses, noticing the 45 dollar dress you just put back. “Ooh, can you hand me that?”
“No, it’s too much.” You insist, looking at the large pile of clothes he has. You thought he meant like, three or four items at the most.
“I didn’t ask how much it was, sweetheart. Hand it over.” He tells you, to which you do. Only five minutes later, as you have only picked out two or three more dresses yourself, does he swing by and tug you to the biggest dressing room, the walls decorated with clothing.
“I-I’m not trying all of this on, am I?” You look around, it would take you at least an hour, and that’s if you hurried.
“Yep. And you’re showing me every piece.” He says, before closing the door on your stunned face.
“Eddie, this is way too much.”
“No complaining, just show me the first one!” he yells to you, no real bark behind his command.
The first dress you wear was a bit revealing, an open back, up to your thighs with a cowl neckline that shows cleavage. He smiles at you, leaning his elbows onto his knees in the seat offered in the dressing room. “Nice… Do a spin.” You roll your eyes, spinning for him slowly and timidly. He whistles lowly. “Man, I’m good. Next!”
He asked for a spin in everything you modeled for him until he didn’t need to, you did it for him. With each new piece, you were learning to not care if you were in a store with him, posing for him as he assessed each piece. Some you thought looked decent on you, he put in the no pile, while others you thought were a sure no, he put in the yes. He told you ultimately, it was your decision and if you felt uncomfortable, you could put one in the no pile, but he knew your body better than anyone. If he insisted it looked good, it must’ve looked good.
At the last piece you put on, he can’t seem to decide, asking an attendant for her opinion. She says she thinks the shirt looks amazing on you but isn’t sure about the style of pants. “Yeah, I chose them just to see if you’d wear it.” You shook your head no, feeling uncomfortable in the business type pants. “Cool. Get dressed in your clothes, we have more stores to hit up.” You toss the shirt to him after yanking it off, and by the time you make your way to the register, the attendant is already handing over two oversized bags to him.
“Eddie, this is enough clothes, I really don’t need anymore!” You insist as he directs you to a store only three spaces over.
As soon as you walk in, they see the big bags Eddie’s carrying and immediately offer their assistance. Eddie rolls his eyes, knowing he only ever gets the star treatment if he’s walking around with the occasional designer bag. (He likes their underwear). “Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but the women’s side of our closet is huge, and you didn’t have nearly enough clothes to fill it anyway.”
Our closet. You’re so fixated on the use of the word our that you don’t realize he’s waiting for you to talk. “Doesn’t mean I need more.”
“Oh, that’s exactly what it means!” He turns to the employee who’s been following him around and hands her the bags. “Be a dear and hold on to these, will ya?” He turns back to you, resting one hand on the rack beside him and staring down at you intensely. “Baby. I want to spoil you. Let me. Please! Pick out some clothes you want, I’ll pick some out, too, and you can try them on.”
“You’ve spoiled me so much already!” You insist, gulping at the sincerity in his eyes. “You’re all I could ever ask for.”
“That’s exactly why I have to spoil you.” He retorts, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I love you. Let me show you how much. I have a stupid amount in savings. I kind of want to chuck some out just to keep me humble.”
You giggle at this, finally, fully giving in to his madness.
Madness, it is. As you go from store to store, he gets about two more bags full from each one, and you’re sure some of these outfits will never see the light of day after you see how he looks at you in them. About ten percent will just be something you put on for about two seconds before he takes it off you. He’s buying dresses he knows he’ll be the only person to ever take them off or see you in them.
At one point, he runs back to his truck to put the eight bags he got tired of carrying around away, coming back to meet you in the store he left you in. It wasn’t much of a clothing store, but you had a basket of things you were planning to buy for yourself. Earrings, a knick knack for your desk, a cute notebook and the like. (There was a shirt you found for Eddie that you got just for the hell of it.) You're waiting in line, and you’re digging through your purse for your wallet when Eddie comes behind you, wallet out, card in the machine. “I—”
“Baby. Your money is useless today. Let me.”
You roll your eyes, and the cashier’s wide eyes at his pet-name for you catches your eye, a laugh escaping you. “Yeah, sorry. Guess I forgot to mention my boyfriend is also in his 40s.” You giggle, having just gushed about how Eddie was spoiling you to him.
“What? 40s? I’m clearly in my 20s.” Eddie asks, acting offended.
The poor cashier looks genuinely frightened, holding up his hands in surrender. “He’s joking. He is. Likes to make people squirm.”
“Oh I love to make you squirm—”
“Eddie!” You berate him, yanking him out of the store as he lets out a bout of laughter. He catches his breath, still laughing as you cross your arms, waiting impatiently for him to stop.
“Sorry, sweetheart, you made it too easy! C’mon, two more stores, then we can grab food.”
“Can I pay for food?” You ask, holding his hand.
Eddie smiles, petting your hand with his thumb. “Of course.”
The second to last store he brings you to is an underwear store. Eddie lets you do all the picking, following closely behind and offering any commentary when you ask for it. For once, he doesn’t insist that you model for him, claiming that just seeing you go through the lacier drawers of panties was torture enough. You walk out with a wardrobe’s worth of new underwear, bras, and a little bit of lingerie. It was the first time you were there to see the total, your eyes widening as Eddie takes out his card.
He smirks at your stunned expression. “Oh, this isn’t even the highest bill, sweetheart.” The transaction goes through and the kind lady behind the desks offers the bags to him. “This isn’t even half of it.”
The bill was at about 700 dollars, so the very idea drove you insane that he had already collected every receipt and refused to let you see them.
He brings you to one last store, wall to wall, covered in clothes. He goes a little ham this time, and you notice he focuses on basics. Sweatpants, sweaters, shorts, and under shirts. There’s one thing he chooses that has you struggling to get the zipper up, and eventually you call out for him for help after a good five minutes of fumbling .
He opens the curtain delicately so as to not reveal anything, and you look at him helplessly as your hand can’t reach the zipper sitting low on your ass. His fingers are light to the touch, as one hand rests on your shoulder, one on the zipper as it goes up to your neck, your hair held by your hands. You can’t help the shiver that runs through you as your hair curtains down around your neck, and you turn to face him, holding your hands out to silently ask him what he thought.
What does he think? He thinks that this fucking dress looks so good on you that it would be a crime to get you to start trying on those shorts and sweaters. Hell, you knew your size, you were probably good to go. It was much less revealing than any dress you tried on, a number he’ll probably get you to wear on your next date. He couldn’t help himself, surrounded by the privacy of the small room, he leans in to kiss you sweetly, one hand going up to frame your neck. “Baby.” He mutters, his voice sounding desperate. “You look…fucking gorgeous.”
You smile into it, your hand tracing the seam of his shirt along his torso. “Thanks. Help me out of it? I still need to try on all these clothes.”
His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, surprising you. A slight whimper escapes you as he backs you into the wall against a few clothing articles hanging there. “I will absolutely help you out of this dress.” He says, his voice husky and a touch of arousal lands in your underwear as you realize why. “But then I’m going to get my cock in you.”
“In-in here?” You ask, highly aware you’re in a public space.
“Mmhmm. Be quiet and no one will suspect a thing.” he says, hand slipping under the skirt of the dress to start palming at your folds over your panties. You whimper at the touch into his mouth, focusing all your energy on not alerting the kind sales lady that you were hooking up in her dressing room. “Oh, good girl, keeping herself quiet.”
“It’s…it’s hard.” You whimper, the light touches over your panties not enough, but still causing more arousal.
“So am I.” Eddie chuckles, watching your face as he teases you. He slips the hand into your panties, letting them drop on the floor. “Oh, so wet, huh?” He asks you, eyebrows furrowed as he plays with the slick on your folds.
“Mmhmm.”
“Does daddy buying all the pretty clothes make you all hot, baby?” He asks, voice in your ear and fingers rubbing at your clit gentle, but enough to start you to your destination. You nod your head, because on some level, this was a big turn on for you. “Oh, you horny little slut.”
“Good girl…” You whimper, and Eddie leans back from your shoulder. “Good girl. Please?” You ask him, the slut shaming wasn’t doing it for you.
“Oh, you wanna be called a good girl, huh? Daddy’s good girl?” You nod, your eyes closing as he starts to rub at your clit faster.
“Feels…feels good, Daddy…”
“Daddy’s gonna make you cum, and since you’re a good girl you’re not gonna make a fucking sound. Okay?” You nod, holding a whimper in your throat from the finger he slides into your heat. “Oh she’s close.” He mutters to himself, placing gentle kisses on your neck. “Fall apart on my fingers so I can fuck you, my good girl.”
Your mouth is open in a silent scream, an orgasm shaking through you as you wither against the dressing room wall.
“Oh, that’s my good girl, such a good listener. Now, turn around and hold on to those hooks.” You do as he says, and as you brace yourself with your hands awkwardly against the hooks decorated with hangers, he zips the dress off you, lifting it over your head and nearly forgetting to muffle his own moan when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He lets his pants fall around his calves, and as his cock pushes you, you let your jaw open and eyes close, doing everything you could not to moan out loud.
He slowly bucks into you, and you close your eyes and lean against the wall headfirst while the scent of store clothes invades your senses. Soon, Eddie leans forward, forcing your torso up against his back as he places his ringed hand around you like a necklace. He kisses at the skin he can reach sweetly, eyes open as he watches your reaction to everything he does to you.
While the prospect of being caught by someone was hot, Eddie found himself watching for your visual reactions than listening for your audible ones. Hmm. He didn’t realize he had begun to rely on them. “How’s Daddy’s cock?”
“G-good.” You whisper, leaning into his chest with your head back against his shoulder.
“Gonna cum in you.” He mutters. He starts fucking into you a little harder, and it has to be perfectly timed because if he went all the way in, the sound of his balls against your pussy would be a dead giveaway.
“How’s everything in there?”
“Speak.” Eddie commands you, and you have to tear yourself from outer space for a moment.
“Great, thank you!”
“Just a reminder we try not to encourage two people in one dressing room.”
“She was just needing help with a zipper. Almost done.” Eddie pipes out, sounding relatively normal for someone seconds away from cumming.
“If you need any help or sizes, let us know.”
“Thanks…” Shit, that sounded out of breath.
“Cum in me.” You whisper, and Eddie does just that, slowly fucking his way through his orgasm, his cheeks flushed, shirt clinging onto the sweat.
You nearly protest as he takes himself out and tucks himself back into his pants. At this point, you were so turned on you kind of wanted to blow him while you had him in the room. You hold his face in your hands and connect your foreheads. “Is it bad I still want more?” You mutter under your breath.
Eddie swears softly, his boner fighting harshly against his slacks. “Fuck. No, I do, too.” He tugs your naked self into his arms, kissing your hair softly. “But…she was suspicious. Unless we want to get kicked out, we should quit while we’re ahead.”
“Can I blow you when we get home?” You ask him, turning to grab your own clothes off the floor.
Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the clothes scattered around the dressing room. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
It took multiple trips from Eddie’s truck to bring in all the bags. You truly didn’t realize how many pieces of clothing he had bought you until you saw it all scattered on the closet floor, all ready to be reorganized. Eddie starts hanging them, and you notice the outline of his cock in his slacks. He was still throbbing.
“Can I?” You ask, sitting pretty on your knees and looking up at him.
“Fuck, I’m never gonna say no to that.” Eddie answers, placing a hand under your chin.
You undo his pants, giving him a hungry look as his cock springs free. “You’re still hard?” You ask, knowing you’ve gotten food at the food court and walked around the mall a bit more before coming home.
“Mmhm.” You smile, jerking him lazily as you eye the length hungrily. You have the idea to tease him more, but the need to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue is too much. Eddie swears loudly as you take him in your mouth, gripping onto the center console for accessories and underwear. “Fuck”
You slowly bob your head up and down, staring up at him through your eyelashes as you relax your throat and allow your nose to meet his stomach. His hands skim through your hair, moving your head lightly, and again, you find it ridiculously easy to submit to him.
Eddie is uncharacteristically quiet, head thrown back in bliss as he feels the spit gather at his base. His stomach starts to tighten up a little bit and under your hands, his thighs are tense. Somehow it spells out to you he’s close.
You prepare yourself, moving your head faster on your own accord, opening your eyes at him again to watch for his reaction as you double down. A goddamn whimper escapes his throat as you continue, and suddenly it’s your goddamn mission to make him make that sound again. “Fuck, baby. Fuck…” Without any warning, the warm salty taste of his cum hits your tongue and you moan around him as he rides through his orgasm.
For once, as you wipe your mouth, you can tell he’s the one that needs recovery. You move to your feet, waiting for him to catch his breath. “Need some water?” You ask him, somewhat joking.
“The fuck was that?” He asks, his face in awe as he looks at you.
You give a cheeky and quick little kiss to the hand on your cheek. “Wanted to make you feel good.”
“Jesus Christ—” he tugs you into a hug, habitually kissing your hair. “How did I get so lucky?”
“Uh Ed.” You push lightly on his chest to get out of the hug, giving him a look of disbelief. You look gesture around the closet to the half of the clothes still not put away. “How are you the lucky one?”
Eddie’s face breaks into a wide smile, his dimples prominent, his smile lines deep. “You keep thinking that, darling.” He laughs, tugging you back into his arms.
As you stand there against his chest, relaxing into him with your eyes closed, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it. You put away my clothes since you know where everything goes.”
“I did design this closet.” He retorts, pointing a finger at you.
You walk down the stairs to the front door, seeing a tall figure facing away through the smart glass. You open the door to a gorgeous set of brown locks, perfectly coiffed. The figure turns around, and clearly doesn’t expect to see you standing there. “Hey, Ed- whoa.” You recognize his face, but you aren’t sure where from. You subtly fix your hair; suddenly aware you had just given head to your boyfriend. “Uh, sorry, little lady. Is Eddie here?”
“He’s upstairs in the closet. Can I help you?”
The stranger smiles kindly, and you notice the freckles on his face are like constellations. “Oh sorry! I told him I’d be coming through town, but I forgot to say when. I’m Steve, Steve Harrington.”
-
Thank you so much for reading! I love to read your comments, replies, and reblogs. As always, reblogging is the best way to support your fic writers on tumblr.
Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you
Taglist for Really Drives Me Mad: @yunnie-f1 @hollster88 @corrodedcoffincumslut @daisyridleyyyy @daniellabrandt @lail1010 @alicentswife @names-were-taken @bl4ckt00thgr1n
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x fem#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson x you smut#older eddie munson#older eddie munson x reader#older!eddie munson#older!eddie x reader
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AU thought: Nynaeve is born in Seanchan and raised from childhood as a damane
Immediate first thought (besides ‘why did you choose violence’) is that she’d probably be the best, still. She’s making it onto Tuon’s entourage. I am in pain thinking about it.
This is my AU, so I’m going to solve a personal mystery and say that her dad is Ajimbura & she’s from the Kaensada Hills. Let’s say her mom still died early from illness & dad still taught her how to hunt & track before she was tested. In fact, Ajimbura treated Nyneave as his son because he had seen her channeling at an unusually early age & was hoping declaring her his son could protect her from being made damane.
The Kaensada Hills are rural and unassimilated enough that this was not quite as useless an idea as it might seem, and let’s say they also had very functional ideas of gender roles- if someone does Man Things, they are A Man for all intents and purposes, or vice versa.
Spoiler: It doesn’t work, the sul’dam do eventually get around to testing even there and if there’s a saidar channeler, they’re gonna grab her. Nyneave becomes damane around 13. She still has that Talent for Healing, but because most Seanchan don’t want a damane working on them in that way, she’s only allowed to practice on other damane. It’s a Talent and not something that can be taught very well, which also dampens people’s enthusiasm about it since it’s not super replicable.
She’s still ridiculously powerful even with this somewhat problematic skill, though, and so she sees a lot of use in combat situations. Nyneave comes to Tuon’s attention when Nyneave’s sul’dam makes a judgement call & lets her bring one of Tuon’s favorite damane back from the brink of death after a combat injury. Tuon’s like ‘mine now’ and Nyneave joins the favorites squad.
Nyneave’s been with Tuon for ~6 years by the WH timeline. Once Ajimbura finds out where she is (since she’s higher-profile now that she’s with Tuon), he’s like ‘I must kill the Daughter of the Nine Moons’s father to avenge the loss of my son’ but her father is dead already (of ‘a bad wager’ in this timeline too) so he decides that as male captain of her bodyguard, Furyk Karede stands in loco parentis to Tuon, and therefore he must be killed.
After 3 failed revenge murder attempts, by the custom of his people, the debt rebounds upon Ajimbura and now he must become like Furyk Karede’s son and follow his trade.
This is the mechanism that Ajimbura’s people, distant descendants of the AoL Aiel, devised to stop blood feuds. If you try to revenge murder the same person three times & you can’t hack it, you have to join your enemy’s family instead and act in their interests. Most people don’t want to take that risk, or pick easier-to-kill enemies, so there’s a lot of trophy-hunting instead, kind of like how the Aiel have implemented complex prisoner of war rules so less people die.
So that’s why Ajimbura is Karede’s unhinged manservant in THIS universe. Still wish I knew why he’s there in canon!
Because I do not want Nyneave to suffer unduly, let’s say she comes with Tuon instead of Mylen (whose battlefield-medicine-descended-Healing is less impressive when compared to Nyneave’s Talent). Nyneave also represents Seanchan supremacy in a homegrown ‘we’re better than you’ way rather than a ‘we’ll brainwash you all’ way. Slightly different message, similar outcome.
She gets captured by our heroes at some point & basically has some of Alivia’s arc after that, but because she worked with Tuon and has insider info on her, she’s got more to do in Rand’s inner circle than just make people uncomfortable & lay out his outfit for the rest of his life. Actually, you know what, let’s full-circle this, the former Wisdom of Emond’s Field is Alivia Al’Meara & she’s the one who makes the call to uncollar Nyneave when she asks for it.
Also, Nyneave becomes friends with Aviendha because Avi meets her once and is like ‘forgive me but you’re the spitting image of my second-sister’s first-daughter’ (or whatever) and then they figure out that the Kaensada Hills tribes are also descended from AoL Aiel, and this connection becomes very important later on when the Kaensada Hills tribes strike out for independence in the aftermath of the entire Imperial family being murdered & the civil wars in mainland Seanchan.
#wheel of time#wot book spoilers#au ask game#gunkstateuniversity#Nyneave as damane AU#problematic fave Tuon#honestly many things still to figure out here like Nyneave’s gender identity & how Ajimbura handles civil war in Seanchan#also how Nyneave-like is Alivia al’Meara?#but whatever I think I got at least 5 facts in here so I can stop
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I'd Love To Take You Down And Leave You There
pairing: kendall roy/reader
summary: You feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.
“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”
words: 9506
tags: EXPLICIT, angst and a little fluff? weird power play stuff, coerced drug use, and therefore dubcon, choking, slapping, hair-pulling, manhandling in general, SUPER unhealthy relationship, emotional manipulation, friends to lovers ig, unprotected sex, drug and alcohol use, suicide and death mentions, degradation, corruption kink?? sadism and masochism and also sadomasochism, spitting in someone's mouth, references to sexual acts like shining a shoe with your tongue, face-fucking, and water breathplay, non-negotiated kink
a/n: idk i watched prague and saw how Kendall could be a manipulative sadist (along with his established masochistic tendencies) and decided to go with it.
35 Hudson Yards. Limestone and glass; eight sleek tiers. Wealth, abundance. An eighth of an ounce. Crazy. Some things slotted into place so easily for Kendall Roy, and others, not so much.
You have to tip your head back to look up at it. So far back your mouth has to fall open.
-------
You’d been to the old apartment, or at least, the old building. Dragged to Greg’s party, though if it was even his to begin with was debatable. He seemed worn out about halfway through, slumped above his guests. You felt deep empathy for him then-all the people and the noise, it was exhausting. And if it had been where you lived, well, you’d probably be a little more than tired. Angry, really. The friend who had brought you there had gone off somewhere, with someone, else, and you felt practically paralyzed by the intensity of it. Flush with one of the pillars between the windows, trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. The lively atmosphere had been fun at first, but now you’re alone among a bunch of bodies-people you don’t know, a place far out of your reach.
The edge of your phone hit against your palm in a slow, steady tempo, your other hand swinging it, needing something to fidget with. You could’ve looked at it, scrolled through Twitter or something to pass the time, but you felt the need to watch, see where everyone was and what they were doing. Hypervigilant. Which is how you saw him, headed your way from your left. His eyes looked dark in the low lighting, lingering on some of the faces he passed, some of their bodies. But he kept moving forward, seemingly your way, so, your eyes didn’t leave him.
A woman passed him as he emerged into your little bubble by the windows, and his head swiveled to check her out, too. Your eyes swept over his profile quickly, pouty lips and prominent nose, thick lashes and the gentle slope of the back of his head. Baby hairs neat at the nape of his neck. A little rush of heat ran over your skin, and you bit the very inside of your bottom lip. Your hand had stilled, phone heavy where it lay. Finally, he looked at you, first his head and then his eyes soon after, gave you what seemed to be the required once over as he sipped some drink from a can. Like something you’d see at a frat party, juxtaposed against the high ceilings of the apartment, and the dark sweater he wore that just looked expensive.
“Hey, you, uh, tweaking over here? Take something too strong?”
Words slurred on a deep voice, and he sounded more curious than concerned. Did you look that nervous? There was an urge to try and hide your phone out of embarrassment, still poised as it had been when you had checked him out yourself, but you instead clung on to it tighter. You must’ve taken too long to answer, because he took another sip, eyebrows raised inquisitively.
“Uh, no. I’m just… not big on parties,” as if to illustrate, or to make sure that’s actually where you were, you glanced to the crowd. Your stomach turned at the sight of it, at the knowledge that there was so much space and it was all filled up.
“Uh-huh,” he sounded condescending, dismissive. His eyes scraped down your body, slower this time, and you couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw or was judging you deeply. You tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, only allowing yourself to press the toe of your right shoe into the top of your left. There was just a small gap between his eyelids, the length of those lashes almost touching his cheeks, and you hated how you were annoyed with him but felt a weird, compelling force drawing you toward him. Gravity.
Somehow, over the music and voices, you heard him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if he’d made up his mind. Not that you could tell what his decision was from it.
“So,” he looked back up to you, put his free hand in his pocket, and you saw him sway a bit on his feet, “did you come here with someone?”
You rotated your phone in your grasp, the screen now pressed into your left palm, fingers and thumb wrapped around the edges.
“Yeah, just my friend. She ran off with someone earlier.” To do who knows what.
He stepped closer to you, narrowed his eyes a bit like he was trying to remember, see if he knew you. How he wouldn’t know by then-
“What’s your name?” You felt like you were being interrogated, like you weren’t allowed to be there or something. Brows pinched and rose in the middle, imploringly, lips pursed just a bit. Still, you gave it to him, with what you hoped was a normal and not at all suspicious amount of hesitation.
Dude didn’t even have the decency to give his back.
“Do you have her number- your, uh, friend? Like, could you text her to tell her where you are?”
Okay, you were really confused. She already knew where you were-
“You know, if you wanted to leave? With me?” There was an edge of annoyance, like you should’ve known that’s what he was getting at, where all the questions were headed. And maybe you should’ve? You looked off into the middle distance, frustrated and looking for answers. Pressed your fingertips into the bridge of your nose.
“You’re kind of rude. I’m clearly anxious and you come over here and ask me a million questions, and you don’t even give me your name, and aren’t you drunk?”
His face split in a big, toothy grin, filled with way too much mirth and incredulity. Corners of his eyes crinkled up prettily, and despite your glaring you’re charmed by it.
“I’m Kendall,” he says it like its so fucking obvious. How would you not know? Your eyes flickered around again, as if you were searching your brain for actual clues. He stood there, watching, and you felt stupid.
Wait…
“Oh.” He nods his head exaggeratedly at your realization, eyes closed, eyebrows raised again in a superior way that pissed you off but made your stomach flip. It was surprising. Flattering, in a way, that he’d shown interest in you. It wasn’t supposed to be, as if he deigned you, a mere peasant, worthy of his time. (And he probably knew you were one, too, with that heavy appraisal he had given you earlier. Just from the material of your clothes, the way you held yourself.) You tried to put aside the other reasons that it was flattering-that you found him attractive. And charming. Somehow.
“So?”
“You’re drunk,” you reiterated.
Kendall smiled again, like he knew something he shouldn’t. Then, he sighed, through his nose.
“One more question. It’s the last one. Promise,” you gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he meant to cross over his heart, but instead he crossed his fingers. Drunk.
“Sure,” the disbelief in your tone was clear.
“Can I at least get your number?”
Surprised again, written all over your face in the way it slackened, eyes widened. You really thought he’d just move on, (and he would, afterwards, for the night.) Blinking it away-unaware of the way his sluggish mind tried to figure out the length of your lashes as you did it-you moved your phone into your back pocket, and held your hand out for his.
“Yeah, sure,” pressed your lips together to stop from smiling bashfully, your mood turning on a dime from the question.
Kendall handed it over-you wondered if he had more than one, if he carried them both? Or all? With him everywhere, and what he used for his business phone, since this was an iPhone-and you entered your number and name into his contacts. He watched as you did it, noted the way you didn’t give yourself a cute little nickname, or use emojis. It’s your full, government name. He also watched the way you went into the notes section, and stop-started several, embarrassing times, on putting in where you both met. The implication-that he’s so drunk he wouldn’t remember-made you reconsider, but the fact that he actually might not had you eventually doing it.
You gave it back with a nervous smile, and his index finger brushed yours as he took it. It was so, so stupid how you had to stop yourself from reacting, like this was Pride & Prejudice or something.
“Well, I’ll… see you around.”
“Uh, yeah,” hopefully.
When Kendall turned from you, you made the decision to find the friend who dragged you here in the first place.
And he, well. He could feel all that weight settled on his shoulders again, on his chest. Seemed like it could pull him through the floor, through all of them, and down into the molten earth where he belonged. Where he’d burst into a cloud of red steam, the pressure finally released.
Until then, a little thought kept him above, like a bobber on the water, half submerged-
You were really easy.
----
It’s dark out; a little late. A chill in the air, a little more than what one would expect for an April night. You’re trying your damnedest to see the top of this building, where he is. Like you would see him looking down, down the length of his nose, and almost all 92 stories of this thing, to your minuscule-insignificant- form at the bottom. The idea makes you tingle all over.
You run the pad of your thumb over the freshly filed-short edge of your nail, the one on your index finger. It wasn’t for him-your irregular, at-home manicure just happened to have… happened, the day before. He messaged today, a few hours ago. At dusk, the shadows long outside your apartment window. Asking you to come over, very nonchalant. Said he hasn’t seen you in a while, which is true. You didn’t get to see him often before, but after his press conference, you were lucky to get even a text. Not that you expected it, thought that he would- or wanted him- to prioritize you. He had kids and a divorce and this legal battle and his family.
No, definitely didn’t feel that pull in your chest, that need to see whatever he felt you deserved to. Cracking him open, like a door pulled apart by a crowbar. When you relaxed, the shards would almost fall right back into place.
Walking through the lobby, up to a desk, (that you found out was for the hotel in the building,) asking where the elevator for the penthouse was, (there were four,) you feel so out of place. Worried that you’re somehow going to put chips or scratches in the marble floor as you move across it. The elevator itself is spacious and luxurious, which you’re thankful for because it’s a long ride. Polished, mirror finish walls, so you can watch yourself anxiously pick at the sleeve of your jacket. Watch the numbers climb as you did, a sleek digital readout above the doors.
You’d heard he was unraveling. Confident and self-assured before, but now he’s backsliding. It made sense; there were awful, shameful, things being said, that hurt his credibility. Some of them by his own sister. (And you felt so fucking ridiculous, because this stuff would come out and you’d cringe, but you still felt bad for him. Remembered that vacant gaze that threatened to suck your very heart from your chest; a black hole.)
A crisp, modern ‘ding!’ and the doors slide open. You knew it would open right into his apartment, but it was still weird. Like you were intruding. You step into it, look down at the dark wood floors-those are definitely actual wood, not the cheap laminate (duh!)-and decide to take off your shoes. Straight off the elevators is a hallway, to the right. It opens up to a massive… living room? That feels insufficient, but you can’t think of the proper word for it.
Everything is cream, gray-blue, pops of dark wood. It’s not as sterile as other places, but it still doesn’t feel much like a home. The room is divided into four: a couple seating areas, a bar. A dining room, hidden by an obnoxiously large fireplace. You find him in on the L-shaped couch. Hunched over a round, glass-top coffee table from his seat on it. (It was clearly dragged closer, rug bunched up beneath it.) A scene from a movie; a rolled bill, a vehicle to bring the coke from the table into his nose. The hand on the opposite side is plugging that nostril, pushing the outside against his septum with his index finger. Kendall audibly sniffs, his brows furrowing a little bit as he does it.
You’re frozen in place. Mesmerized by it, by the way he sits up straight and looks up to the ceiling, savoring however it's making him feel. Intruding- you shouldn’t be here. You’ve come around after the drugs have been done, when he’s already chatty and touchy, pupils eating pretty hazel eyes. But it's on the table, and he cut the lines himself, and he’s wiping away whatever fell to his philtrum with his knuckle. It feels way too intimate, and you feel like you should leave, but another part of you wants to see more.
Kendall’s dragging the proximal section of his index finger under his nose, all of his fingers curling as his hand tilts back, and he looks at you without an ounce of surprise. If anything, he looks at you like you’re doing exactly what he wanted, standing just at the entrance of some room that was too damn big, holding your shoes in one hand, not sure where to put them. You look sweet, like you always do. Unfamiliar with it all, the skyscrapers and the money and the people.
And, of course, the drugs.
If you had to guess, you’d say there’s fourteen feet between you. He doesn’t stand to greet you, and you don’t move, either.
“Hey. How was the, uh, the ride here?” Perfunctory; he asked that every time you met him somewhere, every time he sent a car for you. Sometimes he seemed to care more than others. The words jumped off his tongue, rushed, for him. But it felt more like he was just trying to get it out of the way.
You bring your shoes over to rest in front of your thighs, laying them lengthwise, slipping as many fingers of your right hand into the collars as will fit beside your left. You try not to spend too long studying him, try not to find weird patterns in it all. He’s wearing all black, a thick sweater with the sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms, (lean and spotted with the occasional mole or freckle,) slacks that pull taut over his thighs, and hang perfectly creased from his knees. Dressed dark, like when you first met. Big hands hang loosely between his parted legs, and you make it a point to not linger there, eyes darting back up to his.
“Yeah, it was… okay. Y’know. Pretty normal.”
He’s looking up at you from where he’s still perched on the edge of the couch, the only real giveaway that he’d just done something being the way he taps his finger against the back of the opposite hand. Incessant, maybe a little faster than he meant to. That- as you thought of it, privately, stupid, not at all attractive- pinky ring he wears sometimes feels heavy and cool on his skin.
“So, did I, like, come here too early, or…?”
There’s that smile again, a mischievous little v. A secret.
“No, you, uh, got here right on time, actually.”
Kendall always said some shit that sent you reeling. Something weird. He either thought very hard about what he was going to say, or not at all. You scratch the skin just behind your right ear, leaning your head into it, eyes narrowed as you think.
“O-kay?”
He moves to cut the cocaine into smaller, shorter lines, and you watch, mouth falling open, arm relaxing to allow your hand to curl into a loose fist in front of your throat. The cogs were turning, and you didn’t like how the teeth were fitting together.
“I want you to try this.”
A little tug, not even a full rotation on the handle of the fishing reel.
“The coke?”
Stops dead in his tracks, the heavy, metal card coming to a halt midway through dividing the aforementioned drug. He looks at you like you’re fucking stupid, a nasty habit of his, and you scoff, looking at him like he’s fucking insane.
“Kendall-“ you never call him Ken, not even when you’re being soft with him. You’d never admit to it, but it was deferential. And he’d never admit to it, but it hurt.
“What? I know you want to,” he’s being playful about it, singing the words, like he’s asking you to do something benign, like fucking- Skinny dipping. Smoking weed. Drinking some liquor out of a parents’ cabinet. You try to ignore the almost tactile, magnetic feeling, bringing you toward him. Toward what he’s asking of you. Toward what you sadly want.
“No, you don’t know, actually.”
He rotates slightly to face you better. His eyes are hard. Knowing.
“Yes, I do. Come on. Fucking, get over here and snort this. I wanna see how big your pupils get.”
What?
Butterflies, heat seeping downward, you tuck your bottom lip beneath your teeth. Skimming just beneath the water's surface; trembling with the effort to stay submerged. To say no.
“They’re small lines. It’ll be fine. I promise.”
He promises. You guessed he would know, how much was too much, when to stop. He could be a dick, but he’d never let you get hurt. (Right?) Rationalizing it; just once would be fine. Lots of people did it casually. It might be fun. It could be a bonding experience. You might understand him more. It might impress him. You’re gripping your shoes so tight that the fabric squeaks. Looking everywhere but him, brows furrowed in thought, knowing that the only thing that would sway you is the way he looks.
Fuck. It's painful. It literally hurts. The curiosity is pulling at your chest. Despite yourself, you look to him, like he could give you the answer, (though it really wasn’t a question.) You see the way he’s still watching you, his breathing a little heavy from the way his heart is surely racing, chest rising and falling, pressing against the confines of his shirt just enough to be seen.
It all crumbles. Your resolve, your posture, literally slumping in defeat.
“Fine.”
You move to close the distance, and it feels so much wider than it looked. Kendall looks downright victorious, eyes glittering with pride and excitement. Sitting next to him, placing your shoes on the floor and flexing your hand from its tense hold, and trying not to touch his knee with yours. As if all your thoughts would transfer through diffusion, and he’d jump away. Really know.
Nervously, you wipe your hands on your thighs, attempting to still the shaking. The proximity lets you smell him; a spicy, woodsy cologne, the crispness of his soap, the sweetness of cigarette smoke. Familiar, and sorely missed.
“So, uh-“ a breathless, stunted laugh, “how do I-“
Long fingers reach out to pick up the rolled bill-you see the familiar orange and blue of the 100- holding it delicately as he hands it to you. Looking to him with an anxious little smile, and he gives you a patronizing one back. It’s almost soothing.
“You just hold one end up to your nose,” you lean forward over the table, thick clear glass, that reflects the image of the powder back at you. “Its easier if you plug the other nostril,” he supplies, and you feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.
“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”
Nodding, trying to look confident, but your hearts going so fast you wonder if any amount would kill you. You bring the hundred up to your right nostril, plug the left, line up- then pull away, sitting up straight. Roll your shoulders back, take a deep breath to steady yourself.
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
Like jumping straight into the pool to get the shock of the cold over with, you do it. Fast. And then recoil, face scrunching up at the sting, a floral scent leaking through the pain. Kendall claps you on the back, like you’re bros or something, says something to the effect of ‘atta girl,’ but you’re just trying to right yourself. Wondering why your heart is still racing, when you did the thing that scared you.
Duh. Fucking, duh. That’s how it's supposed to feel, dumbass.
In a way similar to what he did earlier, you look at the ceiling, eyes fluttering as they make their way. Not out of appreciation, though. Just trying to feel it. His hand rubs over your upper back in wide swipes, and the touch is searing. You definitely got what you wanted, ‘cause he is impressed. Beaming, eyes all over you, taking in the way you shake, the quickening of your breathing, the way you wet your lips and swallow hard.
Up in the air, dangling on his hook.
You practically toss the money onto the coffee table, needing to get your jacket off. Now. Fastened with big metal buttons that feel like ice against your fingertips. He watches you fumble with them, and without a thought reaches out to help, scoffing, like you fucking asked. Like he doesn’t know the way it cuts through the drugs to almost stop your heart. Your hands just sort of hang in the air as he does it, as you watch him, fingers nimble as they break each button’s hold. Nauseous, self-conscious at your ragged breathing when he makes quick work of the fastenings over your chest, holding your breath so you might not push into him.
“You don’t have to- you don’t have to fucking-“
But you don’t move to stop him, and he grabs the fabric under your bust, bunching it up to lift the hem away from your hips so his hands don’t have to be in the junction of your thighs to undo the last one.
Oh. Okay.
Mercifully, he doesn’t push it off your shoulders, too. You do it yourself, feeling infantilized, letting it pool on the cushion behind you. You realize you still have a sweater on beneath it, an itchy wool mix, and you feel a little flash of anger. Short nails scratch deep through the material on your arm, and you turn a bit to face him better.
“Well? How does it feel?”
It's like everything bubbles to the surface when you see his face up close, the lights catching his eyes in this perfect way that makes the golden brown and flecks of green shine in a thin line around his pupils. Unabashed, your own pupils like saucers, letting in more light, more him. Sweeping over the straight line of his nose, the five o’clock shadow, and where it's darker above his upper lip. Pink lips, (pinker than normal, surely flushed from the drugs,) that look absurdly soft and plush, that you’ve seen stick together just a bit when he goes to speak.
“Uh, it, uh, it feels-“
Those very lips pull upward smugly, and your eyes flit to his, caught. But he doesn’t seem phased, just makes sure you’re still watching, turns his head, and wets the tip of his finger before dipping it in one of the lines, making a little crater in the soft powder. You squeeze your wrist tightly, and try not to think of the way his tongue glistened, how soft it’d feel. Or how firm it could.
Fingers then curl around your chin, pulling down softly, and you hesitate, but offer little resistance as he tugs a little harder, tells you to open your mouth, his voice low and raspy.
His finger slips under your upper lip, the delicate skin catching on it, lifting to reveal your teeth, and presses against the hard ridge of your gums. Warm and slimy beneath the broad, squared pad of his fingertip. Kendall rubs the coke in, tingly numbness left in his wake. You’re looking at each other so intently, his eyes half-lidded as he watches what he’s doing, thick lashes creating a dark band. You lean into his touch, eager for more, for something else, fingers inside other places, wetter and more forgiving.
The air is humid between you as he pulls his finger from your mouth, and you can’t help but look down at it, see the shine of spit. Literally biting your tongue, to stop yourself from asking him to force as many digits into you as he can. He takes in your pensive face, wonders what you’re keeping from him. He has ideas, obviously. Suggestions, even.
"Do you want more?”
Didn’t you just have more? You chew on your lip, take stock of how you feel. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth; you can barely feel your teeth where they dig into soft skin. Everything else is still very much there, the heat and thrum of your heart all over. The anxiety. This itchy need.
And want. Greediness, for him, and more. Just to see. Seeking knowledge.
“Is that… safe?”
One of Kendall’s broad hands rests on your arm, a firm and reassuring press. You look up at him with big, glossy eyes, and he feels his own need that he needs to scratch. The other side of the coin from yours.
“If you do just a, fucking, little bit, then, yeah.”
He drops his hand so he can turn away, towards the coffee table, and you miss his touch and full attention so much you could cry. The credit card clacks against the polished surface, and you lock your fingers to stop from touching him. You wished you had no inhibitions. You wished you could cross the threshold that he had, touch him in ways friends shouldn’t. That’s what this was supposed to be, getting over whatever childish bullshit kept you from honesty. Get it out, get it over with. Maybe the drugs will smooth it over, mixed with water into a paste to fill the cracks.
Kendall cuts bigger lines, and smaller. Thinks of the weight of that, what it means. What he was doing to you. What you were letting him do. A touch, a look, a change in tone. He’d sat at the water's edge, hook beneath the surface. A novice; everyone else’s coolers were full. Plenty of fish to be eaten, but he was about to starve. Weeks since a catch. The sun was low on the horizon, glittering red and orange against the water between the shadows of the trees.
A fish on the end of his line, hungry for the bait. A fight so weak the pole barely bows. Then, he has you, the tiniest, saddest, most-insignificant little thing he’d ever seen.
Gasping and wriggling in his palm. He has all the power, to let you have the water. To eat you.
Learned behaviors.
He inhales a long line for himself, thinking too damn much. Burns throughout his nose and sinuses, but he doesn’t do much to show it, just scrunches his nose, licks along his upper incisors. He feels hot and reckless again, heart racing against his breastbone to propel him forward, into action. Pushes his sleeves back up around his elbows, and you watch, see the way his fingers grip the fabric, the way muscles tense under tanned skin. He unrolls the hundred deftly, folds it over lengthwise to try and stop it rolling back in on itself. Then, he scoops some of the cocaine up in the valley created by the crease. Turns to you again, and you bring your knee up on the couch to face him better. With his left hand he makes a loose fist, thumb resting on top of his index finger, creating a nice flat surface to sprinkle some of the drug onto.
“Here.”
You’re looking at him with those fucking eyes again. He’s almost overcome with jealousy; the boldness of it.
“Um, off your-“
“Uh-huh,” drawn out, a little impatient, wondering why you were acting weird when his finger had just been in your mouth.
No big deal. Totally normal. What was snorting some coke off each other’s hands between friends? You lean down a little, maintaining eye contact to see if he’s joking. Kendall raises his hand a bit to make it easier, thinks thoughts that are only natural when you’re high, and him. The upper ridge of your cupid's bow touches the back of his hand, first, and you jump back, readjusting the angle. He wonders if you’ll reach out and grab his arm, maneuver it down so you can be above a little more, but instead you just sit a little straighter, and he knows then that you aren’t high enough to be fucking honest with him. (Maybe after this you would be.) The hard tip of your nose presses into that delicate skin, right next to where the webbing between his thumb and index finger begins. Like last time, you do it fast; your lips brush his wrist, you don’t get it all.
It hurts worse this time. It's all worse. Your ears ring, your heart beats so fast you wondered if there was any equation in the world that could calculate just how fast. Your hand reaches out to grasp his upper arm, holding on tight in an attempt to bring you back to earth. Eyes squeezed shut, feeling like you can’t breathe for a second before the heavy, panting breaths come. When you’re finally convinced you won’t die, you open your eyes and look at him again. Take him in as a whole, from widow’s peak to slightly dimpled chin. Freckles, shine on his face. Nothing in the way; the wall is gone.
You kiss him so hard your noses crush. It hurts, and you pull away with a huff of laughter before going back in. Hand cradling his jaw, index finger resting over his ear. Rain after a long and humid day; it felt like a release. Relieving to do it, and to know that he wants it, too. Kissing you back just as feverishly, hand sliding along the side of your neck to slip his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull. Gripping tight, pulling your lips from his just long enough for you to gasp in excitement, repositioning you so that he has control. Little puffs of air from your nose against his cheek, while he slips his tongue into your mouth.
Every sensation is intensified, brand new. Sends a fresh bolt of anticipation through you. The taste of his mouth and breath, pulling back just to feel each other’s lips again. Wanting to savor it but wanting to go forward and see more. His nose is tucked into your cheek; he can smell your skin, feel the warmth of your flush. It's messy and sloppy but it feels a little sweet to him, because it's you. An air of tenderness, a care that he did not deserve.
Kendall pulls you by your hair to lay you back on the couch cushions, torso following yours, lips still pressed together, perfect pressure. Legs are pulled up to be level with bodies. One of his thighs slips between yours, and the barest amount of friction makes you sigh. You’re so wet, the muscle of his leg pushes sticky cool fabric against your cunt. You don’t miss how hard he is against your hip, and the further confirmation of reciprocation makes you feel weak, makes your heart flutter even more. Somehow.
It feels too cute. Too virginal- innocent. Like the heavy breathing and hurried pulses are from nerves, from inexperience. You feel empty. You want everything he can possibly give you. You want him to take his shirt off so you can see the chest that will sometimes strain against buttons on crisp white dress shirts; you want him to keep it on so it feels even more hurried. You want him to touch your clit, with his fingers or his tongue or his fucking nose. You want him to slap you, your face, your pussy. You want him to say something so fucking mean it makes you cry.
He slips a hand under your sweater, presses against the soft skin of your stomach just enough for it to dimple. It's hot; he can feel your pulse against his palm, rapid and hard. The little gap created by his wrist lets cool air in, and it feels so fucking good. You arch your back just enough to push against his hand, pulling your hand away so you can grab his. Kendall’s eyebrows raise in surprise as your fingers dig into his wrist, as you use the grip to rotate his hand and push his fingertips below the waist of your jeans.
And he doesn’t move. Let’s it rest, pulls his head back so he can look down at you with a restrained smile. That was audacious, honest, real.
“Kendall, fucking-“
He applies pressure to that sensitive portion of lower stomach, letting his closed-mouth grin spread across his face. Playful; Duchenne. Boyish.
“Come on. Please?”
Using both hands to unbutton, unzip, just to be faster. Because, despite the teasing, he really did want you wrapped around him. Wondered just how wet you’d be, how tight you’d be, how soft. Once his hand is beneath the soft fabric (not expensive or lacy or mesh; he’s kind of shocked at the idea that you didn’t wear anything special on the off chance something might happen,) he doesn’t mess around. Sinks his middle finger between your lips to press against your clit.
There isn’t much room, between his thigh and the jeans, so you scoot away a bit, part your legs to make some. His hand follows, uses the spread to press his index and ring fingers into your vulva on either side of his middle finger. Swirls them; they glide so easily you feel a little pang of embarrassment. It’s already so much, senses heightened. Feels like he’d been doing it for a while, halfway there. He presses harder, and you let out a startled little moan.
Then, he’s slipping lower. His inclination is to tease, to dip his fingertip in and see how you react. But he sees the way you’re getting so excited at just the prospect, lip bitten white, eyes looking down to see whatever you can of his hand in your pants, willing him to do it. So, he does. Two fingers, all at once, until his knuckles are flush with your skin. You make a shocked sound, like a scoff, wiggling your hips at the stretch. He seeks out, and finds too fast, that rough spot inside you. Curls his fingers and presses deep against it, so precise that your knees wobble, you groan.
He starts to fuck you with them, slow but rough. Exacting. Your head tips back; it’s perfect. You wanted this so bad, for so long. Thought about it all the time. Stared at his hands and studied the width of his fingers and tried to imagine just how much it’d ache.
“I still can’t believe you actually fucking did that.”
Dragging your eyes up to his, trying not to think of the fact that the oft-mentioned coil is already beginning to tighten.
Right. The coke.
Another breathless chuckle. Anxiety surges in your chest. He sees it- quickens his pace to make your eyes flutter.
“Um, well-“
“But you would do anything I told you to.”
It was like you were trying to hide behind a piece of straw. Of fucking course he could see you, see through you. He pressed a little and you gave. He pulled, and you followed, on a leash. Anything, he could say anything and you’d do it. Let him fuck your face. Polish his shoes with your tongue. See how long you could hold your breath underwater, (because he’s holding you there.) If he gave an ounce of affection in return, that’s all you would need. This, well this was almost too generous.
Slower now, more sensual, long drags against your g-spot that made you whimper. You kinda hope his sleeve will fall down his arm, and rub your pubic mound raw.
“Is it too much?” It’s not sweet by any means. Either way, he plans on giving more.
“N-no. It’s-“ He doesn’t even let you finish, just starts fingering you almost viciously, digits hooking over and over to pull and pull it out of you. Kendall couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to make someone cum this much. He thought that, maybe, if he gave you something, if he gave you a few things, it’d make up for all the taking.
“God.”
You’re so close- he can tell. Your hips jump up to try and meet his fingers, and he has to pin them down so he can be more precise. It practically makes you melt- the manhandling. Every ounce of heat, all the buzzing, itching want, pooled in one spot, ready to pop. Quick bursts of moans, every exhale, thighs shaking and hands grasping. At his shoulder, feeling the flex of his trapezius as he holds you down.
You get so tense you forget the need for air, big pauses between these tiny breaths.
“Breathe,” honey? Baby? Girl? Just a little something, to bridge the gap.
He sounds strained, like he’s fighting against you. It tightens more, impossibly. Then finally, finally, clamps down and holds, and as it lets go-
“Fuck!”
Slides into pulsing, almost gripping so tight he can’t move his fingers. Frantic breaths, patchy moans. Kendall feels you soften further around his digits, thinks about how perfect you’d feel around his cock. And Christ, do you want it. You hadn’t even fully come down from your orgasm before you were thinking of the next, of cumming around something more substantial. It’d be so easy, too- always so quick to after the first one, and even quicker after the next. A dam breaking. Raining harder.
His fingers slip from you, watery strings of wetness between them. And before you can tell him not to, tell him to wipe it on you so it could be dirty and messy and dry down flaky on your skin, he’s sucking it off them. Inhaling deeply. Groaning a little. Really enjoying it. It makes your mouth water; it makes you want to reciprocate. Some other time, hopefully.
You sit up a bit, reach forward and grab the waistband of his slacks, pulling him forward. They feel crisp and starched (do they starch them?) He almost wants to stop you. Is this too far? Is this unfair? You were both high, but there was a clear imbalance here. And he was afraid, that if they kept going, he might lean into it. He’s sat up on his knees above you, and you straighten further, slipping your fingers deeper into his pants to get a better grip on them, nails smooth and scorching against his skin. They slide to meet in the center, grab the flaps of the fly, and you look up at him through your lashes. Eyes dark. Demanding.
“Fuck me?”
Looking down his nose, a strange mix of emotions. You’re too good for him; he shouldn’t even be bothering with you. He knows what you want, and he always has. Pushing each other, but he does a little harder and you fall back. Scramble to be at his feet, and stay there. It feels good to do it. To see a flash of hurt across your face, and the knowledge that your blood runs hot from it is incidental.
He grabs your face, pinky ring digging into the ridge of your jaw, unforgiving. His index finger and thumb press deep into your cheeks; he can feel the upward sweep of your cheekbones. His palm squishes your lips back against your teeth. Your eyelids droop a bit, savoring the pressure. Slowly, you work the button through the hole, testing him.
Kendall slaps you. Really fucking hard. No build-up to it or anything. It’s loud, the metal on his finger feels like it burst blood vessels. He kept his fingers spread a bit, messily, for extra coverage. A thick thumb hits your nose so hard your septum aches. He follows through, too, doesn’t let his hand bounce back once it makes contact. It's a miracle you don't moan.
Just as you’re about turn your head to face him again, working your jaw, his fingers are digging into your cheeks again, so much rougher than last time. Pushing your head back, eliciting a pained noise from you.
“Lay back, if you want me so fucking bad.”
He shoves so hard your neck hurts from the force. You blink up at him, but do as he says, hands pulling away and moving to the place where the cushions meet, tucking your fingers in nervously.
“No,” grabbing a wrist roughly, jerking upward. Awash with shame, hurting for the pride you inspired in him earlier.
“Take your pants off.”
Nodding hurriedly, hands shaking and unstable like they were before. But this time he doesn’t help, backs off the couch so he can do the same. He can feel your eyes all over him; you wanted to do it, but he looks pretty doing it himself. Trying to take it all in, in case this was it. A drug-fueled fuck. You’re distracted, going slow, and he glances your way reproachfully, from where his head is tucked down to watch himself. So, you rush, finally getting the zipper down, hooking your thumbs beneath everything, jeans and underwear. Pushing it down your thighs, watching as he does the same, takes himself into his hand.
You could die. You could burst into flames right then and would be no hotter. Surface of the sun; lightning, even. Paradoxically, you’re frozen, fabric around your knees. Your mouth hung open slightly as he strokes himself a couple times. Remembering the shitty estimates of the size of his hands, and trying to figure out how big he is. Not huge; he didn’t look impossible. But it’d be tight.
The utter lack you felt, (inside, physically,) had you returning to the task at hand, even more eager. Pushing your clothes off your feet, tossing them maybe a little dramatically. Kendall is stepping out of his own to move toward you, and he does hear where the fabric hits the floor a little too far away. And it softens him a little, endears you to him, hurts his heart knowing that you want him that bad. (He, also, feels a little cocky about it.)
Part of him wants to take his time, get a good look at you. Use his fingers to spread you, see parts of you he knows you never thought he would. It was only a matter of time. Galaxies on a collision course; irrevocable changes. Parts of you sent careening into outer space. Was there anyone in the andromeda galaxy to know it would happen? He barely even has to nudge your legs apart, hand just sort of resting atop your thigh as you do it yourself.
He leans over you, and yeah, it’s on a couch, and there are stimulants coursing through both of your veins, but it’s missionary. It’s too intimate, you’re looking up at him with so much want and affection, as if you can’t see what’s wrong with him. That he’s an addict, a fuck-up. That he hurts everyone around him. That he killed someone. He was so sure, that anyone could look into his eyes and read his thoughts and know.
Things keep moving, despite it. He reaches down with a hand to line himself up. He can’t see, but his head just happens to press against your clit in a way that makes you jump. You feel like you’re too excited, and it was probably a mixture of the coke and months of nursing a pathetic crush on him. So hurt by his cruelty, but so enamored with his praise.
Finally, he’s pressing into you, and the stretch makes you whimper, makes your legs part further, hands moving to clutch at his sides. (And your hands are met with fabric, again, and you feel that same anger go through you, slipping away just as fast as it had come on.) His hand rests at the juncture of your hip and thigh, gripping tight, trying to steady himself because it’s always a lot when you’re high like this.
Hips meet, and your head falls back at the feeling, letting out a groan of relief. His lower stomach presses against your clit in a way that makes your skin buzz. You can feel him in your chest; it almost makes you anxious. It’s so much. You open your eyes up to look at him, and his lips are flattened together slightly, he’s almost glaring at you. It feels like your heart is inflating in your chest. He sees you capitulating and it pisses him off.
His hand presses against your sternum to push you further into the couch. Uses his other hand to tilt your hips up, gets up on his knees to rest your ass against the tops of his thighs. No preamble, no easing into it. A rough, unrelenting pace, that has you wincing and gasping in surprise.
The noises you make are almost shameful. Choked sounds of impact, moaning like you’ve been deprived of it for years. You’ll keep realizing what you’re doing, and biting your lip to stifle some of them. You look up to him and see the way his face is pinched in concentration, his eyes watching where your hips meet, the way his mouth will fall open and his brows will wobble like he’s restraining himself, and you feel the need to, too. Clapping your hand over your mouth, hurried breaths making noise over your fingers. And it kind of does it for you. Makes it feel wrong. (As if it wasn’t already.)
Kendall glances up to see you doing it, and he gets a fistful of hair at the scalp, pulls so hard you yelp.
“You were so fucking desperate, and now you’re, what? Embarrassed?”
Your hand is gripping the back of the couch. You want to touch him to appease him, but feel like you aren’t allowed.
“No, I-“ You really are trying to sound serious, but it just sounds breathless and needy.
“Not getting what you want? Am I not being mean enough for you?”
God. You really were transparent. Glass, with all your thoughts printed out in neat script and pressed between the panes. Him knowing hurt; him indulging it made you want him forever.
“N-no.”
He’s stunned, honestly. That you would want more. Less, so, that he did too. Wanted to see how far until you’d break. If you even would. What all you would give to him. His hand slides up your chest, wraps around your throat, and you sigh like it’s perfect. Your knees shake and you clench around him. He makes his own muffled sound, lets out a huff of air, and it makes you ache for him.
“Why do you want me so bad, huh? Is it the money? Need someone powerful to put you in your place?”
So heavy. A whirlwind of emotions; you want to kiss him, you want to tell him he’s so pretty and perceptive and smart, but he’s wrong. That he’s everything. You don’t want him to stop.
“Kendall-“
“You’d let me do anything,” like you needed reminded, “let me drag you down, let me ruin your life. Because you’re so fucking needy.”
Jesus. You wanted to look away; he was right, being proven so every second. Because you were right there, shaking and electric and scorched. It was wrong. He needed you, and you were being selfish. Taking.
“Please?”
Jam-packed with so much emotion it filled him, made him sick with it. Needing him to be nicer to himself, but meaner to you. Like that made any fucking sense. He needs you to cum, to see, to give it to you. The world served up on a platter, if he could get it off his fucking back.
Your lips are already parted, so it’s easy enough for him to slip his fingers inside, press your tongue down. It’s the hand that was in you earlier, and there’s still a lingering taste of yourself, of his spit, the salt of his skin. You do reach out to touch him, then, hand slipping underneath the hem of his sweater. Fingers resting in the groove of his spine. His skin is so soft, hot. Maybe you’re asking too much. Maybe you’re hurting him. He had rubbed your back earlier, in this casual way, like it was nothing. He probably didn’t have some stupid epiphany, then, like you were now. Didn’t feel the life thrumming in your body, and realize that you were just a person.
He spits in your mouth, so disdainfully, and it’s almost tragic how fast you come apart. Clenching over him, so tight he can’t help but groan, (which makes it more intense, makes it all so much worse,) fingers digging into his back, crying out with each wave. Feeling the electricity spark along your nerves.
And as it goes, it feels like something’s pulling behind your ribs. Tugging on your heart, or poking at a bubble, trying to puncture it. Behind your closed eyelids, your eyes sting. Your throat feels tight. He pulls his fingers from your mouth just as it pops, too much. Every sense too alive, brain too wired, emotions too high. Tears slip over your cheeks, your lip wobbles as you let out this pathetic noise, mouth now closed to try and muffle it.
Kendall sees it. There’s no mistaking the way your face falls. He rests his hand on your cheek, goes to stop, and you huff wetly.
“Don’t.”
It was petulant. Okay? He complies, regains a steady, (but slower,) pace.
You slump into the couch. Liquefying, pooling into the creases of the fabric, slipping between the cushions, dripping onto the floor. Still so sensitive, crying out like you’re right there again, but softer, milder. He’s not sure what to think. He finds you so pretty like this it’s unbearable. The beginnings of a bruise along your jaw, from his ring. Lashes stuck together and glossy. Skin flushed. Pink and wet. So pliant. Completely vulnerable.
And honest. Giving him everything.
“I love you,” painfully heartfelt.
Water over him. God. He didn’t deserve it. He should have to die of thirst. Of hunger. In the desert, vultures circling overhead. Should’ve never been able to sit down by the water and wait.
Your hands are on him, cradling his face, pulling him down to kiss you. It should be slow, it should be tender and gentle. But he won’t let it be. Like you were, earlier. Forceful, desperate. As if, if he pulled away, took a breath, you’d rescind. You’d take it all back. Selfish. If you were going to give it to him, he wanted it all.
Now he’s losing his composure. Brow crumpled, moaning behind his lips. Slipping his hand beneath that stupid shitty cheap sweater to work its way under your (stupid, shitty, cheap,) bra, to feel your pebbled nipple, to see how soft the skin of your breast was. You jolt and arch into the touch, and he bites your lip. He’s getting close; he kind of wants you to cum again. It’d probably be easy, it doesn’t seem like you ever went back down to the base of the hill. Moves his hand down to find your clit so swollen, and you jump at that, too, trying to clutch at the short hair on the back of his head. You cried from the last one and he’s still giving you more.
Kendall’s right. It doesn’t take much, he could probably (probably,) count on both hands how many times he circled his fingers before you were falling again. So sweet, fingers slipping down the back of his neck, molding to him, yielding. You look up to him with so much heat in your eyes it burns. It could go on forever.
It can’t, really. It really is a lot. He looks down where his hips press to yours again. Sees himself disappear; sees you take him. A hand finds your waist, trying to steady himself. You still want him so badly. It’s like each time you see him is the first. He’s shaking; you’re flattered. Grinning like an idiot, and hoping he doesn’t notice. Watching the way his chest heaves, the way his bottom lip hangs to reveal his teeth. Eyes closed, hips going slower like he really wants it to last. You can’t help but tighten around him at the sight, and he gasps, spits out a startled ‘fuck,’ before he’s pulling you down over him, fucking you so harshly you’re stunned.
“Jesus,” it comes out of you so shakily, you almost laugh.
Clutching the armrest behind you, riding it out. Eyes glued to him cause you just have to see. His scrape over you, taking in every inch of you, too, the way you’re still breathing heavily. Can hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears, the way you’re still making eager, hurried sounds. Your eyes meet and his immediately fall closed. Finished. The heel of his hand presses into your lower ribs. Black sleeves have fallen down his arms, and you miss the sight of all his scattered moles. Slow again, moaning softly, and you’re practically giddy that he’s doing it. His hips stutter, press against yours in ways that make you see stars. And then, he stops.
“God. Fuck.” Weak, low, broken. He feels light-headed, all the air from his lungs.
It’s bittersweet. He lays his head on your chest and almost forgets. What he’s done, what he did to you. Drugs, dragging people down. Metaphorically. Literally. He doesn’t say a word, lies there motionless. Listens to your heartbeat, slower than it was before. Studies the fibers in the couch. He can’t say it back. He wants to so badly and he can’t.
You can feel it. The mood shift. It’s a mix for you, too. You know that what Kendall did was wrong. But, you feel fulfilled. (Encompassed; eaten.) You kind of don’t regret it. Know you should, at least the cocaine, but you don’t. It was fun. You did bond with him. Understanding him, though? Another good yank, almost making a hole in the door. (In a house, engulfed in flames; you’re trying to get a door open to go deeper.)
“That was, uh. That was a lot,” it’s a little playful, but he doesn’t laugh.
“Uh-huh.”
Muffled. You can hear how his cheek is pressed against your clothes. It hurts and warms your heart all at once.
“I think the coke was too much.”
“Mhmm.”
It’s not dismissive. Just distant. He almost sounds sleepy, if you didn’t know any better. You run your fingers through his hair, and he can hear the way your heart races a little at it. He huffs through his nose, the corners of his lips turn up a bit, just enough for him to feel.
You press your lips to the top of his head, not kissing, just resting there. Breathe deeply, smell the powdery, masculine scent of his hair product.
“I’m not naïve, you know.”
He tenses, not sure what you’re getting at.
“You don’t have to tell me everything, but I do want to help you.”
Murmured into his hair- he feels your breath against his scalp. He wants to melt. Downward, swallowed into the earth, every part of him recycled.
“I don’t think you can.”
Beneath them was an art structure, 150 feet tall, closed from the public because too many people jumped off of it. Sometimes, Kendall would stand in the elevator, on the way up to his penthouse, and think that someone should close that off, too.
#kendall roy#kendall roy x reader#kendall roy/reader#succession hbo#succession#reader insert#took me like four months to post this on here for some reason dfhakjdhka
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August MC of the Month:
Jensen Valentine
Please welcome our sixth MC of the month! Each month, we will highlight one MC or OC that is currently on our Meet My MC / OC List. The MC / OC is selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!
This month's MC of the month is...
@mydemonsdrivealimo's
Jensen Valentine
In your words, tell us what you like most about your MC.
What I like most about Jensen is his resilience. He has never been dealt the perfect cards, or even good ones, at that, but that didn’t stop him from striving for great things. He hasn’t always been like that; some setbacks were worse than others, and he considered giving up, but he knew he couldn’t let himself do that. His intrinsic motivation to amount to something has usually been enough, but it’s also his interactions with other people that have helped him along. Some of them were good, sure, but, in all honesty, it’s usually the bad ones that kept him going.
A good example would be one of his med school professors, who publicly called Jensen out as the perfect example of what not to be like, citing how a man having painted nails shouldn’t be allowed in society, much less is it professional when going into the medical field. Jensen has never been one to sit quietly (no matter how many times it’s gotten him into trouble), and he wasn’t going to start. He pressed that professor, asking him what his evidence was, why he thought like that, and if he had any other reasons besides being a bigot who couldn’t handle seeing people different than himself. Not only that, but he also didn’t transfer from the class for the rest of the semester, making sure that the professor was as uncomfortable sharing flawed ideas as everyone else was hearing them.
The thought that there were still medical professionals out in the world who shared the same ideas the professor didn’t sit well with Jensen. No way could he let that slide when it came to patients and people seeking help, which was just another boost for him to keep going and try to make the changes he wanted to see. Even though he has been knocked down, it’s never made him hide his personality or beliefs.
Do you feel your MC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?
Jensen and I definitely share the same demeanor, especially around how people treat others. People making others feel small, for any reason and on any scale, is fucked up, and being an inactive bystander is never going to solve it. Especially knowing how American healthcare works, I knew I could never make Jensen someone who’s proud of how it currently runs and how it treats the patients. Though he is not the softest, or kindest, or sweetest, he would still do anything it takes to make some sort of change or impact, on a large scale or just one-on-one with a patient. I know I tend to come off in ways I don’t necessarily mean (it’s the rbf for the most part, lbr), and I wanted to reflect that in Jensen’s character, particularly in his day-to-day, as quiet and not-overly-optimistic characters are often synonymous with rude, brooding, or otherwise unapproachable, which is definitely not the case.
As for differences, Jensen is really like this cool, elevated, eloquent person, which is definitely Not me. I stumble through most things, and I hope I get spit out the other side more-or-less okay, whereas Jensen usually has a plan and, you know, thinks through things before he does them.
What is most important to your MC? What is their motivation in life?
What’s most important to Jensen is being able to use his position and the opportunities he’s been granted to help elevate other voices in the community and within certain issues he deems important. Being able to make more opportunities for other people, especially those who are or were in similar situations to himself when he was younger, is a big motivation for him. For most of his life, he was not in a place to be making any types of calls or really have anyone listen to him at all, and being granted such a high position within his career, and therefore his life, isn’t something he takes lightly. He has never been one to support how much power people with money or in high-ranking positions have because he knows what it's like to be on the bottom of that chain, and he knows he’s incredibly fortunate not to be in that position anymore, so he wants to able to use everything he’s been given to support others who need it or who are otherwise flushed out of “adult” conversations purely because they don’t fit the top 1%’s model.
What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?
Entitled people. Of course, he has some more petty ones, but if Anyone shows people disrespect for 1. No reason, or 2. A shitty reason, he’s going to have a problem with it, and he will be saying something to them about it. He has been the recipient of it many times growing up, and he knows it is never called for, nor does it have a good impact on anyone involved. Again, now that he is in a more respected position, rather than having his “turn” as the entitled one, he will continue to stand up for those who need it and speak out against the people who treat their power like a free pass to be a pos.
If your MC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?
Jensen has big aspirations, and while he’d like it to be the entirety of society, social standards, government, systemic bigotry, healthcare, etc. etc, I think being able to positively impact one person’s day is enough for him. During med school was when he really started carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but after the first few years at Edenbrook, he realizes it’s an impossible goal that will only lead him to disappointment. He will help where he can, but it’s nothing compared to reassuring a patient or getting them a life-changing diagnosis, surgery, or something else. Not every case has a happy ending, but being able to take any amount of worry away from someone makes it all worth it for him. Changing someone’s view of something into a more healthy and accepting lens, whether it be their life as a whole or even just something affecting their day, is one of the most rewarding things for him.
What is your MC’s favorite quote or song?
This was one of the hardest questions for me so I narrowed it down to a few options, and I think (one of) Jensen’s favorite song(s) would be Boring by The Brobecks. He most certainly would’ve seen it live while The Brobecks were still a thing, and though the lyrics are simple, it would’ve hit him at a very particular yet perfectly-timed place in his life.
Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC:
Being a fiction and original character writer at my core, I have poured pieces of myself into Jensen, and I have developed him during some of my worst and best moments (which, of course, changed the plot of his life). I went through many different phases and stories with him before ever joining the fandom, and years ago, when I first played Open Heart I never would’ve imagined it would end up on my hyperfixations list. I remember one night, at least two and a half years ago, I was up until 2 in the morning jotting down random backstories for him, running through the stages of his life in my head. I never looked at it again, never thought it would mean anything, and now here I am, at my one-year anniversary in the Open Heart fandom (August 2nd), with an almost completely different character that I love and think about every day.
The one thing that’s stayed the same though is how much he’s overcome. Though the struggles were very different in the beginning, his overall disposition has always been the same. He has been a loud activist for queer people and poc despite that it was never the most “convenient” for him, but he has also never been the sunshine character. Even through all the overhauls his character has been through, he has always been fighting for the same causes and has been using what he’s been given for good, which I wanted to share because it is arguably the most important part of his character. Even though he does not always have a smile on, doesn’t jump to be a part of every conversation, and doesn’t try to befriend everyone, he still cares just as much as anyone who does those things. It’s been fundamentally rooted in his character since day one, and it’s important to me that it gets seen.
#cfwc mc of the month#mc of the month#jensen valentine#open heart#mydemonsdrivealimo#playchoices#choices fic writers creations#choices fanfic#playchoices fanfic
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no big deal (i love you)
moreid hanahaki wip based on this post
⚠️Content Warnings: emetophobia (coughing & throwing up flower petals), spencer's addiction & drug use
The first petals are white.
Small and delicate, white daisy petals crawl up his throat and decorate the pristine porcelain of his sink in the morning, not yet full or bloody, new enough to remain untainted by the torn tissue of his lungs.
Daisies, innocent and loyal love, holding his tongue, root in his chest, threatening to suffocate him if he leaves his feelings to grow, but the flowers don’t lie.
Call it innocence or naivety; Spencer won’t tell. He’ll hold his breath until he runs out of air, longing blooming like weeds, feeding on his life until only the flowers and a corpse remain.
At first, it’s slow, coming and going like the tide, feelings ebbing and waning with uncertainty.
He buries himself in books on the disease—hanahaki, hana (flower), haki (to throw up), a sickness that ails people who suffer from one-sided love, taking weeks to years to develop fully—and flower language, reading what every petal means about the longing ache in his ribs and how to cure it.
He goes to work—it isn’t bad enough to affect his performance—he profiles, coughs up petals, takes down unsubs, spits up his innocence, and flies home.
His case is slow; months pass before single petals turn into two or three and longer until the dull itch in his chest grows into a light ache when he exerts himself, his lungs reflecting his gradual, timid love.
The flowers change in Georgia.
The daisies stop coming, the drugs numbing his mind and body—his heart—concealing his love deep in his chest, buried where Charles Hankel and Raphael can’t reach.
They return in full bloom when Tobias revives him.
Spencer hacks up entire flowers on the cabin floor, belladonna, butterfly weed, cyclamen, and blood splattering against the ground, and even in its state, a part of his drug-and-death-addled brain recognizes the buds.
Silence, letting go, and goodbyes; flowers from the beginning of his gardener’s almanac burn like the fish hearts and livers in his soul as Tobias Hankel hauls him back from the dead.
He isn’t sure if the team sees the splashes of color, overfilling adoration through the camera, focused on sending a message, desperate to get out before he can cough up more symbols of regret, spilling his secret to his coworkers and friends– his family.
He argues when Hotch climbs into the ambulance beside him, feeling more flowers clawing at his throat, but the older agent wins, remaining by his side as the EMTs check his vitals, staying silent, even when the blooms come.
Bittersweet nightshade (truth) spills from his lips by the bushel, spurring one set of hands to hold a bag by the heaving agent’s chin to catch the fragile foliage, the others asking him a barrage of questions he doesn’t hear over his painful wrenches.
Hotch keeps the rest of the team out of his room at the hospital, telling them Spencer isn’t up for visitors as he chokes on pink camellias (longing), never bringing it up until the young brunette gets discharged less than 24 hours later.
He drives his agent home, offering to help him to his apartment, which Spencer refuses before the two linger in the car outside the building for a few seconds of petal-like, fragile silence.
“We’ll talk when you return,” He finally speaks, watching the younger brunette shift and fidget anxiously, clearing his throat and coughing into his elbow. “Take care of yourself; we’re only a call away.”
Spencer nods, silky petals and the taste of iron sitting on his tongue, and disappears into his lonely home.
The flowers stop while he’s on leave, too high for their stems to reach, losing time on the bathroom floor, buds withering with the body they’re feeding on.
The dilaudid numbs the fire in his chest—in his lungs and heart—eating away at the tissue the roots of his love buried themselves in until he can’t feel the stems in his organs, pollen in his blood, petals rising in his throat, and swallowed like his words, burning in his stomach.
“I love you” doesn’t linger on his tongue, waiting to spill past his lips with white chrysanthemums for truth, an admission after over a year of obstructed breathing, and when he’s high, he can almost convince himself that his garden died with Spencer Reid in the cabin in Georgia, at rest in the grave he dug with bouquets of daisies, of belladonna, butterfly weed, and cyclamen, nightshade, and camellias on the fresh mound of upturned soil.
Spencer tries to get sober before he returns to work, but there isn’t enough fertilizer—enough of his body, his dying cells—to sustain all the flowers he regurgitates in those 48 hours of trembling and heaving, purple hyacinths for sorrow and marigolds for grief; blood and bulbs litter his bathroom floor until he can’t breathe, darkness swimming in his vision, and the shell of Spencer Reid, a glass vase with everything on display, succumbs to his cravings, losing himself in oblivion.
He sits in Hotch’s office, pinprick pupils, and tells his boss the flowers and his feelings are gone, that it was the stress that made them bloom, not his genuine, heart-wrenching adoration for his best friend squeezing his organs like a sponge for every ounce of love, threatening to bleed him dry.
Spencer returns to work, profiling people who have experienced everything he’s gone through—enough trauma to break the human psyche—because he can think clearly for the first time in over a year, flowers and genius dying together as poison courses through them.
“I’m struggling.”
Despite everything—his team telling him they have his back, that they’re there for him, that they’re profilers, and Spencer is too high to hide his habit most of the time—Emily is the only one to call him out.
“Reid.” She approaches him after New Orleans, trained eyes seeing through him.
“Look, Prentiss, I’m sorry for snapping at you, but I’m not in the mood–”
“I’m getting waffles and milkshakes. Come with me.” It isn’t a question or an invitation as the older agent steps into the elevator, turning around expectantly, her gaze practically daring Spencer to run as carefully neutral eyes observe him.
He follows Prentiss with a heavy huff, shoulders sagging, his body too exhausted to fight, a familiar itch building in his throat as the doors close.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfiction#angst#moreid#derek morgan#emily prentiss#hanahaki#hanahaki disease#hanahaki au#hanahaki fic#drabble#writing wip#writers on tumblr#writing#spencer reid fic#shortmc
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Normal: Part One
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader
Word Count: ~1.9k
Summary: Another lunch with your parents reveals something that’s been locked in your head, but your dad makes you confused and jumbles up the truth. It’s hard enough to focus on a case with a deranged man killing people on the road, you don’t need family drama on top of it.
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill
Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated
x
"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats." - H.L. Mencken
Hotch requested everyone to meet at the plane instead of in the briefing room like normal. You're running a bit late since your go-bag wasn't properly prepared, but luckily, you had some time to waste. You get out of your car when your phone rings, telling you that you have a message.
You take your phone out to read the message your father sent you.
Can we meet up again? Are you going to be near us?
I'll be in Orange County. Any chance you can come down to me?
I have some business in town. I'll let you know when we can meet up. I'd prefer it if it were just you.
Sure.
You don't want to tell Spencer you're doing this because that would only upset him further. You'll tell him you're going out to lunch and would be right back. You enter the plane and see everyone is already there.
"Sorry, I had a bit of a delay."
You put your bag in the compartments where everyone else's bags are and join Spencer's side who saved you a seat. As soon as you're settled in, the pilot starts to take off. When you're at cruising altitude, Jordan begins the briefing.
"Ten days ago in Orange County, California, Judy Hannity who is a real estate broker, and a mother was injured by a shotgun on the 91 freeway."
"Did she survive this?"
"Barely. She's paralyzed from the waist down. The second and third victims were both DOA. There were different vehicles for each shooting. A small black SUV, a black sedan, and a white sedan with no makes and no plates."
"Any reliable witnesses?"
"The first victim described the shooter as a normal, middle-aged white guy in an SUV."
"She gave that description but she couldn't remember anything else?" Hotch asks.
"Isn't that consistent with trauma?" Jordan asks.
"No, actually. Trauma victims either remember everything or nothing," you state. "I'm confused, though. The third victim was shot last week and we just got the phone call now?"
"Until the third shooting, the locals weren't convinced it was a serial shooter. There were different cars, and in the first shooting there was a different weapon."
"It's the same weapon," Rossi corrects Jordan. "The shot pattern on the second and third one may be wider, but he sawed off the shotgun. It's the same shooter. He's evolving quickly."
"The media has already dubbed him the Road Warrior."
"That explains why they wanted us there so quickly. This type of unsub is the hardest to catch. His victims are impersonal to him. One-third of the time, he flees with his vehicle, another third is that the victim's cars are a wreck, and the last third is the road that's contaminated by all the other cars that drive over it."
"How do we get him?" Jordan asks.
"We build a solid profile. We release it to the public with an appeal for help. Somebody knows this guy."
When the plane lands in Orange County, you're taken to the sheriff's station that is housing all the victim's cars. The detective on the case is eagerly waiting for your arrival, and when she sees you, she immediately heads over. The victim's cars are to your right, and you have to take a deep breath to prevent yourself from being overwhelmed.
"Thea Salinas, sheriff's county homicide. I'm running the task force."
"I'm Special Agent Jordan Todd, and they are Special Agents Rossi, Hotchner, Prentiss, Morgan, Y/N, and he's Dr. Spencer Reid."
"Are these the vehicles from the shootings?" you ask.
"Yes."
"Did you set up a hotline?" Jordan wonders.
"Like you asked. We have the local stations putting the number out there. We're getting about a dozen calls an hour."
"I'll alert the media to stand by for our press conference. Excuse me."
Jordan leaves the group as Hotch, Derek, and Spencer walk over to the cars to inspect them.
"The sheriff's department and the CHP are on tac alert. We've got choppers on round-the-clock freeway patrol. The victims' vehicles come with maps, CSPs, and bullet points. Everything we got on the case is in this room."
"Anything solid on the tip line?"
"The usual nutjobs, crime buffs, and bored senior citizens. Orange County has an endless supply of three things--freeways, news coverage, and blond female luxury car owners."
"Are people pretty scared?" Emily asks.
"I could ask for a submarine and get it."
You leave Rossi and Emily's side and head over to the crashed cars. You grab and slip on some gloves so you can touch the evidence. You always get a better reading when you can touch things unless the energy is strong enough for you to paint a picture with. The crashes happened too long for that to happen, so touching the cars is the next best thing.
"What can you see?" Hotch asks you.
"Give me a minute."
You run your hands over the sharp metal carefully, and you close your eyes to focus on the energy the cars still have. Yes, the crashes happened a while ago, but there will always be energy left on them no matter what. It fades over time, but it never really leaves.
The first car is the most special since it's the first in a spree, so you might get something from it more than the others. The victims' pictures are posted on a bulletin board, so you can see the first victim in her car driving down the road. There is a car speeding toward her on her left, and when she looks over, the unsub has a shotgun in his hands. He shoots her, and the car runs into a concrete median and flips in the air, landing on the top of the car.
He's a white man, and based on the fact that you can't see his face, you know he's the unsub.
"I see her on the freeway," you tell Hotch, "and she's talking on the phone. The unsub comes speeding toward her on the left. He shoots her closed driver's window and she hits a concrete median. Her car flips and it lands on the top of the car. He drives off like nothing happened. I can only see his skin color. He's Caucasian. If another accident happens, or if I can talk to Judy, I might get more off our unsub. The first one is usually important. It's the first time he started killing, though, he never killed her."
"Good job," Hotch praises. "The first MO in the first shooting differs dramatically from the other two. The first one is in daylight on a crowded freeway."
"That's dozens of potential witnesses. It's high-risk. He got lucky."
"Well, then, he's a fast study. He sawed off his shotgun and lowered his risk by switching to nights and changing vehicles."
"What if he wasn't planning on murder the first time?" you say. "We know what he's capable of when he plans ahead, so if he's not planning to commit a crime, it makes sense for him to drive his own vehicle."
"Then why did he have a gun in the SUV if he wasn't planning to commit murder? What happened to make him pull that first trigger?" Derek asks.
"As I said," you turn to Hotch, "I need to talk to Judy."
Hotch decides in order to keep Judy from feeling overwhelmed, only he and you are going to interview her. She is still in the ICU at the local hospital, and when you get there, you see her son in the room with her.
"Ms. Hannity, I'm agent Aaron Hotchner. This is agent Y/N. We're from the FBI."
"She already told the police everything she can remember," her son quickly comes to her defense.
"Rick... it's okay," Just whispers. Hotch takes Rick outside so you can be alone with Judy. When they're gone, you take a seat next to her bed and give her a warm smile. "It's just the two of us. He feels like it's his job to protect me."
"It's good that you two have each other. I understand you spoke with the police, but I'd like to go back to the shooting if you can."
"I don't remember much. It comes back in pieces."
This is where you come in.
"May I hold your hand?"
"Why?"
"I'm a psychic. I can help you recover lost memories if you are okay with it."
"Doesn't hurt to try, I guess."
Since she is paralyzed from the waist down, she can still move her arms to reach out for you. Instead of letting her waste her energy, you grab her hand gently in between both of yours. The trauma from the accident is still very high, so you use that to help paint a more accurate picture of who this unsub is.
"So, you were angry?" you ask with your eyes closed.
"More like impatient, I guess."
Judy comes up behind the unsub in his car, but you can't see the license plate number. It's blurred out because that's not what she was focusing on. It's not the most important thing in her mind at the time, so you won't be able to see it no matter how hard you try. She slams on her horn for him being too slow, and she eventually passes him in a huff of anger. She zooms past him and gets in front of him to show him how angry she is for him being too slow.
"You cut him off?" you ask.
"Yes."
"Was there anything else? Did he swear? Did he honk? Did he threaten you in any way?"
"He tried to speak to me."
The unsub pulls next to Judy's car on the right and tries to get her to roll down her window. From the corner of her eye, the unsub looks completely blurred out. When she faces him, most of him becomes clear for you to see. She was talking to someone on the phone, so she wasn't paying attention to any defining features, but her subconscious picked up a few things that you are able to see.
The unsub is an older white man with round glasses. He is balding on the top of his head, so whatever hair he has is in the back and on the sides, but it's not much. He's wearing a suit and tie like he works in an office building. You can't see his eyes or nose, but you've gotten a lot you can use for the profile.
Based on how he's dressed and how nervous and shy he is when he talks to Judy, you know the kind of man he is.
"What did he say?" you ask.
"He couldn't say anything. I wouldn't give him a chance." She says something to him that causes him to lash out in anger. You already know the result of his anger. You open your eyes and let go of her hand. "If he hadn't seemed so normal, I wouldn't have said anything. I usually don't even use my horn, because on the road... you never know."
"I'll ask your son to come back in."
You leave the room but hold the door open for Rick.
"Is she okay?"
"She will be with you by her side. She's lucky to have you." Rick goes back into his mom's room, and you shut the door behind him. "She made it personal. She got angry at him for driving too slowly. When he confronted her, she told him off and drove off."
"Did you see what he looks like?"
"He's an older white man. If I had to guess, I'd say he's in his mid-fifties. He's balding on the top of his head, and he wore a suit and tie. I think he works in an office building of some kind. He seemed nervous to talk to her like he was not confident in himself."
"Two for two," Hotch chuckles.
You two head back to the police station where the rest are talking to Thea.
x
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#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fan fic#spencer reid fan fiction#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fan fiction#criminal minds fan fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds angst#criminal minds series rewrite#series rewrite#cm season 4
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How about the obey me brothers interacting with an mc who’s like Dante from Devil May Cry? After reading the Bayonetta headcanons, I thought of this.
Why does he look hot on the Wiki Page tho?? Also, I loved his Michael Jackson dance.
Gender-neutral Reader
Lucifer
He has read your student profile and knows that you are a demon hunter. He wonders what went on in Diavolo’s mind when he decided that you should be invited to the Devildom, a realm full of the beings you loved to hunt.
Your sarcasm is a double-edged sword for him. He loves when his brothers get a taste of their own medicine, but he hates when you make a witty comeback towards him. Plus, he can’t do anything because you’re way more powerful than he is, even if you are only half-demon.
However, you’re as bad of a gambler as his younger brother, Mammon, is. It’s annoying to see the two of you constantly going out to gamble to try and get more money to pay back your debts. Unfortunately, he can’t stop you since the reason you don’t have many funds is because you often don’t charge people for sending you to go demon hunting. You are a fighting Robin Hood, aren’t you?
The longer you stay with the brothers, the more you grow attached. You still genuinely cared for Belphegor even after he tried to kill you. I say ‘tried’ because the youngest brother didn’t stand a chance against you. It was almost amusing (but definitely embarrassing) to Lucifer, seeing Belphie lose that badly.
Mammon
Lucifer had told him that you were a skilled, even legendary, demon hunter and he was understandably scared. Diavolo must have lost his mind because there was no way he would be able to make the decision to bring you to a realm of demons if he was sane.
He audibly laughed when you made a sarcastic remark towards Lucifer, and that ended up in him getting strung from the chandelier. Somewhere in there, he realized that you were stronger than his older brother because you didn’t get anything but a warning about your behavior.
He loves and hates gambling with you. You just suck so bad at it that he can’t help but drag you along to laugh at your failure. He will teach you some tricks and use his magic to make you a tad more lucky. Eventually, you get enough money to pay your debts, and save some for Mammon so he can pay back his debts as well.
The second eldest was genuinely scared when Belphie lunged after you. He seemed to have forgotten that not only were you a legendary demon hunter, but also half-demon yourself. The 7th brother never stood a chance against you, and got packed up. Mammon was in the back just cheering you on.
Leviathan
You remind him of the protagonist of the game Demon Might Weep!!! He wishes to have the amount of confidence you have. You are able to walk into any room and you act like you’ve known everyone there for years, and no one questions it.
When you made a sarcastic comment towards Lucifer, he almost spit out his energy drink out of shock. And he realized that his oldest brother couldn’t even do anything about it because you were so powerful, and his jaw dropped even more.
He’s jealous whenever you go gambling with Mammon. You could be hanging out with him instead, but of course you wouldn’t. Who would want to hang out with a gross otaku like him, huh? It’s not until you explain that you’re just trying to pay back your debts that he understands why you go out to the casinos constantly.
He cheered you on from the beginning when you fought for your life against his youngest brother. Sure, he was scared since you were taken off-guard, but he had faith in you and your abilities as a half-demon demon hunter. He’s so relieved to see you make it out alright.
Satan
He has also read your student profile, but he was sure that Diavolo had his reasons when he chose you to be an exchange student. You could technically be counted as a source of unification between the Human Realm and Hell because of your parentage.
He laughed out loud and unashamedly when you made a sassy comment towards Lucifer right to his face. He did not expect an exchange student to have this much stupidity or bravery (he can’t tell which one you have). However, you have his respect now.
He’s more annoyed when you go gambling with Mammon, mainly because you lose more money than you win. Sure, the reason why you don’t have any money is noble since you often don’t charge for your demon hunting services. But money is money, and you have none of it.
When you fought against Belphegor, he was surprised that you had that much power within you. You would think that you would be less powerful considering you’re only half-demon, but here you are… easily folding Belphie the f up like the dishes on a Tuesday afternoon.
Asmodeus
Lucifer had informed him that you were a demon hunter and he was definitely scared. He hasn’t even met you yet and his oldest brother is admitting that you’re stronger than any of the brothers, and might be stronger than Lord Diavolo for all they know.
He giggled when you made a sassy remark back towards the Avatar of Pride, but was also shocked. No one, in any millennia that they have lived through, had ever had the guts to do what you just did. You were just a different breed, apparently (literally).
He always laughs when you and his older brother come back from the casino with nothing in your pockets. Sure, it’s beyond frustrating, but it’s also hilarious. Shouldn’t you have learned by now that you’ve been dealt a bad hand when it comes to the tables and dice?
The day that Belphie attacked, Asmo was so worried for you. Not physically, considering you were stronger than all of them combined. No, he was worried about how your trust would be impacted in the future. I mean, you became close with the residents of the HoL, but now you would probably be wary.
Beelzebub
When his oldest brother had informed him that you were a legendary demon hunter, he spit out whatever food he had in his mouth. He suddenly wasn’t very hungry, mainly because Lord Diavolo and Lucifer had accepted a demon hunter into RAD.
When you decided to test the waters and bite back at Lucifer, Beel spit out his food then too. Like, there ain’t no way you had said that to the Avatar of Pride and lived to tell the tale. Of course, it definitely didn’t help anything when his oldest brother admitted to the group that he couldn’t do anything in response. Just how powerful were you?
He gets upset when he sees you and Mammon coming back from the casinos, drunk and broke. You could never win when it came to gambling, and you resorted to leeching off the brothers until you could pay back your debts. Didn’t you know that you were qualified for a normal job?
When Belphie attacked, he was torn between his emotions. Sure, he loved you, but he also loved his twin as well. He understood Belphegor’s anger since the angels couldn’t allow a union like Lilith and her lover when you were half-demon, half-human. He was glad that you made it out alive, though.
Belphegor
When his oldest brother visited him in the attic, he had told him about you. It just made him further question Diavolo’s sanity, since he invited one of, if not the, best demon hunter known to all the realms. The Demon Lord must’ve lost his freaking mind.
He got a taste of your sarcasm when he asked you to let him out. You were already suspicious of him, so you were able to see right through his scheme, so you decided to humble his very obvious pride by shooting him down in a very sassy way.
He has probably heard Lucifer yelling at you and Mammon for going out gambling and losing a crap-ton of money. It’s kind of hard not to hear it, actually. He figured that either someone at the tables cheated or you just sucked at gambling.
When he attacked you, he revealed that he was angry that angels and humans couldn’t have the same union that demons and humans could (that, as a result, produced you and your twin brother). If it were allowed in the Celestial Realm, perhaps Lilith would still be alive.
#obey me#obey me!#obey me x reader#obey me shall we date#obey me shall we date x reader#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me lucifer#lucifer x reader#lucifer#obey me mammon x reader#obey me mammon#mammon#mammon x reader#obey me levi#obey me levi x reader#leviathan#leviathan x reader#obey me leviathan x reader#obey me leviathan#obey me satan x reader#obey me satan#satan x reader#satan#asmo#asmo x reader#asmodeus#asmodeus x reader#obey me asmo#obey me asmo x reader#obey me asmodeus
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“So, um, how did you two meet?” Chrissy asks as they hit the highway.
Robin looks over at Steve, and she can tell how smug he is about all of this from his side profile alone. He’s the most annoying boy in the world, a total dingus, but God, she loves him. She wouldn’t be in the backseat of a car with Chrissy Cunningham without him. If someone had tried to convince the Robin of one year ago that she’d be sitting with the reigning queen of Hawkins High in its fallen king’s BMW, she’d have told them to eat glass, but somehow he’s made it all happen. Not that she’ll tell him that. Now that he’s getting dates again, he’s already got a big enough head. He doesn’t need to try to claim all the credit for every girl she talks to, too.
Still, he’s her favorite person. And if she’s honest with herself, she’s pretty sure that started way before the fourth of July.
“I know you said you’re not dating,” Chrissy continues, looking between them, “but I don’t remember you being friends at school last year.”
“Oh, we weren’t,” Robin says cheerfully. “I hated Steve’s guts because he was always eating something messy in Mrs. Click’s class. And I ranked too low in the social hierarchy for him to even know I existed. But then last summer we worked together at Scoops Ahoy at the mall and — well, with the whole Starcourt burning down thing —”
“What did Erica call us, Rob?” Steve asks, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. “Trauma-bonded freakazoids?”
“Something like that. Anyway, we’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since.”
It’s close enough to the truth, at least. Chrissy doesn’t need to be burdened with the fact that their codependency is less related to a fictional fire and more to the reality that they were drugged together, tortured together, that they nearly died together maybe five times over in a 24-hour span. That they faced down Russian spies and the Mind Flayer and won themselves matching concussions when they’d crashed their car into a possessed classmate.
“We’re at Family Video now,” Steve adds. “Robin’s a total film nerd — that’s how she knew about Desert Hearts coming out this weekend. How’d you hear about it, Chrissy?”
“Oh, um…”
Chrissy ducks her head, pulls her shoulders in again like she had in the theater. She picks at the skin around her left thumbnail, and Robin has to stick her fingers under her thigh so she doesn’t reach out and grab Chrissy’s hand.
“Jason’s parents were pretty upset about it at dinner the other day,” she eventually admits. “I guess they heard about it from someone at their church who has family in the city.”
Robin watches as Chrissy stares hard at her lap, avoiding looking at either Robin or Steve. She lets out a feeble little laugh before continuing.
“I’m pretty sure my mom would literally kill me if she knew I was here, but I guess I just wanted to see what all of the fuss was about for myself,” Chrissy says in a small voice. “I mean, it’s just a movie. It’s not going to hurt anyone.”
Robin can’t help it. She caves.
“You’re right, it’s just a movie,” she repeats, reaching out and grabbing one of Chrissy’s hands to pull it away from the other. “It’s not going to hurt anyone.”
Robin laces their fingers together and gives Chrissy’s hand a squeeze. When she tries to let go, Chrissy hangs on, so Robin does, too.
“People need to learn to mind their own business,” Steve spits from the front, and Robin can hear the defensive, protective heat in his voice. “Who cares what kind of movie someone likes? Or whatever else they like? That’s no one’s business but yours.”
“Well, your secret’s safe with us,” Robin promises. “As far as we know, Chrissy Cunningham was studying at the library all afternoon on Sunday. Or whatever it is you want us to say. We just happened to drive past you on your walk home and offered to take you the rest of the way. And maybe, uh — maybe don’t tell Jason that we saw Desert Hearts either.”
all the best people see you (all the best people know), chapter 1, a stranger things au where two lil lesbians get to go see some lesbian cinema — happy pride!
#buckingham#chrissy cunningham#robin buckley#chrissy x robin#robin x chrissy#robin buckley x chrissy cunningham#stranger things#stranger things fic#my writing#my graphics#inadvertent desert hearts movie date au
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Last Time On Total Drama Cruise Control: Can You Take the Heat?
CHALLENGE 13: Kingston, Jamaica
“Hello, contestants! Are we feeling…hungry,” Chris grins.
“Actually, I have an important announcement for everyone! Mascots, please come forward...”
The Beaver and The Tapir waddle their way up the front of the bow, each holding their mascot flags. Neither speak.
“Starting today, teams are no more. Yep, merge is here baby! Say goodbye to your lovable mascots! Buh bye-bye!”
The Mascots silently wave, but Chris suddenly shoves them both overboard! You hear two distinct splashes… and silence.
“From now on, you all will be fighting for immunity, and the winner of each challenge will get the luxury floor all to themselves! Well, actually…they’ll get to pick one person to join them and reap the spoils, if they wish. Yep! Your last chance to grab any hot Mascot merchandise is gone now. We're dumping all of it into the ocean!"
“Well, enough talk. I hope everyone is ready to expand your flavor profile!”
The boat bellows, docking on yet another beach. Wait, this place, to some of you, might be familiar!
“The kind people of Jamaica were so gracious to overlook my last visit and allowed us to visit once more! WELCOME TO KINGSTON, JAMAICA!”
Chris leads everyone to the beach, where a delicious smell wafts through ... it's so good, it almost makes your mouth water!
“See? I told you there was a reason Chef didn't serve you all breakfast today! Or lunch...I wanted everyone to be HUNGRY! Awww. Don’t give me that face, I didn't hire just anyone to make us food…everyone say hello to our guest star, DJ!”
DJ is stirring a pot, the contents inside smelling absolutely divine. He adds a dash of his special spice with a smile.
“Hey everyone! Long time no see!” He takes a taste test, content with his cooking. “Chris! It’s almost done!”
“Awesome! Today’s challenge is an eating contest! But we aren't eating hotdogs or pie...we are eating DJ’s famous jerk chicken! And it's SPICY! This is an endurance test for your tastebuds!"
“Wait a minute….I thought you said this was for the locals! No offense but this…this is too spicy for...um...C-Chris!”
“They’ll be fiiiine! I've got milk for them! Uh…I think…uh…hm. Well, we had milk.”
The mascots were supposed to wheel in the cart full of milk...uh…
“....oops! Well, DJ, get to plating, and everyone else, sit down and get ready!”
DJ scoops out a plate of jerk chicken, handing them out to each and everyone. He gives a soft, nervous smile and a tiny, “I’m sorry…” under his breath.
"Be careful, don't eat it too fast. I don't want anyone getting a stomachache...."
The jerk chicken smells amazing, but you can feel the heat radiating from it…
“OK! Are you ready? Get set, GO!”
ROUND ONE!
Everyone passes with flying colors!
ROUND TWO!
RAJ, LIGHTNING AND ALEJANDRO COULDN'T TAKE THE HEAT!
It's like a dice bot is against him or something. Alejandro freaking taps out.
Lightning coughs out his food! "Man, that spice was rough!"
Raj starts coughing. Ough. He pushes his plate towards Wayne.
ROUND THREE!
WAYNE, MK, AMY AND RIPPER ARE OUT! TOO HOT TO HANDLE!
As Wayne kept eating Raj’s seconds…oh oh! It’s coming back out… Wayne spits out an actual fireball out of his mouth, dragon-style…he passes out with smoke emitting from his mouth and nostrils. coughs smoke…Did I win, Rajie?
Amy's coughing so much. She's OUT. sorry alejandro </3
MK’s still eating and… Oh fuck turns out she had tastebuds the whole time. She practically snorts out smoke.
Ripper's stomach gurgles dangerously, and a fart follows. Oh. THAT hurt. Another. That REALLY hurts. The plate in front of him is pushed forward. He freezes, a look of contemplation on his face.
ROUND FOUR, FINAL ROUND!
JO VS BRICK VS HAROLD!
Brick tries to take a bite....he tries......he finally gives out!
"Yeah, I'm here too," Harold sulks as he eats more freaking chickeng. There's a gurgling most unpleasant in his stomach. He fears there is not much time left for him. bathroom NOW
THE WINNER OF THE SPICY JERK CHICKEN CONTEST IS...JO!
Jo sneers at DJ, the plate empty in front of her. “That was supposed to be spicy? Give me a break.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ELIMINATION:
It was Brick who was served the Mocktail of Misery and walked the Plank of Shame.
Brick marches up to the plank of shame, he turns around to look at them all.
"Don't worry. This is a good thing for me. I am free from my torment. I was never very good at this game after all." His eyes land onto a certain individual....
"Be careful. Not everyone on this boat is who they say they are."
Brick salutes one last time, and jumps off the plank!
THANK YOU FOR PLAYING! HAVE A GOOD TRIP, SOLIDER!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
>The Sea Tails (Wayne, Raj, Ripper, Amy and Alejandro) celebrate Ripper's return with dinner at a sports bar. Wayne and Ripper share a gross fry kiss. Amy and Alejandro leave early. There's ketchup everywhere.
>Ripper wins a live cassowary from the crane machine! It attacks him, makes Trent bald, and chases Raj. It attacks the door to the confessional he's hiding in and runs off of the ship.
>Raj is freaked out because he's afraid of birds, which Lightning finds out about. Wayne tries to comfort Raj while Lightning helps Ripper in the med room. Wayne and Lightning go off to find the cassowary while Ripper and Raj stay in the cabin.
>Ripper and Raj talk through trauma and try to comfort each other. They do a little counting thing together that Raj taught Ripper in order to calm each other.
>Raj has a nightmare. Wayne and Lightning finally return after the cassowary is eaten by a shark and dies. Wayne, Raj, and Ripper throw fries into the ocean for fun and Raj refuses to sleep.
>Lightning tells Amy and Alejandro about Raj’s fear of birds without knowing it was a secret. They throw Lightning under the bus to cover up the fact that Amy already knew. Raj gets upset with Lightning and ends their friendship.
>Wayne almost reveals the bird secret to Harold. He has a panic attack and thinks that he disappointed Raj. Raj tries to comfort him.
>Harold tries to see if his vampire cure potion works. Amy and Raj are there and so is Trent very briefly. It didn't appear to do anything.
>Ripper and Wayne work out together, bake a cake together and plan a prank on Raj, running around to gather the things to pull it off. They also go grocery shopping together and Wayne gifts Ripper a little spinning top.
>Alejandro and Raj finish a Lego set together!
>Jo is in mourning after Brick's elimination.
>DJ does improv therapy with Harold and Jo at his jerk chicken stand. He plans on meeting up with Harold after the game. Ripper visits at the same time Harold does and attempts to break his new record right there in the middle of their conversation. He does not succeed, but he does discuss cooking with DJ.
>Ripper and Lightning share drinks at a bar. Ripper asks Lightning for an alliance, and he agrees to it.
>Sierra is following the ship, and MK has a conversation with her. Sierra mentions that MK was dating Caleb in the past. They discuss shipping discourse.
>Ripper also has a conversation with Sierra. He is loving all of the attention and talk about he and Wayne's relationship until she reveals she got information about him from his dying Nonna on the phone. She actually initiated the conversation using his real name.
> Jo has a conversation with Sierra at a bar. Sierra learned information about Jo by calling her parents and paying them to give some to her. They discuss her time on Revenge and as well as her relationship with Brick, Courtney, and Scott. The mention of Brick makes her upset, but her mood returns very quickly after Sierra offers to make fun of people with her.
>Harold and Amy go wig shopping. Harold also buys a stuffed puppy that he gifts to DJ.
> Alejandro and Amy sit at a park together. Alejandro discusses a heavy conversation he had with Ripper at a bar in the Bahamas. It was a personal conversation and Ripper shared parts of it with her. Amy comforts Alejandro and they swap their phone and camera, two items they've been sharing.
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You and V hide in a safe house after a gig gone wrong pt2
18+
TF4M
This is the second part to my previous one, here
I’m very proud of it so please read if it seems interesting.
This one will be mostly sex with little plot, all the plot is in the first one. I hope more people see this one lol. I’ll have more cod ones soon, so check my profile
Summary: you needed eddies and took up a gig from V, shit went sideways, now you’re in a safe house for the next few days.
You walk over to the bed, V bent over presenting her perfect asshole, cock and balls hanging beautifully underneath, a little cherry on top(or under lol). You look down at your still hard cock, covered in your and V’s cum. You spread it all around to use as lube when you go inside her. Before that, you kneel behind her and burry your face in her ass, prodding her hole with your tongue, she moans.
V-“someone’s hungry huh?”
She chuckles and pushes her ass into your face, you shove your tongue deeper in before giving her balls a gentle tug, causing her to jolt
V-“woah, god your good”
She moans and whimpers as you eat her ass and tug her balls. After a few minutes you pull away, leaving a visible strand of spit connecting her hole and your mouth. You smile and stand.
Reader-“you tasted fucking preem, I wish we would’ve became chooms sooner”
She laughs and pushes her ass against you, sandwiching you cock between her asscheeks
V-“hell, me to. Better late then never though right? Now fuck me”
You laugh and line up your cock with her hole
Reader-“yes ma’am”
You thrust into her, sliding your way in surprisingly easily, nice and lubed from your spit and the cum already on your cock. She lets out a yell of pleasure as you enter her, all the way to the base. She reaches down to stroke her cock as you thrust, moaning every time. Your cock goes in and out, her hole sticking to you every time you pull back, and how greedily it sucks you back in every time, stimulating you more than any pussy or cheap bd ever could.
V-“you can go harder, I’m a big girl, make me fucking scream”
She says through her moans and whimpers. You can’t help but smile at her request as you thrust in as hard as you can, making her scream like she wanted, you push her down from her bent over position, now flat on the bed you fuck her into the mattress as hard as you possibly can, going balls deep every time, your balls hitting hers with every thrust, causing even more stimulation. You start to get cocky
Reader-“you like that bitch, your ass is so fucking greedy, I’ll give it exactly what it wants, a real cock”
You get even more feral as you pound her, slapping your hips into her ass making loud slapping sounds every time you make contact. If militech happened to be in the area looking for you two, they’d just have to follow the screams of pleasure and sounds of flesh making contact over and over.
V-“your cock feels so-so good, fuck I-I need it every day, we’re more than just chooms now, we’re fucking every day, you can move in with me if you want, I-i don’t fucking care”
You chuckle as you hear her pleas, you lean down, now on her back and whispering in her ear as you fuck her senseless
Reader-“I’d fucking love that”
You say as you grunt and pound her more. You move you hand down to her cock and realize that she’s already cum, at least twice by now, the sheets under her covered in cum. You laugh as you feel your own orgasm approaching, she notices.
V-“don’t you dare pull out, fill me the fuck up, fill my fucking ass”
She yells as you slam your cock inot her one more time and dump your seed deep inside her, grunting and growling with every spurt, she shakes under you, going almost crazy from the pleasure, so crazy in fact, her mantis blades malfunction and activate, spearing into the bed, getting a loud laugh from you. You pull out of her, your seed spilling out of her gaping asshole, you lay on top of her
Reader-“I fucked you so hard your chrome fucked up, preem”
You chuckle again as she stops shaking and retracts the blades
V-“y-yeah, you-you did”
She says, her face still buried into the sheets as she tries her best to not pass out.
Reader-“well, we got a few more days stuck here right? I’ll give you a bit then we can go again”
You smirk as she lays there motionless and breathing heavy, she can’t even respond, just making noises. This is gonna be a great couple days
#18+ only#smut#m4m#gay#trans#mtf trans#cyberpunk v#cyberpunk oc#cyberpunk 2077#tf4m#mtf smut#mtf girl#trans smut
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A year and some change in retrospective
Okay so technically It’s like a year and 2 months and like a day. While I made the account and started posting things in November of 2022 I made my intro post on the 23rd of Jan last year so that’s when I’m going to count myself as having officially joined lol. I got thinking about this on my way into work today and I got a little reflective. I’m going to be kind of rambling (what else is new lol) but it dawned on me that, damn dude, a whole year is still like 300+ days and life can go wild directions. I also figured this may be nice for the newer people who have started to follow me (hello and thank you btw). Things won’t necessarily be in chronological order, I mean they might, but, I’m also liable to jump around.
So let’s start with some backstory, all good stories start with backstory yeah?
Me and my -at the time- bf(we’re still together lol just fiance now) were on our way to my aunt's wedding…running late actually because I had the day wrong and blah blah blah. To kill time on the 3hr car ride I started to spit ball this idea for a story I had brewing, that would then become Rituals and Red Tape. I was writing it for myself for a while as a way to deal with being let go from my last job. Well I then had the silly idea to maybe share this with people, so then we get to November and I make a profile and start posting.
That’s right, I started my path on here to be someone putting out original works of writing. I mean, if you go to my profile and check out the pinned post you’d know this but let’s be real, nobody really does that lol. And as those of you putting out original stuff also know, it can be pretty quiet at first. I had in my mind that I was just going to have my stuff on my blog, maybe reblog writing stuff only; that uh…didn’t last long. I’ve met some pretty cool people on here, even if we never really talk I’m happy to see your stuff cross my dash. It was the whole song and dance of you follow me and I follow you, support network stuff. Took part in tag games, an OC fighting tourney thing, and just some other fun things. All the while I’m posting little one-offs, a new WIP here and there…that I eventually just kinda stop working on in favor of my first child.
I make a Wattpad and start posting what could be considered the 1.5 draft of the story. Things are fun, quiet, but fun
I start to engage in more fandom related things, because why not?
Then something happens, something that I didn’t think would take me in the direction I am going now.
I buy a $30 mic.
Voice acting and acting in general were always a passion of mine as a kid, and with a new stable job and comfy living I thought it was time to revisit some old joy. What was even better is that an artist I was following had a “casting call” for an animation she was working on. So with my little microphone and audacity(the program lol) I do the thing that changed my blog, I tried out…and I got a little part! I’ve never really been one to yearn for the spotlight but I took a chance and it worked out, and I was hooked after that.
So I started to use that mic more and more. First recording a short story of my own, recording a short story by a pal, then…well I guess you can call it doing some dub work.
Now in the past I had people follow me just out of the blue, but, with the first Five Pebbles recording it started to happen more and more. And those posts, well, they were getting some attention. Not a lot mind you, but like, more than the original works. Now I don’t say this with anger or bitterness, it’s just how stuff like this works out. So with what I thought was going to be a one-off thing, I knew I wanted to keep doing it. Yes the notoriety was fun, but more so, I was making something that was bringing people joy. So I recorded more, and more people saw it and liked it, reblogged it too.
Then I had that funny little idea. Something new to me that scratches a few itches at once. If you’ve followed me for THIS you know, the Kel Logs. Not only was I playing a game that I really enjoy(btw if you haven’t you should go play the game it is fun and but I won’t bog this down with info dumping), but I was doing some original writing and voice acting. It was the perfect storm.
Now I know I’m not the most well known person out there and this little fan fiction project isn’t like super famous, which I’m very okay with lol, but like the comments and stuff show I was having an impact on people in a small way. And it was having an effect on me, I was becoming more comfortable with my voice. Not going to sour the mood too much but I’ve struggled with voice dysphoria for a while and the joy I am able to bring people is so important to me, which I know sounds selfish.
So now here we are in the present, I know I’ve missed some stuff and simplified others, with people following me for fandom things and all that jazz. I thank every single one of you. Whenever my stuff get reblogged I do try my best to say something in the comments to those who say things in tags lol, sometimes tumblr won’t let me @ you but know I try. You all have no idea how much it means that I can bring joy to you and I don’t feel I can pay you all back other than to keep doing what I’m doing.
I haven’t worked on my original stuff in a while but I don’t think I’ll be tossing it to the side. In fact I know I won’t. I have a story I want to tell and it will be. So if you have any interest, please check it out and let me know what you all think. I want to always improve but I can’t know where to patch things up if I don’t hear about a leak lol. I’m getting super rambly so I’m gonna stop this here.
1 year later and I’ve gone from solely original writing to a strange hybrid of that and fandom stuff, and I couldn’t be happier with where I am.
So once again, thank you all so much for liking what I do and I hope to keep bringing you things to make you feel emotions.
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Speaking of that Ancestors post...
I don’t know the exact means and direct answer for everyone but in regards to the state of the world today (ex: Congo, Haiti, Peru, North America etc) this is why ppl need to identify as Indigenous- specifically to identify with their Indigenous roots.
When colonized ppl of a place curse and spit at the Indigenous people, calling them dirty, backwards, ignorant etc, they are acting out the demons of colonization. This particular demon infects a people with poisonous amnesia and programs them to react with toxic vitriol and murderous intent around anyone or anything that could cause them to Remember or Connect.
Much of this demon is contained in the violence of colonization itself which is an ongoing act so heinous that while the ‘victors’ of this act claim pride about it they are violently allergic to actually allowing themselves to see its actual nature: ultimately, a gruesome act of idiotic self-harm.
Meanwhile, when governments enact laws against the rights of Indigenous people (and always therefore Earth herself), they are counting on the rest of us to see ourselves on the ‘right side‘ of a right/wrong division in which Indigenous people are the pitifully ‘wrong’.
It is false.
They count on this because if you do not see the tribal person taking to the streets, or sitting outside their small home, or yelling from the edge of a logged forest as a person like you, your cousin, your own flesh and blood, then you will not be angry.
You will not see.
And you will not fight.
And it’s just too late for that.
Now I’m not saying everyone just lazily buy some beaded earrings and slap ‘Indigenous’ in their profile. And some of you reading this, who may be strictly descended from colonizers, have a much different relation to this because the root issue in your bloodlines was the initial cultural cannibalism that far proceeded (and caused) colonization and is why so many of you can’t identify as indigenous to where you are nor can you satisfactorily trace back your Ancestorship.
I feel for you and know your path lies in healing a specific wound in your Ancestral lineage but this post isn’t exactly about you (Understand though I am not referring to all Europeans as many of you actually have Indigenous lineages).
I mean the rest of you POGM who were made to identify as minorities. Who are- by the work of colonization- more familiar with the brand marks of colonial export than the tongues and traditions of your people just a handful of generations back.
It serves the demon of capital for us to forget, or to be ashamed of returning, or to feel like the wall of trauma is too high to climb. It serves the demon of empire to feel disconnected from Indigenous people and the Indigenous fight because then we will lack the honor and pride of Self Knowing and the righteous anger and indignation that comes with seeing and understanding what they have done- what they have taken from you.
And it’s just too late for that.
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Chasing Pasts in Shadows
part 4 | part 5 | part 6
"Hey, um, that still doesn't explain why she was at Maguire's. She had a lot of money," Mike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
"Maybe she wanted to hide it from Reyes,"
"And posting on Facebook is the best way to keep a secret, thank you for your valuable contribution, Max,”
“Shut it Byers, that was just a theory,” Max sniped.
Will ignored her, scrolling down further on her page. “Her page is so saccharine, eaugh. Here, ‘A very happy journey to my sweet Anna. Say hi to baby Julia for me!’” Will read out the caption of a photo of Emily with someone who looked similar to her.
Max guffawed. “What were you expecting? Have you never been on Facebook before?”
“Um, no, why would I?”
“You haven’t?” Mike asked, incredulously.
“Why would I? It’s not like I had anything important to keep up with or talk to. Why would either of you have a facebook?”
“Well, technically it was my mom’s account. El and I looked up other people’s profiles and what they were doing on her tablet when we had sleepovers.”
“You were stalking other people?” Will nodded at Mike’s question.
“It was not stalking! We were just seeing what others were up to!”
“That is the definition of stalking, Max! You are making my sister commit federal crimes!” If dad found out about this-
“You are the one to talk about crimes, Mr. ‘Let’s-go-to-Vegas-and-commit-fraud-by-asking-El-to-reprogram- the-machines’!”
“That was different, because I haven't done it yet.”
“Because you legally can’t be near a machine.”
“Touche.” Will conceded, stumped.
Mike had been oddly silent throughout this entire exchange “What did you do on Facebook, Mike?” Will asked.
Mike winced imperceptibly. “It’s not important.”
“Why do I get the feeling it’s something embarrassing, Wheeler?”
“It’s not embarrassing,” Mike stated, eyes on the road, and face impossibly red. “It’s just, not relevant.”
“Mike, what are you hiding?” Will asked because he was acting dodgy and sue him, but flustered Mike looked really cute.
“Nothing,” Mike started.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll ask Nancy.”
“Fine.” Mike huffed as he hunched over the wheel. “I had a secret account when I was like, 10, I used it to look at celebrities.”
“You see, Mike, if the entire thing was that simple, you wouldn’t be so shifty about it. So, did you look up swimsuit pictures or what?”
“I looked at Steve’s photos from lifeguarding at the pool, okay?” Mike spit out, more awkward than angry, and Max burst out laughing.
“You, Nancy and Jonathan had a crush on the same guy at the same time?” Max sputtered between her laughter.
“It’s not that funny,” Mike pouted. Will looked away, because if he didn’t, he would do something and Will didn’t particularly want to get into a car crash.
“It’s okay, Mike, we’ve all been there,” Will said, returning back to the google doc.
Max sobered up. “Yeah that was a dark time for both me and you, Will. Remember the ice cream parlour uniform, 3 summers ago?”
Will nodded, a smile coming to his face. That summer was one of the best in his life, with the new music shop and renovated movie theatre, all the party spent the entire time at Steve’s workplace or in Mike’s basement, playing DnD and stuffing themselves full of snacks and sneaking into movies. Mike and Will always paired up for the last one, because there never were enough seats for all of them together.
“Yeah, that hat was so fucking ridiculous.” Mike leaned back in his car seat as they approached their neighbourhood.
“Cool of him to let us use the employee entrance to get in,” Will said, putting his phone away, as Mike pulled into the driveway of his house.
“And giving us free sundaes,” Max said, as they got out of the death contraption that was Mike Wheeler’s car. “Though, I suspect Erica had something to do with it.”
As Will reached into the trunk to grab the recorder, he caught Mike’s eye. He looked troubled. “Mike?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?” Will slowed stepped closer to Mike, voice low.
“Yeah,” Mike said, not meeting Will’s eyes. “I'm okay, why do you ask?”
Will was worried because Mike was affected by hauntings in a way Will was not, he was worried because Mike would suffer in silence if something was bothering him, he was worried because Mike would lie to protect people he cared about. But Will won’t let Mike be alone in his problems, because he cared about Mike too. Will opened his mouth to elaborate-
“Come on, I can't wait to hear Dustin’s snark about incomplete procedures and half-assed data,” Max said as strutted into Mike’s house like she lived there.
___
im backkk, whos excited? /jk
sorry for dying for like a week, i was so fucking sick it was hard to stand up
also i was in no state to write some psychological fuckery bc i was out of it, high on meds, so here's some madcleradin fluff, reminiscing about being kids, and byler moments, consider this like a chill post
ill be back w horror stuff in the next installment <3
as always, this was edited only by grammarly and hemingway editor, so lemme know if anything is wonky
im not promising about time anymore bc that seems to work like a jinx 💔, but ill do it soon
please tell me what you liked (comments motivate me❤️🩹)
#byler#stranger things#mike wheeler#will byers#max mayfield#byler fic#ghost hunting au#paranormal investigators au#madcleradin paranormal investigators au#platonic madwheeler#platonic madcleric#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#byler fanfic#elmax crumbs#el and lucas being partners in law#protective brother will byers
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I love your writing! It's so good. Could you write a Dorian Storm/reader where his s/o is his plus one for the ball rather then Fearne? She gets the clever idea of sneaking her weapons/items past security by bundling them up and hiding them up her dress so she looks pregnant and going full ham with the act alongside poor Dorian.
Sorry for the wait! Hope this one turned out to your liking! 😘
Pretty sure he’s the only one with any experience dealing with high society at a high society event among the group, Dorian’s taken it upon himself to offer some sense of direction when it comes to what to look for in attire. The latest fashions are very much out of budget and due to the tight timeline, options are rather limited. Nevertheless he is excited to get the group all dolled up and ready for their shining night of dancing and diamonds, even if those are diamonds in the rough. It’s one of the things he’s missed from home after his departure and seeing the excitement on the faces of his friends makes him glad to be the ones sharing it with him. That being said he worries for them immensely. If these people manage to not make fools out of themselves within the first five minutes he’d be blessed by the gods themselves but what is a ball without a little scandal…
You go through racks of fancy attire in a variety of colours, inspect dress forms and displays alike. There’s many pretty garments. Most of them far beyond budget but you try them on anyway. None of them suit your wants though. Why is dress shopping such a nightmare?
“I think it suits you very well.” Dorian says as you come out of the dressing room and twirl. You look in the mirror making eye contact with the genasi and give him a doubtful look. The dress is a formatted gown that constricts your movement quite a bit and you can already feel the corseted bodice dig in the wrong places. With no time for alterations like these, you assume it wouldn’t get more comfortable with wear.
“It’s a nice dress but if we need to fight I’m screwed.” You look gorgeous but he’s inclined to agree on that part. Hopefully there’s no fighting but given you might need to move quickly, and this particular design hugs all your curves until it flares out from the knees ending in a slight train, doesn’t seem like the right garment to run in and so he picks another dress from the pile you’d collected and puts it over the changing screen. You step behind it and wait for him to follow with a sigh and turn your back. Dorian helps undo the laces and helps you into the next dress. This process is repeated several more times. You look perfect in all dresses you try on, even if some of the dresses don’t do you justice. Perhaps his judgement is clouded by his affections to you and especially the image of seeing you in the world he’s accustomed to.
“This one’s nice.” Oh thank the gods. Dress number twenty-four. You turn and twirl, looking in the mirror, testing the weight of the fabric. It’s a lovely dress. Fitted silk bodice, empire waistline and flowing floor length skirts that remind you of the colours of the sunset. It’s perfect. It’s perfect for what you’re plotting. You bundle up some of the top layers of the skirt over your stomach and look at your side profile.
“You think I look pregnant?” You ask and Dorian chokes on his own spit, cheeks colouring purplish as he looks at you wide eyed catching his breath between coughs.
“I’m sorry. What?” He squeaks. Well he’s of no use. You grab a pillow from one of the plush couches in the store along with a sash. Going behind the screen again to preserve some modesty and not give your darling a panic attack while at it, you lift the skirts, hold the pillow to your stomach and tie it in place with the sash before dropping the skirts again. You jump up and down twice to rearrange them and step back out.
“Do I look like I’m with child?” You gesture to your now protruding ‘belly’ waiting for an answer while Dorian tries to put together a coherent sentence but fails to do so. Luckily for you Chetney rushes by in a lovely gown himself and stops to look at you.
“Ready to pop any second.” The gnome confirms. “Can’t you be honest to the woman? Jeeze! Who raised you? Have some respect, blue boy!” And with that he scurries off to gods know where while Dorian mutters a string of stifled apologies.
“Thank you Chetney!” You call after him.
“Why-wha-wh-why do you- You’re not- You’re not actually pregnant, are you?” Dorian asks sheepishly as you move back behind the changing screen and pop your head back out to seem him fiddling with his thumbs.
“What? No! When did I give that impression?” Dorian raises an eyebrow. “Nevermind. I guess. I’m buying this dress. Now can you help me out of this? And maybe help me find a bag and some extra belts. A leg holster maybe?” You ramble on.
————
The eve of the ball comes around and everyone is ready and dolled up. Though out of all of them, Dorian can’t keep his eyes off of you. You look radiant. You look glowing. He’d been half focused on watching you during the planning sequence and probably has missed out on some important details but that’s a problem for later. The carriage stops and they get ready to get out, leaving behind their weapons and other things they can’t bring along.
“Wait.” Eyes turn to you. “Spell components, focusses and small weapons. Give them to me.” Some look on in confusion and are about to turn away when you lift your skirts, pulling a variety of items from your belongings and theirs. Caltrops, ballbearings, a couple darts neatly packed, crystal orb, diamonds, you keep going and Fearne keeps handing you more stuff. Dorian watches on how you miraculously manage to fit all these things under your skirts, the majority of which gets stored in the makeshift bag you’d hidden underneath. And so your ‘belly grows. You adjust some contents for a more rounded look and he’s just so taken aback he doesn’t quite know how to respond. Fearne didn’t miss a beat when she was informed she could bring the trinkets that otherwise might have stood out among the folds of her own dress. Orym apparently had caught on to what you were planning and while somewhat confused and awkward, handed you another dagger he’d like to bring, which you put in the holster around your thigh. Imogen fought past the awkward and decided that goal outweighs the means here and hands you her knife.
“Come on, Dorian. They’ll be waiting for us.” You encourage and snap the bard out of his train of thought. He notices Fearne dig through his bag, and grab the little Bertrand doll Laudna made him.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing that during a ball, Fearne.” He finds it easier to focus on the little doll that the fact you’re smuggling everyone’s contraband into a large scale event hosting a multitude of powerful and dangerous people, never mind the battalion of guards and hirelings by pretending you’re pregnant.
“But what if you need it though?” She argues as he gently takes the doll from her and puts it back with his belongings trying to remember what he’s supposed to bring. You see he’s at a loss and panicking so you take matters in your own hands reaching for the handaxe, unclipping the handle and securing it to your thigh holster.
“If you want to bring the sword, that’s on you. Let’s get moving.” Not enough time to process what’s going on you help Dorian put on his mask as the others do too and drag him out of the carriage.
Fearne and Imogen at your sides, guide you to stable ground telling you to watch your step and be careful, preparing to catch you should you trip, like one would a highly pregnant person. The moment Dorian’s feet hit the ground you loop your arm around his and pretend to lean on him. The confidence in his persuasive skills hit rock bottom that very instance. He lets out a nervous chuckle as you kiss his cheek.
“Ease up a little, love. You look like you are going to faint any moment. I believe that right should be reserved for the pregnant wife. Gods know we might need a distraction.” You can feel his posture freeze, eyes widen and cheeks darken. It’s cute something like this manages to knock him off his feet so easily.
“Wife?” He squeaks. He would really have appreciated it if you’d informed him of your plan prior to arrival so he could get over the giddy feelings in his stomach. It’s all a look into a possible future he might not be prepared or ready for but no less wanting. His brain simply can’t keep up with the act. Would he marry you? One day if you’d even say yes. Children? If you’re willing he certainly wouldn’t be opposed. All his doubts and insecurities just hit hard. That’s not to say he doesn’t think himself worthy of you. You’ve told him plenty of times you love him and this relationship is yours together. He wouldn’t trade it for the world but these thoughts, visions of a future are quite confronting because what if that’s not what you want? What if you don’t see a similar future as he does? He’d compromise for you because he loves you more than any of these figments of thought but he wants your happiness above all. That’s what worries him; what if he ceases to be included in that happiness?
“Unless you’re feeling ballsy and think you’d bring your knocked-up affair partner to a social event.” You jest. He knows you do but the joke flies over his head entirely through the worries and doubts. You stop him. Step out in front of him and place your hands against his chest. The bulging fake belly does prove a bit of an obstacle but is easily worked around by standing on your tiptoes and leaning forward a bit more as you press your lips to Dorian’s. That seems to be enough to pull him out of his train of thoughts for now.
“Hey, everything will be fine. We’ll survive this night, together.” You take a deep breath insisting for him to do the same. Dorian follows suit, holds it just like you do, and then you breathe out together. You wait until he gives the all clear before you once more take your spot at his side and loop your arm through his; which he remembers to offer this time. He can do this. You walk to the front entrance, catching a glimpse of the party guests inside, gathered in their finest carrying conversation, dancing and partaking in everything Dorian expected them to. It’s the closest of what he remembers of home, but without all the rules and restrictions, without the looming expectations of his family, and above all, with the company he’d actually want to share this time with instead of the uptight fools pretending to be anything but themselves. What fun is the act if you get forced into a role instead of picking it yourself? He’s chosen his role. You’ve chosen yours. Together you shall play your parts and have fun doing so. Just another adventure.
“If it’s any consolation, if this is a life you’d once like to return to, I’ll gladly follow. Together.” You whisper to the genasi as you approach the guards.
“Consolation? I think blessing might be a more accurate description. You are a blessing.” Dorian breathes as he straightens his back, puts on his best and brightest smile. This time it is not rooted in unpleasant feelings but instead fuelled by a confidence from his lover on his side, his friends close by and more adventures on the horizon. He’s ready to face what is to come.
#critical role x reader#bells hells x reader#campaign 3 x reader#dorian storm x reader#dorian x reader#critrole x reader#critical role fanfic#critical role fanfiction#critical role imagine#critical role#dorian storm#bells hells#campaign 3
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15 Q’s for 15 mutuals ?!
thanks so much for the tag @beesallhail 🩵i don’t think i’ve ever been tagged in one of these???? lets see how this goes’’
——————————————————💫
are you named after anyone?
- absolutely not. i’m trans so i got to pick my name myself 😎 (which surprise isn’t the name on my profile, gotta stay incognito somehow!) but even my deadname isn’t anything special— made it easier to change it without guilt too.
do you have any kids?
- nope, and don’t plan to. love the monsters but no way am i passing all these issues onto offspring.
do you use sarcasm a lot?
- wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy? actually no. i don’t know how for the most part. i mean, of course i do. but i dont also.
first thing you notice about people?
- gotta be the eyes. windows to the soul and all that right? and everyone just has fucking beautiful eyes im captivated.
what’s your eye colour?
- plain ol’ brown eyes. like, dark brown, but sort of orange. idk but i like them and think they’re pretty.
scary movies or happy endings?
- horror, probably. but it depends. slasher films are a must but i don’t care much for the supernatural/torture porn/rapey ones. you know, your annabelle types, green inferno, i spit on your grave. absolutely hate those and will choose happy endings over them any day of the week. especially that last one, i was forced to watch it at 13 and threw up my dinner.
special talents?
- i guess i can mimic voices i hear upon the first listen pretty well. i can also land a bottle flip right side up nine times out of 10.
what are your hobbies?
- well, writings a big one (no surprise there). but i also draw allllll the time. i paint, write poems, bake, collect things, listen to music, and watch a lotttt of movies.
have any pets?
- not of my own, but my family owns three dogs who are the sweetest things ever to exist. i used to be dad of a little white rat i called him jabba. rip jabba the hutt :(
what sports do you play/have you played?
- i play street hockey! i like to consider myself pretty good at it too. i used to be really into basket ball and soccer, and play a bit of tennis.
how tall are you?
- FUCK like….. 5’5 i think. if i stand up straight maybe i can push 5’6 but im short.
favorite subject in school?
- english and history. history maybe a bit more. i used to really fancy art but when i got older it delved more into art history territory and it bored me to death.
dream job?
- a dream job? in THIS economy?! definitely becoming a poet. though that seems sort of in-achievable. though directing has always caught my eye.
_______________________💫
that was only 13 & i dont have enough mutuals…… this was fun though (: thanks again for the tag! for the folks down below don’t do it if you don’t want to, and if you see it and i didn’t tag you and you want to do it…. go for it’’
@thrutheinferno @kod-lyoko @not-roboto @raggedyfaggot @venomnipx @23meteorstreet @ratcoffin69 @kathleenbrash27 @certifiedeccentric and so on….
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Critical Role Masterlist
Organized alphabetically, chronology within series indicated.
ao3 | primary masterlist
Series Quick Links
a gap in my memory series
cr one-shot shenanigans series
Inks’ 2023 WIP Bingo
Mighty Nein Drabble Spree series
we’re basically gods series
Mighty Nein Campaign
another light, just as bright [559; part 5 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 1 of we’re basically gods]
We are not so different, you and I, the Dodecahedron hums.
Different enough, Caleb thinks.
(Or: The Beacon talks to Caleb. Sometimes, he even talks back.)
betrayer, betrayer, (mis)remember your roots [1.7k; part 10 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 3 of we’re basically gods]
It is the kind of scar tissue that makes it difficult to breathe sometimes, difficult to swallow. It is the kind that curls wide around either side of his throat, that bundles thick inches into muscle and skin, the kind that should've killed him, maybe the kind that did.
(Or: In which Mollymauk Tealeaf's past is not nearly as straightforward as even he thinks.)
divorce the first [3.4k; part 18 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
Verbal communication is—something of a phenomenon.
(Or: The Mighty Nein + native languages, and all that that entails.)
eyes never shut [842; part 9 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
She'd actually thought—
For one whole fucking second she'd actually thought—
Ruzza's hands had flowered with the same energy she's grown so used to seeing at Jester's fingertips, right before she takes all their pain away, and Beau had been stupid enough to think that—
Maybe she was going to cure Molly.
(Or: Molly dies. Beau deals.)
from the deep [488; part 7 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 2 of we’re basically gods]
Fjord, no last name that's real or matters, is alive, possibly more than he ever has been.
It'll be a long time before he figures out why.
(Or: Fjord can have a smidge of eldritch confusion, as a treat.)
hypnagogia [972; part 12 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
Fjord has a lot of secrets. It seems, with this group, that is something of a common theme.
Here is one of them: he is terrified to go to sleep.
(Or: In which sleep is important, but not always pleasant.)
let jester kill trent 2k23 [614; part 21 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
Suddenly, it’s not even a not-quite joke, not really. You don’t like killing people, but you’ll do it if you have to.
And Trent Ikithon simply cannot live.
(Or: Early episode 128, Jester makes observations, decisions, and possibly-maybe a very significant conversation with Artagan.)
let those secrets remain unspoken [1.6k; part 17 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
"It protects me from scrying, detection magic, location spells—the works. It has been many years. I have changed my name, kept a low profile... We should not have to worry."
Should not, because there is always room for error.
(Alternatively: The becoming of Caleb Widogast.
Or, more accurately: the death of Bren Aldric Ermendrud.)
a little birdie told me [1.6k; part 8 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
"I kill people!"
"I'm sure you do, Kiri," Jester coos delightedly.
Kiri absently wonders if the Gentleman somehow had the foresight to keep her name out of their ears, and how he'd managed it for all these years.
(Or: The mob boss Kiri we all deserve.)
a most curious collection [110; part 1 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
Nott considers herself, above many other things, a collector.
on matters of punctuation [234; part 14 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
For half a second, Nott hesitates.
(Or: That encounter with the dragon goes a bit differently.)
rise from this grave, spit out the dirt they buried you in [389; part 3 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
He does not know who he is, or where he is. But he does know, with an absolute and growing certainty, that he will die here.
(Or: A tiefling's first memory is of waking up in the dirt. But he is not alone. Not this time.)
a secret for trade (is not how peace of mind is made) [428; part 4 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
Your name is Beauregard Lionett.
Your friends call you Beau.
You tell yourself these things once, twice, three times.
(Or: Siff Duthar whispers. Beau listens.)
something truer than words [902; part 22 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
Here is a secret: most people think your favorite of your mother’s friends is Jester, or maybe Caduceus. Maybe, in another world, they’d be right.
Just not in this one.
Because what you’ll never tell anyone is that Uncle Caleb is the best of them all.
(Or: Caleb has a Thing with fire. So does Luc.)
speak of life and i will learn to cherish it [830; part 15 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
His words are accented unfamiliarly.
His turns of phrase are awkward, long and drawn out, the structuring of his sentences inconsistent.
It’s the most wonderful thing she’s ever heard.
(Or: 800+ words of Yasha listening to Caleb speak Celestial and being sappy, because I can.)
these walls have eyes and ears (they kind of look like yours) tumblr | ao3 [1.2k; part 20 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 1 of Inks’ 2023 WIP Bingo]
"We're calling it the M.T. Home now!"
Essek freezes.
"The... Empty Home?"
(Or: The Xhorhouse isn't the Xhorhouse, and what none of the Mighty Nein seem to realize is that they're not exactly the only ones living there.)
this burning hunger [200; part 11 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 4 of we’re basically gods]
"He's hungry," Caleb says, "and so am I."
(Or: Started as an attempt at a fae!Caleb fic, but landed just on Other!Caleb, instead.)
this forest is new and tender (each tree grows from a grave) [594; part 6 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 1 of a gap in my memory]
"Do you ever wish," Caleb says softly, "that you could forget again?"
Molly's heart freezes in his throat.
(Or: On forgetting, and building anew.)
viscera hanging from your lips [932; part 19 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
“Caleb, have you gone to them?”
“He’s not the fighting pit type,” Nott answers Jester before Caleb can open his mouth to do so.
And that's—certainly an answer.
(Or: The group is looking for an underground fighting pit in Rexxentrum. Caleb’s quite familiar with the sort of places that fit that description.)
we breathe the revolution [128; part 2 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
"It starts with the High Richter," Dolan says.
(Or: Not even a week in a big city, and the Mighty Nein are already getting wrapped up in a coup. Typical.)
why darling, your palms are split [476; part 13 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree]
The Mighty Nein have a nasty habit of pushing their luck.
Fjord has a feeling that they might've gone just a bit too far, this time.
(Or: What they did in Dashilla's lair is going to have consequences, of course.)
with gods like these (who needs monsters?) [5k; part 16 of Mighty Nein Drabble Spree; part 5 of we’re basically gods]
He reaches—his fingers wrap impossibly around the wisp that threatens to sift through them—and then he pulls.
And somewhere in the void, it latches on to some unknowable part of him deep within, and as he pulls, something else pulls back.
(Or: We're back on the kind-of-not-really gods au train again, everyone.)
One-Shots
if they ever stopped talking {2019 Red Nose Day one-shot} [1.9k; part 2 of cr one-shot shenanigans]
There is no generous or gentle way for her to do this.
She only has her sword, and only knows how it hurts. The kindest way she knows to cut someone down is with arteries and vital organs; a quick death if nothing else, and if she does it right, hopefully a painless one.
Perhaps she is not the right person for this job.
But she is the only one.
(Or: In which Shiona the adventurer meets what is left of Capo the Great.)
one unworthy hand to another {2019 Red Nose Day one-shot} [2.2k; part 1 of cr one-shot shenanigans]
This is the stuff of epics, of great poets, of the most revered songs of the most talented of bards.
It should have a happy ending.
But the thing about epics, and great poets, and the most revered songs of the most talented bards, is that they rarely ever do.
(Or: In which the author takes great liberty with the bits of character given.)
#mighty nein drabble spree#we're basically gods#a gap in my memory#inks' wip bingo#cr one-shot shenanigans#critical role#mighty nein#critical role red nose day#red nose day one shot#red nose day oneshot#shiona the great#critical role capo#cr 2#critrole#mollymauk tealeaf#caleb widogast#beauregard lionett#fjord stone#essek thelyss#nott the brave#jester lavorre#kiri critical role#masterlist#critical role fanfiction#fanfiction#yasha nydoorin#luc brenatto
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