#Carol Wax | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kitten4sannie · 1 year

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝕭𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘

part 1

Incubus! San x Fem! Reader x Boyfriend! Wooyoung

Genre: never-ending smut 🖤

Summary: All you wanted to do was go to bed so that you could have a nice Christmas morning with your boyfriend the following day. Unfortunately, you would have a late night visitor, and it wasn’t Santa Claus delivering presents.

W.C: 7.8k

Warnings: *possibly triggering content* mind control/manipulation, some initial resistance, dom! san, sub! reader, sub! wooyoung, mxm, brief (non sexy) choking, sacrilegious vibes, use of a crucifix (i said what i said 👀), use of a collar/leash, jealousy, pet names, name calling, degradation, praise, dirty talk, humiliation, manhandling, spit play, mutual masterbation, mutual cuckholding, oral (giving), cum swapping, wax play, nipple play, thigh riding, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, size kink, bulge kink, brief blood play, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie

A/N: 🚂 choo choo🚂 next stop: smut city ✨ also shoutout to @cherryxsang for giving me the wonderful idea to make it christmas-themed, as well as the idea to include a collar and leash 🫶🏼 thank you, bestie!! merry xxx-mas, everyone! and i hope you all enjoy this naughty christmas present 🖤🖤🖤

Song Recs: none this time 😭 listen i was very tempted to just put carol of the bells as a joke but i had to restrain myself 😔✊🏼

Masterlist

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“Remind me why all you bought for your friend’s dog was a collar and leash?” you questioned, inspecting said gift and setting it down neatly inside the empty gift box on your lap.

Wooyoung, who was standing by the Christmas tree and admiring the way the twinkling lights routinely switched off from red and blue to an eye-catching shade of gold, craned his neck back to look at you with a scowl. “First of all, it was on sale.”

You bit back a laugh, amused with your boyfriend’s immediate attitude, quietly closing the box and taping down the sides.

“And, second of all,” he began, taking a few steps over to the couch and plopping down onto it, leaning his body against yours. “My friend had put it on his wishlist, so there.”

Slapping a pretty red bow on the top of the plain box and calling it a day, you gave Wooyoung a small nudge with your elbow. “But, you could’ve gotten it custom-done at least, you know? Get their dog’s name engraved into it or something. Just getting a basic one seems a bit lazy to me.”

Once Wooyoung grabbed the present from your hands and tossed it down onto the floor near the tree, he took a hold of your shoulders. “ ‘Seems a bit lazy to me,’ ” he said mockingly, as he eased you down onto the couch cushion below, climbing over you and leaning down near your face. “You better be careful before I put that collar on you myself.”

“Mm…” You reached your arms out to wrap around his neck and bring him in closer. “But you better be careful before I pull the lights off of the tree and wrap them around your cock so you can’t cum until I say so.”

“Is that a promise?” he asked softly, pressing his lips into the side of your jaw, slowly moving down to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck.

“Don’t tempt me, Woo. I’ll tie you up right now.” You held him close, moaning a bit when you felt him grow hard against your lower abdomen, immediately taking the opportunity to reach down and grip him through his boxers. “You’re so hard for me already…”

“It’s your fault, Y/N. Take some responsibility,” Wooyoung returned in a low voice, his fingers slipping into the neckline of your tank top and yanking it down so that your tits popped out of it. Hearing your gasp fueled him to suck one of them into his mouth and roll his tongue around it.

“Fuck…keep going…”

Wooyoung obliged, only stopping when you both heard the unmistakable sound of an ornament falling off of the tree and hitting the wood floor with a crunch. He sat up, watching as another, more sturdy one, dropped off of the branch it was on and rolled across the floor towards the couch where the two of you were tangled up.

“What the fuck…” you mumbled, exchanging glances with Wooyoung, before sitting up when he got off of you and went to grab the broom and dustpan.

Wooyoung came back and swept up the broken pieces of the ornament, chuckling at your frightened reaction. “I’m sure it was just some air blowing or something.”

“From where?” You pulled your top back up and scanned the corner of the living room near the tree, a strangely unsettling feeling developing in the pit of your stomach.

“From the heater, you know.” Wooyoung tossed the remaining fragments into the trash and came back to put the other bulb back onto the tree, making sure it was stable.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense…” You stood up and rubbed your forearm, wondering why you felt so uncomfortable in that moment, like another pair of eyes were on you.

Wooyoung took notice of this and pulled you into a hug, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Don’t be so scared, baby. I’m here…”

“Mm…okay,” you nodded, feeling a little better now that you were in Wooyoung’s warm embrace.

“We should probably get to bed…It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Giving you a soft smile, Wooyoung slung an arm around your shoulders and guided you up the stairs into your bedroom.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the both of you, a shadowy figure emerged from behind the tree. The demon’s tattooed fingers clasped around the bulb Wooyoung had returned to the branch. He leaned in to look at his devilish reflection in it, a deep-sounding chuckle erupting from his throat.

“Rest while you can, you two…before all the fun begins.”

Waking up in a cold sweat, you swallowed dryly and looked over at your alarm clock, your eyes slowly focusing on the bright red numbers: 3:01 am. Groaning, you sat up and pushed yourself out of bed, figuring that you might as well get some water to satiate your parched throat.

Once downstairs, you shuffled into the kitchen and filled up a glass of water, chugging it down as soon as possible. “Ahh…” you sighed, wiping your mouth and setting down the empty cup inside the sink.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of another bulb falling to the ground nearby, you gripped the edge of your nonexistent sleep shorts and gingerly made your way over to the living room. Once you rounded the corner and noticed a dark figure near the Christmas tree, you mumbled, “Santa…?” You desperately hoped that you were right, despite the odds being stacked heavily against you.

The demon that you had crossed paths with only months ago was standing there, in all his naked glory, poking at another glittery bulb like an amused cat. “Did you mean San, sweetheart?” he questioned in a velvety voice, his striking cherry-red eyes locking with your wide ones.

“No! You are not ruining Christmas for me!” you cried, quickly making your way over to the ledge above the fireplace and picking up the crucifix that you and Wooyoung had purchased a while ago.

San scoffed, taking a few quick steps in your direction, his length swaying a bit between his thighs. “That’s rude. Ruin is a pretty strong word.”

Once the demon got too close for comfort, you held up the crucifix in front of you and gritted your teeth. “S-stay back!”

San took a step back and held his arms up defensively, an unexpected look of fear taking over his usually confident appearance. “Fuck, put that shit away!”

Gaining a bit of courage, you pushed towards him, stating, “I’ll put it away when you get the hell out of here!” You held the crucifix closer to his arms, hearing him hiss as if it was burning him.

Once you got incredibly close to him, San looked at you, his fear melting away into an eerily neutral expression. He lowered his hands and stood up straight, leaning his head back so that he could burst out in a self-satisfied fit of laughter. “You really thought you were doing something there! Holy shit, that’s gold.”

“Huh…?” You looked up at the demon in shock, slowly starting to realize that you never had any control in the situation.

Towering over you, San reached down to run a warm finger along your jawline, giving you a grin, his shiny white fangs glinting with the aid of the few burning candles that were sitting atop the ledge. “You know all that stuff is fake, right?”

“But…” You pouted, your arm slowly lowering to your side in defeat, wondering why every form of media had lied about how to get rid of unwanted demonic spirits.

San placed a hand against his lower abdomen, unable to keep himself from letting out another laugh, this one more arrogant sounding than the last. “You humans really just believe anything you’re told, huh? How pathetic.” He cracked his knuckles and moved his neck around, loosening the tension. “Now, come here, darling.”

“No!” you argued, taking a few small steps backwards.

Before you could defend yourself, the eager demon grabbed a hold of your neck and brought you down onto the floor, pinning you down with ease.

He chuckled, taking the crucifix from your hand and studying the fake jewels adorning the gold ridges around the top of it. “Humans were blessed with free will and yet some of them actively choose to deny themselves pleasure. What purpose does that serve? Especially when there’s so much debauchery to be a part of?”

You weren’t really paying attention to his words, too busy trying to pull his fingers away from your neck and hitting them with your closed fist when you couldn’t peel any of them off.

“Are you listening to me, sweetheart?” He leaned in towards your face to appreciate the anger etched into your features, his toothy, cheshire-like grin initially pissing you off a bit more than it turned you on.

Acting without thinking, you pursed your lips and sent a wad of spit in his direction, watching it land on his cheek and drip down along his sharp jaw.

“Oh, you’ve done it now,” he muttered, a deep growl reverberating from his ink-covered throat. He dropped the crucifix onto the floor with a low, resounding clang so that he could reach over and grab the nearest present, ripping it open and taking out the collar. “You want to act like a disobedient pet, huh? You don’t want to be good for me?”

Once he loosened his grip on you, you could finally take in a steady breath, but were unable to wiggle yourself out from under him, his body weight keeping you pinned to the floor. “I’m not your pet!”

San shook his head, his shaggy black hair swaying slightly along with his movements. “Stupid girl.” Undoing the strap of the leash, he reached down and put it on you, making sure it was tight enough to push into your skin, but not enough to fully choke you. “You say you’re not my pet, but yet here you are, wearing a collar, with your pretty little cunt soaked for me like a bitch in heat.”

San sure had a way with words, you would have to admit. Were you actually into this as much as he was?

Judging by the way your body was already screaming for the demon to touch you, the signs were pointing to a definite yes.

“Get this fucking thing off of me,” you protested half-heartedly, encouraging him to tug on the edge of the leash near the collar itself and force you to look up into his spellbinding irises, keeping you still with his inhuman strength.

“Now why would I do something like that? I’m having so much fun. Aren’t you having fun?”

“No,” you lied through your teeth, secretly wishing that he would shove his tongue inside your mouth so that you could experience the aphrodisiac-like effects of his saliva.

“You will soon, darling.” He leaned in close, his forked tongue slipping out past his lips to run along your jaw, tasting you. It burned your skin like last time, but you couldn’t deny that it felt incredibly good this time around.

He let go of your collar, your head lowering back down onto the cool floor beneath you. “But, why now?”

Almost annoyed, San answered matter-of-factly, “I wanted to give myself a nice present this year. So I decided I would spend another night with you and your boyfriend.” Seeing the way you were starting to look at him with less malice and more interest, he purred lovingly, “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you the most, my pretty little toy.”

Swallowing harshly, you relaxed your previously tense body, opening your mouth without his explicit order to do so. “Aah…”

San grew incredibly hard from this, not wasting a single second to grab your jaw and keep it open, his face now inches away from yours. “Oh, I see. You’ll only be obedient if you’re feeling good, hmm? You want your body to feel so hot…” he began, running a thumb over your bottom lip, “…so sensitive, that you can’t even think straight?”

With your heart pounding away in your chest, you nodded slightly, your squished cheeks feeling warm to the touch. “Uh-huh…”

San’s pupils formed into small slits, just as he slipped his tongue past your parted lips, using it to coil around yours, his abundant saliva filling your mouth. He broke the kiss once you swallowed it down, your own pupils resembling saucers once you had.

“Good girl.” The demon climbed off of you and picked up the crucifix, licking his lips. “Now, since you weren’t listening to me earlier, I’m going to have to demonstrate just how passionate I am about sin.”

You sat up and looked at him curiously, not entirely sure where he was going with this. Regardless, you were ready for anything, the arousal surging throughout your body causing your lower half to ache almost painfully in anticipation.

San flipped the crucifix upside down, pursing his lips and letting some spit drip down the thick, long rod. “Go on and get yourself comfortable, sweetheart.”

You slid yourself over to the cold brick wall of the fireplace and pressed your back against it. Biting into your bottom lip, you gingerly spread your legs apart, your tiny shorts giving San an eyeful of your bare cunt, your wetness already dripping down onto the floor from the fast-acting effects of his saliva.

“Mm, look at you. All nice and wet for me, just like I knew you’d be.” He moved in your direction, settling next to you and lowering his hand down so that he could rub the polished end of the crucifix up and down your pussy, just barely teasing your hole with it.

“Shit…” you whispered, jolting abruptly when the tip of it rubbed into your sensitive clit.

“Hey, do you think God is watching us right now? Or a few nosy angels?” Different sounding voices, some deeper and some higher, came out as San spoke, the other beings channeling him making an early appearance. “You think they’re aroused? Or disgusted? Maybe both? Fuck, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“San…” You whined a bit, equally disturbed and turned on by his preferred kink, almost unable to believe that you were so eager to be involved in such perversion, especially with your boyfriend still sleeping peacefully just a floor above you. Did it count as cheating if you were messing around with a supernatural being? Who knows.

“What’s wrong, love? You want it inside already, don’t you?” He chuckled into your ear, his tongue sliding out to lick along the shell of it, angling his hand down slightly and pushing the cold metal rod up into your entrance as deep as it would go. “Take it all for me…”

You responded with a sharp inhale, leaning your head back into the brick behind you, your eyes shifting to look into the demon’s glowing ones when he had begun to move it in and out of you. The rod was surprisingly thick and heavy, making you feel pleasantly full inside. “Oh my god…!”

When he witnessed the ‘o’ shape your mouth made and the moans that began to slip out, he mirrored it, his cock throbbing at the sight of the intrepid lust that had seemed to completely take over you. “Yeah? You like having a cross inside your cunt, baby? It feels good, huh? Does it make you want to worship God or me?”

“You, San…If you make me cum, I’ll worship you in any way you want…” You reached down to wrap your fingers around his wrist, moving it in a faster motion when you felt like he wasn't pleasuring you to the extent you truly needed.

“Fuuuck, you’re such a dirty little slut,” he groaned, gripping the edge of the cross and shoving it in and out of you, using his free hand to rub your clit in circles.

You couldn’t help but reach your arms out past San’s broad shoulders, your fingertips clutching his muscular back for support. “Don’t stop…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Looking at you like you were his next meal, he slowly dragged his heavy tongue up the side of your flushed cheek, emitting a small ‘aah’ sound.

“Sounds…good…” you exhaled shakily, shivering from the tingling sensation on your skin where he left his saliva.

San continued to fuck you with the cross, his fingers moving rapidly across your clit, making sure to speed up his movements when your arousal began to squirt out of you and drip down the rod onto his hand. “Oh, baby, look at you…It feels so good, you’re already squirting for me?”

“Yesyesyesyes…Fuck, San…!” A ragged, desperate cry erupted from your throat, your nails dragging down the demon’s back and giving him fresh cuts, much to his delight.

After you came back down from your intense high, you didn’t feel fully satisfied and a little tired like you usually did with Wooyoung. Instead, you felt invigorated, your body almost vibrating at the thought of going another round with the demon sitting beside you.

“You’re drooling, my love,” he mused, wiping some of your spit away with the pad of his thumb and swiping at it with the very tip of his tongue. When you just sat there with your lips still parted and your eyes just as dilated as before, San felt the need to inform you of some new information. “Also, we seem to have a guest.”

You hadn’t noticed in the slightest, but Wooyoung had gotten up to investigate when he heard the muffled sounds of your blatant ecstasy coming from downstairs. He had just barely made it into the living room, standing incredibly still near the wall, not prepared to deal with this situation in the slightest.

“Woo!” you said excitedly, about to get up when San grabbed your chin and coaxed it open.

“Don’t swallow this time, okay? I want you to hold it in your mouth and let your cute little boyfriend have a taste.” As soon as he spoke, long strings of saliva began to drip down from his tongue down onto yours, causing you to moan in approval. Once San was done, he tugged a bit on the leash and gave you an eerie smile, whispering near your ear, “Go get ‘em.”

Once San let go of the leash, you sprung up onto your feet and sprinted towards Wooyoung, causing him to back up into the wall and hold his hands up defensively. “Oh, god, baby, no! Just stay right there! Don’t–”

Cutting your boyfriend off when your body collided with his, you didn’t waste any time forcing his jaw open and holding his face still. “Come on, have a taste...” You eased your combined spit into his mouth, your chest pressing against his bare one.

“M-mmn,” he mumbled, his knees almost buckling from the way your tongue lapped languidly at his. His cock instantly began to strain against the confines of his boxers from the relentless waves of arousal that were rushing through him. You opened your eyes slightly, wanting to see his next reaction.

Wooyoung groaned against your lips when your hand tugged his boxers down and off of his body, your fingers wrapping around the base of his cock.

Breaking the kiss, but staying in close proximity to his face, you purred, “God, you’re so hard and I’ve barely touched you, Woo.”

“You act like this doesn’t happen every time…”

Delighted by his response, you bit his bottom lip and gently tugged at it with your teeth, earning a moan from him. “Mmm, your cock won’t stop throbbing either.” You began eagerly pumping your hand and drinking in the sight of your boyfriend’s flushed face and drawn eyebrows.

“I…ahhh…can’t help it…”

In the middle of all this, San had made himself comfortable on the couch, watching you both in silence, not even bothered that his untouched length kept twitching periodically.

Wanting to make you feel just as good, Wooyoung slid his own hand past your shorts and rubbed two fingers into your sensitive clit, asking, when he heard you moan, “Yeah, baby? Does that feel good?”

“Really good…”

“You want my fingers inside you?”

“Please, Woo…”

Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle, dropping your shorts to the floor and sliding two digits into you so that he could eagerly shove them in and out, already knowing how to find your g-spot right away.

“Oh, fuck…Right there…!”

“I hear you, baby. I’ll take care of you.” Wooyoung’s tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, grunting as he sped up his movements, encouraging you to do the same with him.

With your foreheads pressed together and hastily breathing in the same air, your eyes locked on one another’s, neither of you wanting to focus on anything else except for each other at that moment.

“Baby, I’m gonna…” Wooyoung announced, just barely loud enough for you to hear, his fingers curling a bit more inside your slick hole, leading you to feel like you were about to cum as well.

“Me too…I–…fuck…” Just as you felt the intensely warm build up inside you begin to overwhelm your senses, you slotted your lips onto Wooyoung’s, the both of you moaning into each other’s open mouths as you reached the height of your shared pleasure.

With his chest heaving, Wooyoung pulled his wet digits out and broke the kiss so that he could push them onto your tongue, letting you savor what had just poured out of you. “Does my baby like tasting herself?” he asked breathlessly, finding it incredibly arousing how you were sucking on his fingers and nodding your head in such an adamant way.

San brought a fist up to his mouth and cleared his throat loudly. “I hate to interrupt something this hot, but I think it’s about time you both got your asses over here.”

You and Wooyoung exchanged glances, almost forgetting about the supposed high-tension situation you were in. “Sorry,” was all you could come up with, unconsciously pulling at the tight collar San had put on you, waiting with baited breath to see how he would respond.

“You’re lucky I’m in the Christmas spirit.” San spread his legs open and pointed downward with one tattooed finger. “I want you both on your knees in front of me. Now.”

Without any hesitation, you both scrambled to the floor before San, sitting on your knees and looking up at him expectantly, completely at his mercy. The demon’s eyes glowed temporarily, the tip of his spiked tail flicking around in the air. “So obedient.”

You couldn’t even register San’s praise, too distracted by his stiff cock, the tip of it red, angry, and dripping with clear liquid. You swallowed your spit, but you couldn’t prevent a bit of drool from leaking out past your lips.

Noticing how hungry you looked, San took a hold of the leash in one hand and pulled it, yanking you closer to him so that you came face to face with his weapon of choice. “Mm, you haven’t gotten the chance to suck my cock yet, huh? I can see why you’re so eager.”

Wooyoung scooted closer to you, the side of his body pressing into yours, his fingers finding their way to your pussy and idly rubbing it up and down. “Go on, baby…”

Just as you lunged forward to devour San, he grabbed you by the chin and held it still. “Here’s your present,” he informed sweetly, slapping his heavy cock across your face and rubbing the tip of it over your lips, allowing you to taste his slightly salty pre-cum.

Despite being a little dizzy from the impact, you felt a major spike of pleasure shoot through you from this particular display of dominance, as well as from the way Wooyoung’s fingers kept gliding over your dripping cunt.

“Now, suck,” San ordered, pressing his cockhead to your mouth.

You took the initiative, dragging your tongue from the tip down to the base and sucking the side of it, cupping his balls in your warm palm and gently massaging them. “Mmm…”

“Gooood girl.” San slid down slightly against the plush couch behind him, moving a few strands of loose hair out of your face and behind your ear.

You teased him for an unspecified amount of time, until you suddenly felt the intense urge to feel him inside your mouth. When Wooyoung slipped a finger inside your cunt, you leaned in and allowed San’s length into your throat, your mouth stretching around it, diligently sucking him off for a while and using one hand to reach the rest of it.

Feeling like he would cum too soon, San groaned out, running his fingers through your hair. “Slow down, darling…slow down…” When you didn’t listen, he gripped the leash and tugged in the opposite direction. “I forgot how much of a greedy whore you are,” he mused, yanking you backwards off of his cock with a lewd ‘pop’, choking you temporarily.

You whimpered, leaning against one of San’s spread thighs, whining, “But, I wanted to make you cum.”

“You need to share. Look at your poor little boyfriend. Look at his face.”

You rubbed your throat just underneath the leather material so that you could soothe the irritated skin, looking over at Wooyoung who was drooling as well, his eyes focused solely on the demon’s curved length.

“Think he can handle this?” San asked you, prompting you to shrug your shoulders.

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

Retracting his hand from you, Wooyoung took major offense to your reaction and huffed, wrapping one hand around San’s cock, pumping it lightly. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you both.”

Wooyoung took in a fair amount of San’s cock, the sides of his mouth stinging from the sheer girth of it, but pressing on and bobbing his head. “M-mmm…”

“Fuck, that’s a good boy…” the demon sighed, watching him for a while until he suddenly gripped the back of Wooyoung’s head and fucked his mouth somewhat quickly, too consumed with lust to care if he was able to breathe or not. “Mm, take it, baby…”

Wooyoung took it the best he could, gagging profusely, with tears falling from his cloudy eyes. Due to never experiencing something so pleasurable before, his cock began dripping a large amount of pre-cum until he eventually came untouched, his load shooting out onto his chest. “Mmmnn…!”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing inside your ribcage, never realizing how incredibly turned on you could feel just from witnessing someone face-fucking your boyfriend in front of you. You couldn’t even be jealous. At least, not yet, anyways.

“Who knew your boyfriend was such a cockslut?” San exhaled in your direction, his dark eyes focusing solely on yours, even when he stopped thrusting and held Wooyoung still, his cock deep inside his throat. Hearing the young man gagging noisily around him, he groaned in ecstasy. “Hey, darling, you want to taste my cum too, don’t you?”

“Yes, please…” you whined softly, prompting San to yank Wooyoung off him, causing thick strings of saliva to leave his mouth and drip down his chin.

San slid his fingers around the back of your neck and held you in place on one side of his cockhead, grabbing the back of Wooyoung’s head, so that his mouth was positioned on the other side. “Let me see how bad you both want it…”

Exchanging a lustful gaze with Wooyoung, the two of you slurped on the tip, your lips and tongues occasionally meeting in the middle until San let out a loud strangled cry of pleasure. He pushed Wooyoung’s face away for a moment, wanting to see his favorite toy painted with his seed.

“Here you go, baby…” San gripped the back of your head with both hands and held you still, his load gushing out in long spurts, most of it landing on your face. You made sure to catch some of his cum inside your open mouth, about to swallow it, but stopping when you heard San whisper, “Share it with him…”

Obeying his request, you pulled your boyfriend into a sloppy kiss, his fingers interlocking with yours as you both swapped the milky liquid back and forth, the both of you moaning periodically.

Wooyoung pulled away so that he could wipe off the remaining cum from your face, then held his coated fingers up in between your mouths, allowing you both to lick and suck them clean.

If San had a soul, it would’ve left his body by now. Thankfully, he didn’t, so he was still good to go. However, he couldn’t help but feel a little bothered. There was so much pleasure to take part in, but so little time. He would have to make the most of it, knowing that he couldn’t truly use the two of you to the extent that he wanted, or else he risked the chance of completely draining your life sources.

Letting the two of you recover from the overload of endorphins that were plaguing your minds, San pointed to the ledge above the fireplace, ordering, “Grab one of those candles and bring it over here. Then, the both of you can make yourselves comfortable on my lap.”

Before you could move, Wooyoung had already jumped up and grabbed one of the melting candles, bringing it over to San and propping himself up on one of the demon’s large, muscular thighs. You got up and sat down on San’s opposite thigh, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

The demon took the candle from your boyfriend and tilted it sideways, dripping some of the hot liquid along Wooyoung’s collarbones, as well as down his chest. “You like that?”

Wooyoung gasped in response, nodding his head, his cock growing hard once again from the pleasantly warm feeling of hot liquid running down his melanin skin.

“How about this?” San questioned in a low voice, holding the candle closer to Wooyoung’s chest so that some of the candle wax poured down over one of his nipples, making sure to do the same to the other one.

“Feels…so good…” Wooyoung arched his back, reaching up the play with one of his sensitive buds, squeezing it and pulling at it. “Play with me too, San…”

San ran his thumb over Wooyoung’s other pert bud, rolling it around in tight, small circles. “Such a mindless little whore.” He carefully set the candle down on the couch so that he could grip one of Wooyoung’s hips, bringing his mouth down near his chest so that he could lap at one of his buds with his forked tongue.

This, of course, drove your boyfriend crazy, leading him to begin mewling and grinding his cock into him. “It’s so good…so good…” he repeated, shuddering from how the demon’s drool began to drip down along his body.

“I bet, baby,” San returned in a raspy voice, completely entranced by how needy he was being, pulling Wooyoung’s body against his own, who whined almost immediately.

“I’m gonna cum again…” Wooyoung moaned, his brown eyes blown out with desire, slowly rubbing his bare chest onto the demon’s muscular one, unable to handle how sensitive his body was feeling.

“Uh-uh, you can’t be cumming so soon. At least, not until I’ve made your girlfriend squirt again.”

You let out a small whimper, leaning your head into the crook of San’s neck, feeling ignored but not voicing it. You felt his hand move up your lower back and caress it, but he didn’t pay attention to you quite yet.

“Want it on your cock?” Amused by Wooyoung’s eager nodding, San lowered the candle and slowly poured the warm liquid in a line across the young man’s throbbing erection.

“Fuuuck, San…!” Feeling the candle wax drip down the sides of his length, Wooyoung whined louder and continued rubbing himself into San’s lower abdomen in an unapologetic way until he cried out in ecstasy, cumming once again.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to cum? So selfish…” San muttered under his breath, his fingers gripping into the sides of the candle, glaring daggers at Wooyoung, who was too busy milking the last few drops of cum from his softening length. “Darling, pull some of the lights off of the tree for me, will you? And wrap them around this disobedient whore’s cock while you’re at it.”

Hearing San finally address you directly, you pulled yourself up from the couch and headed over to the tree, following his directions.

Wooyoung gulped nervously, before gasping when San suddenly shoved him to the ground below him. San then set the candle down onto the floor, his lips forming a lewd smile. “Guess what? You’re going to sit there and watch me pleasure your girlfriend for the rest of the night. I’ll make sure to take care of her in ways that you can’t. Does that sound good?”

“Very.” Wooyoung returned the smile and sat on his knees, shivering a bit when you began to wrap the Christmas lights around his body, binding his arms behind his back and making sure to coil the wire around his already stiffening cock. He looked up at you and frowned. “Hey, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hog all of the attention earlier…”

“It’s okay, Woo, but it’s my turn now,” you returned, running your thumb over the slit of his cockhead just to tease him. “Enjoy the show~”

Wooyoung groaned softly, knowing he most definitely would enjoy every single second of it. It didn’t matter who was touching you, as long as you were feeling good.

“Come here, my love.” San beckoned you with his index finger, leading you to drop the rest of the lights so that you could lower yourself into his lap and straddle one of his thighs. Seeing the pout on your face, he settled his hands on your hips and pulled your body closer, tilting his head to the side. “You didn’t like being ignored, did you?”

“Uh-uh…”

“You want my attention that bad, huh?”

“Yes, please…I need it…” You ran your hands up his chest and wrapped them around his neck, feeling San squeeze his hands into the supple flesh of your hips and begin to grind himself into you.

“My darling little toy…you should’ve told me how desperate you were for my attention earlier,” he murmured into your ear, lifting his thigh up slightly while he continued to drag you along it, allowing it to press harder into your clit, making you moan.

“I didn’t want you to punish me…” You began to breathe somewhat heavily, due to San dragging your lower half back and forth at an even faster rate, your insides feeling like they were on fire.

“I thought you liked it when I punished you.”

“I do, but,” you started, unable to hold back a choked moan from the way San continued to control your body movements, his fingers digging deeper into your flesh and feeling the inner ridges of your hip bones. “I like it more when you’re like this…”

“Like what?”

“Sweet to me…” you replied in a soft voice, a light blush forming on your cheeks.

San didn’t know it was possible for him to feel such a pleasant warmth inside his chest. It almost made him sick, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed such a gentle sensation. “My love…” he whispered, pulling you into a surprisingly heartfelt kiss, still encouraging you to grind on his thigh, eventually driving you over the edge.

You cried out into his mouth, your arousal gushing out onto his lower half and dripping onto the couch cushion below. When he pulled away, you simply gazed into his hypnotic eyes, panting heavily.

“Did that feel good?”

“Mm-hmm…” You pressed yourself up against the demon, your fingers slipping into his raven hair. “Am I your favorite pet to play with?”

“Of course you are, darling.” Bringing one of his hands up to your neck and running a finger over the collar you had on, San asked, “Do you want me to give you a collar that has your name on it? One that I’ll put on you whenever I come by to fuck your brains out?”

You hugged San close to you, nodding your head so quickly, you didn’t even register Wooyoung’s obvious jealousy — but not the kind that you expected.

“That’s not fair,” Wooyoung pouted, his fingers twitching slightly behind his back. “I want one too…”

San looked past your shoulder down at Wooyoung, his once crimson eyes appearing to be completely black at this point. “Sorry, pretty boy. Maybe if you didn’t cum every five seconds, I would consider giving you one too.”

Trying to reclaim San’s focus, you hooked your fingers into the hem of your tank top and lifted it up and over your head, tossing it behind you, not noticing or caring that it landed on your boyfriend’s head. He shook it off, emitting a small whimper, but not exactly bothered by the position he was in.

“I’ll take care of you, my love. I’ll make you feel so good, you’ll never be able to think about anything else, except for me.” San reached for the candle and held it above your breasts, dripping some of it across your soft flesh, using his thumbs to rub the warm candle wax across your nipples.

“Fuck, San…” you gasped, arching your back when he poured a larger amount down the valley of your breasts, feeling it drip down your abdomen and onto your aching sex. “Please, I can’t take it anymore…”

“Yeah?” He blew the candle out and tossed it onto the floor, not caring that it rolled into Wooyoung’s leg, who was trapped between a state of immense pleasure and agony, his cock straining against the wire to the point that the tip of it was an angry shade of red. “Is there something you want, pretty girl?”

Feeling San’s large hands roam up your body and onto your tits so that he could grope and knead them to his heart’s content, you nodded, exhaling, “Your cock.”

“My cock?”

“I need it in me…”

“In your pretty little cunt?”

You blushed, your heart skipping a few beats inside your chest. “In my pretty little cunt…”

“As you wish, darling.” San let out a pleased huff of air, lifting your hips up and pushing the tip of his cock against your entrance, stretching you out so that he could slide you down onto it. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so tight.”

You let out a small cry, your fingernails digging into San’s back, trying to get accustomed to his unusually large size.

Glancing at Wooyoung over your shoulder, San gave the suffering young man a crooked smile. “You must not be hitting it right, huh? Your girlfriend’s tighter than those lights wrapped around your cock.”

Wooyoung bit his bottom lip, feeling humiliated, but still relishing the way San talked down to him, his tethered length twitching slightly as a response. “You should…show me how it’s done…”

San exhaled something in Latin, gripping either side of your ass and plunging himself deep inside you so that he could begin his pursuit of pleasure.

“It’s so big, San…” you moaned out, feeling like you were already descending into madness from the way he was pounding into you at such a brutal speed, the couch creaking so loudly underneath you that the springs could snap at any given moment. “So fucking big, I can barely take it!”

“You’re just tiny…” San squeezed his fingers into your ass and kneaded it, bringing you to let out a whine. “You think you’ll be able to go back to your boyfriend’s cock after this? Or will you be dreaming about mine?”

“I…”

“Look at him and say it,” he chuckled darkly, prompting you to turn your head back and look down at Wooyoung, who was gazing up at you with stars in his eyes.

“I’ll be dreaming about San’s cock the next time you–aah–fuck me, Woo…”

Wooyoung groaned, heavy amounts of pre-cum dripping down the head of his dick and onto the floor below. “I can’t blame you, baby…”

San was only able to take so much satisfaction at once, suddenly holding you down so that he was fully inside you. “Are you ready for me to fill her up with my cum, pretty boy?”

Wooyoung nodded his head, his dick aching so much that his eyes started to water. “Yes, fuck–fill her up for me, San! Please!”

San obliged, holding you completely still as he unloaded into your cunt, the gushing warmth of his cum so pleasurable that you came on the spot.

“I need more, San…” you whispered shakily, encouraging the demon to lift you up and guide your body so that you were facing the other way, your back against his heated chest.

“You read my mind, darling.” He shoved himself back into you, forcing some of the sticky liquid to drip down to the base of his length and pool around his inner thighs. “You’re still so fucking tight…I might actually lose it…”

“Then you better fuck me until I get used to your size,” you exhaled lovingly, reaching a hand back so that you could slip your fingers into his damp hair, leaning your head back as well so that yours was near his.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he whispered gruffly into your ear, his hands running down your lower abdomen and feeling his heavy cock protruding through your skin. “I bet you’d want me to fuck you day in and day out until you break for me.”

Tears formed in your eyes due to the immense stimulation, unable to see Wooyoung clearly anymore from how blurry your vision was becoming. “You can break me as many times as you want, as long as I’m yours,” you replied in a shaky voice, turning your head to face San.

San began to drool from your words, answering confidently, “You were mine the moment I first saw you, darling. Now…let me have a little bite, okay?” He suddenly ripped off your collar and tossed the remains onto the floor, baring his sharpened teeth. He plunged them into your neck without a second of hesitation, biting down and drawing out your coursing blood.

“Drink up…” you moaned weakly, blinking your tears away and gripping the ends of his hair, your lower half pulsing so intensely that you knew you were going to reach your mind-melting high again.

San noisily slurped the hot liquid up into his mouth, moaning and breathing heavily against your skin, his cock throbbing inside you. “Mmmn…’M….going to…cum…”

“Pleasepleaseplease…fill me up…” you chanted, your heart racing inside your chest, not even bothered how San gulped down your precious life source.

The demon suddenly pulled his mouth away and brought you all the way down on his length again, cementing you in place. “Stand up, pretty boy! Now!”

Wooyoung got up onto his feet so quickly he felt dizzy, about to sob from how insanely good it felt when San’s tail whipped down and sliced the wire off of his cock, finally allowing him to cum. “Oh my fucking god, yes!” he shouted out in ecstasy, his load shooting out all over your chest and lower abdomen.

“Here it comes, darling!” Almost simultaneously, San groaned incredibly loud, tossing his head back onto the couch and pumping you full of his seed for the second time, leading you to your own pinnacle of pure bliss, your mind and body feeling almost completely numbed out.

You couldn’t really acknowledge it when San slipped out from underneath you and stood up, your exhausted body simply falling down onto the couch so that you could get some rest. Wooyoung joined you as well, knocking out almost as soon as he landed next to you.

His own brain and body tingling pleasantly around the edges, San reached down to pet both of your heads, sighing softly. “Merry Christmas, my lovely playthings. Take care, until we meet again.”

He walked over to the tree so that he could take one of the bulbs as a souvenir, looking at his satisfied, flushed reflection inside it. “Merry Christmas to me…” And with that, he vanished into thin air.

When noontime rolled around the next day, the both of you slowly sat up and rested against the couch, looking at each other, studying the various marks, chipped candle wax, and dried remnants of cum that littered your aching bodies.

You cleared your sore throat, leaning into Wooyoung and sighing. “So…he was kind of sweet this time around…Is that crazy to say?”

“Not crazy, no.” Wooyoung wrapped his arms securely around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I mean, I got bullied towards the end there, but honestly, I was really into it.”

You let out a soft chuckle, melting into Wooyoung’s embrace. “I could tell.”

“But, honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good before. I almost lost my mind.”

“Me too,” you nodded, pulling away and leaning back against the couch again, your boyfriend’s arm slipping around your shoulders and hanging off of it. “I’d say it was a night well spent.”

“Agreed.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, simply holding each other and admiring the snow that was falling gently outside the frosted windows of your living room. You sighed to yourself, content with how you were filled up with more than just Christmas spirit, idly running your fingers along the deep bite marks on your neck.

Noticing the Santa hat that was sitting near the top of the couch, Wooyoung grabbed it and put it on your head, giving you a smile. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You kissed his cheek, a wide smile forming on your face. “More like Merry Dickmas. Get it? Cuz San’s got a huge c–”

“No, I get it,” Wooyoung cut you off, giving you a blank stare, before erupting in a fit of giggles that you joined in on as well, the both of you hugging and falling back down onto the couch to get some more rest. Once you both quieted down, Wooyoung informed, “It’s my turn to get fucked next time though.”

You turned your head to look at him, gently running your fingers along his chest. “Sure, but he might not want to, since I’m his favorite, after all.”

Wooyoung tsked, hugging you closer to him and nuzzling your cheek. “Are you the main character all of a sudden, or what?”

You nuzzled him back, basking in his comforting warmth and giving him a gentle kiss. “Duh.”

➽───────────────❥

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#ateez #ateez smut #wooyoung #san #ateez san #ateez wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung smut #san smut #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x y/n #kpop smut #choi san

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panelshowsource · 5 months

Note

i’d love to know, what are some panel show moments you think about a lot?

omg like just off the top of my head?

just the whole episode of cats after jimmy's tax avoidance scandal

"good evening your majesty you tax-dodging bitch"

david mumbling "chancellor of the exchequer" in small font

when the horne section was doing macarena on catsdown and the rose was so limp WHY WAS IT SO LIMP

the greatest breath smeller game

"this makes me so angry because they wouldn't show the clip of me attacking my mother with a taser! i thought it was really funny!"

josh groban being an absolute wizard at singing intros followed by martin freeman being an absolute wizard at guessing them to the point production asked him to slow down giving the answer because he was too good

when stacey solomon said she likes teresa may and jimmy carr, gino d'acampo, and carol vorderman were absolutely speechless

alex’s reaction after joe says he has pineapple in his ass

when jimmy used the 30 seconds to wax his leg??

the way the queen’s pussy being haunted was like genuine headline news

mark sending greg 148 texts and getting 0 points ("what a terrible waste of time")

when that nude model came on for jimmy to (pretend) to live draw and lee mack was so gobsmacked at that man's penis he violently elbowed david o'doherty going "look at that!"

"you wouldn't do that during shakespeare, would you?"

on outsiders when joe wilkinson couldn't believe david mitchell is only 47 and literally said "do you live outside"

phil wang roasting ed gamble and saying "ed's girlfriend is such a dog i tried to eat her"

"you cannot imply that only gay people eat vegetables"

♪ but bin men get sad ♪

when those podcasters were reading joe wilkinson his own tweets and he was sweating so much and then just covered his eyes and went "what's wrong with me..."

"stephen fry wouldn't read 'pussy-friendly finger'"

when johnny vegas was literally eating a tin of fucking dog food and kathy burke was like "what's happening??" and jimmy so nonchalantly went "we're just eating dog food :)"

when noel ate some of alex's beard and greg said "you are aware that when we're at home alex is only allowed to move around like a snake?"

every joe & rachel hug ever here's a cute one :')

claudia completely bodying this lie and everyone's animals being so cute and funny and rob and lee complaining just the whole thing

on rhlstp when richard was Being Richard for the last hour and louis theroux was Over It and richard went "have you ever tried to suck your own cock?" and louis just died and then muttered "...do we have to..."

"i don't really eat potatoes it feels a bit irish :/"

johnny vegas pulling something out of rhod gilbert's pants, sniffing it, and then scandalising the entire room by saying "i've been told i smell better from behind than i do from the front, lovers have told me"

gosh my rotted brain is always rattling around panel show moments ..i wish to be cured

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valmare · 1 year

Note

Congrats on 100 followers !!! So excited for you!

Could I get “I think I might be in some kind of love with you.” with Tom? We all know I’m an Ice gal

💜💜💜

Who doesn't love Ice? Here's your fluffy Kazanksy, he's just too much fun to write. Enjoy and thanks so much for your follow and your ask, babe!

Wingman

“Bradley! Bradley, come on—you like peanut butter and jelly, remember?”

The edge of the divided alphabet plate is mere inches from nose diving off the table, threatening a mess of sticky Peter Pan and strawberry jelly on what appears to be bright-and-shiny, freshly waxed linoleum.

Locked in a staring contest with the curlicue of a five-year-old your best friend Nick Bradshaw has entrusted you with, your heart is hammering harder than you ever remember in your short lifespan.

Feet frozen in place, your hand is extended as if somehow you’ve managed to become some kind of Jedi. Attempting to force-control Bradley Bradshaw into cooperation failed, the burp of skin on plastic is nearly deafening as his fat little finger skips across the table, flicking at the separated plate you’d set in front of him moments ago.

“B!” The high pitch of your voice matches the heart jumping behind your ribs–never in your adult life would you have dreamed to ever be so worried about a sandwich, “please—eat your lunch, ok? Your daddy says you like PB and J,”

Time seems to stand still. Exhausted, blood pumping hard through your ears, you feel like you’ve wrestled a bull the entire afternoon. Or maybe a Tasmanian devil. Bradley has been nothing but a high-strung ball of energy since you sent Nick and Carole off for their afternoon, insisting that things would be fine.

In hindsight, maybe you should’ve heeded Carole’s warning of letting Bradley play outside a few hours before lunch. “He gets so cooped up and off the rails if you take him out and let him burn through some of that after-nap energy,” the gall of the woman to actually laugh, “He’s super into Indiana Jones, and you’ll be a great sub in my absence as the damsel in distress.”

But Bradley hadn’t wanted to play outside today. He’d wanted to play dinosaurs in his room with his little green army men, and together you’d both had a blast decimating Sarge and his unit with Tom the T-Rex. Blithely unaware of the gorgeous day outside and its 90 degree sunshine, A/C had been an appreciated alternative. At the time.

But now? You were going to either kill Nick’s kid, or die of exhaustion—whichever came first.

Bradley had started acting up about an hour ago, when he refused to clean up the toys in his room. An all-out hissy fit had transpired as Tom the T-Rex had been violently thrown out the bedroom door, hitting the wall with a thunk.

Feeling sorry for Tom, and staring with popped brows of surprise as Bradley screamed in his bedroom, very quickly your ovaries had shrank into near non-existence at the idea of someday willing choosing this for yourself.

“Pizza!” He shrieks, arms flapping in tantrum like some kind of pterodactyl, which ironically matches the dinosaur on the t-shirt underneath his overalls, “I want pizza!” His little high-pitched boy voice is ringing off the walls of the military housing unit as his bottom lip begins to quiver.

Crocodile tears well up in his soft brown eyes, angry color flaring on his chubby cheeks as he gives the plate one final shove, glaring at it like it has committed a grave offense.

Flinching as the plastic rattles to the linoleum, you puff out a dramatic sigh and scrub your face with your be-jeweled fingers, the cool rings doing little to tame the heat fanning across the bridge of your nose. Your heart has stopped throbbing in worry over the thoroughly dead sandwich, pulse returning to some kind of normal between your ears.

Gnawing at your bottom lip in defeat, you eyeball the splattered peanut butter and jelly and brea. It’s flattened and thoroughly stuck to the floor as Bradley leans over the side of his booster to look at his handiwork. Blinking at it, he looks back to you without even missing a beat, before grabbing the Flintstone cup of milk and taking a long swig.

“Pizza,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes, crossing to the head of the table. “You win, kiddo. Pizza it is.” You’ve never felt more defeat in your life, which is really saying something, because the taste of second place is something you’re all too familiar with being friends with Nick Bradshaw and his motley crew of stick jockey aviators.

Grabbing your purse, you retrieve your wallet and march to the phone mounted on the wall. Spinning the numbers, you order a pizza for yourself and the Bradshaw demon now absolutely adorably singing a song he must’ve picked up from his father, and hung up after the deadbeat clerk monotoned a goodbye.

Plunking down in a chair, your elbows hit the table and cradle your head as you sigh out a breath from the base of your gut. A headache is starting to bloom behind your eyes, and sweat is beading down the length of your spine, drawing your t-shirt and jeans to your skin in the most unpleasant way possible.

Toes curling against the linoleum in an effort to release tension, Bradley begins singing his ABCs in the cutest way possible.

You jump when the phone releases a shrill shriek across the kitchen. For a minute your mind jogs, trying to remember if Carole had asked you to take any calls.

Nick had told you to go ahead and use the phone for anything you may need—slipping out of the chair, you slide across the floor in your socks and pluck it off the receiver, cradling it between your clavicle and ear.

“Bradshaw house,” you sing into the line. Bradley is pushing himself out from the table, scrambling out of the booster to race up the stairs, shrieking for his stuffed animal dog that you have since learned is named Bongo. Covering the receiver, you call for Bradley to please come back downstairs before returning to the call, “How can I help?”

“Sounds like you’re having fun, sweetheart.”

Heart slamming to an all-stop in your chest, you inhale a sharp breath. A surprised squeaks managed past your strangled vocal chords, and heat jumping into your blood is immediate.

Replaying his words through your mind, you imagine him leaning through the doorway of the barracks, phone in hand, dragging the cord along as he talks to you.

Tom Kazanksy has always been a pacer when it comes to talking on the phone. It’s something you learned from Nick himself, who has told you numerous times that Iceman can’t keep it together when he’s on a call. Especially with you.

Goose was practically ass-over-tea kettle about this, Ice glaring at him behind his aviators as you’d given him a goofy grin, picturing the idea as nothing short of hilarious.

The man as cold as ice, tethered by a phone cord every time he picked up the receiver. It was laughable. Actually hilarious. Ice was many things—poised, cool, calculative in ways that were nearly frightening. He seemed far too collected to be the kind that walks when he’s on the phone—that’s your thing.

Fidgeting is a quirk of yours that simultaneously amuses and drives Ice up the wall, which seems counterproductive.

But like many things about Iceman Kazansky, there’s a lot that doesn’t make sense.

Keeping you on your toes is just one of the many things that makes your relationship with Kazansky interesting. He’s the ying to your yang, the cool to your hot. You’re wound tighter than a frickin’ Rolex, and Tom is as smooth as butter in every way that counts.

He’s excelling in his career, making the right decisions, drawing the right attention—and you’re stalled out working at the local garage, tinkering on whatever junk manages to hit the pavement.

Quiet and reserved, Ice is the epitome of charm and elegance. You’re basically the wild card in life’s chaotic game of Uno, forever handing your boyfriend a draw 25 of every crazy thing your life may hand him.

Honestly, how the two of you make it work is unbelievable—you’ve been dating for eight months. You were sure any day Ice would wake up from the hellish nightmare that is your crazy life and leave you, but he'd only seemed locked in for good.

Fairly certain that meeting your parents in NOLA would be the straw that broke the camel’s back, you were dead surprised when Ice had told you he actually loved your family. Your father had done nothing but interrogate the man like a dog with a bone about his career, his plans—all the kills his fancy rank boasted.

And mama? Oh, boy. She’d fussed over him to no end, insisting his skinny ass needed plumped up before your return at Christmas.

“What are they feeding him in California, sweetie? Look at that waist! I could snap him in two. Make sure you feed ‘im good—the way to a man’s heart is through his gut, after all.”

Your mother didn’t understand that you didn’t live together, weren’t cooking for Ice, and could take no responsibility for his eating habits. She’d just pooh-pooh’d your entire protest away, promising to send you both home with grocery money and a few recipes for your box.

You’d stuck them to the fridge with a magnet, Ice just chuckling at your mumble that your parents were the most embarrassing life-givers on the entire planet.

Arms snaked around your wrist, chin on your shoulder, he’d rocked you back and forth on his feet while smiling at the recipes now stuck on the front of your Frigidaire.

“I like your parents, my love. They’re….sweet?” The word was so foreign from him, it had made you snort.

“Overbearing and nosy, but thanks for playing,” you’d shook your head and lazily hung your hands from his thick forearms crossing over your chest, “I can’t wait to meet your folks, Ice. Your mom seems so amazing.”

“You’re talking to my mom?”

Laughing, “Of course I am! You gave me their number, silly.”

“I gave you my parents’ number for when I’m there, princess. I didn’t expect you to cultivate a relationship with Admiral Kazanksy’s wife.” Pressing a heavy kiss to your jaw, the blonde stubble on his cheek was divine as it brushed against the apple of yours.

Giggling in his embrace, your nose scrunches up as you let your head fall back against his shoulder. “Careful there, Tommy. Mrs. Admiral Kazansky kinda has a nice ring to it.”

His eyes had never sparkled so richly as they had that day in your kitchen, catching the insinuation you’d thrown in your little universe. Ice is everything you are not in the way that he is as unreadable as a blank page, whereas you’re easy reading, like phonebook. It goes with his graceful stoicism, his quiet demeanor.

Which is maybe why the two of you work. He balances you out, reigns you in when necessary but loves your unbridled fire. You add color to the otherwise black-and-white pages of Tom Kazanksy’s mission dossier of life, and while you haven’t exactly figured out if that’s a plus or not—Goose, Mav, Slider and everyone else that knows him assures you that you’re the best thing that’s ever stumbled, literally, into Kazanksy’s universe.

You smile at the muffle of voices hanging at the back of the call. Tom is obviously not alone, which amuses you to no end.

“Oh yeah, y’know how it goes, Kazansky—couldn’t be better. Goose’s kid is just the best child a babysitter could ever ask for.” The drama is not lost in your voice.

Tom barks out a laugh, and you imagine he’s shaking his head at you. “I can imagine. Bradley is a little shit when he wants to be.” He says something to someone beyond the call before returning to the phone, “So, about tomorrow. I wanted to ask you—”

Curling the phone cord around your index finger, you check over your shoulder as a shriek erupts from the hallway. Whipping about, Bradley shoots down the stairs, suddenly naked from the waist down and missing the overalls his mother had dressed him in that morning.

Eyes popping wide, he is screaming with a Superman action figure and his father’s dog tags hanging from his neck, face twisted in a horror that you’ve only ever seen portrayed on television.

Somehow, Bradley’s hair and shirt is wet. Which can only mean—

“Oh my gosh! Bradley! Bradley, come back—” dropping the phone and lunging for the toddler, you half remember your boyfriend is on the other end of the call, and right as Bradley races into the kitchen you grab the receiver. Scrambling to right the phone back to your ear, “Ice, I really have–” but he’s laughing. At you.

“This isn’t funny, Tom!”

“It’s fucking hilarious, baby,” his voice is that smooth rasp that makes you shiver as he clucks a chuckle into the phone, “but hold tight. I’ll be over there in fifteen minutes,” he’s calling for someone to tell him the time before he returns. “Think you can keep the gosling alive long enough for me to get there?”

Your eyes are shooting daggers at the wall as you sneer at nothing. “I hate you sometimes,”

Hissing out a noise that sounds like it would be paired with a wince, his mocking, “Ouch, princess,” doesn’t match the lilt in the back of his words. “Don’t burn down the house, I’ll be right there. Hang tight, grease monkey.” He’s been calling you grease monkey since knowing you, and it’s become more of a pet name than anything.

Unraveling, grateful help is imminent, you’re too stubborn to tell him that. Ice is good at everything, and something about watching Goose’s offspring niggles the thought that you want to be better at this than him in the back of your head. Biting the inside of your cheek, you hum suspiciously over the phone.

“Just get over here, Kazansky.” Dropping the phone to the receiver, you turn to rush into the living space in search of Bradley.

You swear to God you can hear him laughing behind the door fifteen minutes later when he knocks, letting himself into the kitchen from the screen door.

Sunglasses on, dressed informally in a t-shirt and tight Wranglers, he’s got a baseball glove under his arm that he drops to the table when Bradley races to the front door, arms splayed wide upon sight.

“Iceman!” Bradley launches himself at Ice’s legs, wrapping chunky little arms around the man’s thighs, “I didn’t know you were coming!”

He’s bouncing as Ice bends to lift him under his arms to his hip, messing the kid’s hair with his fingers.

“You gonna play ball with me, Ice?”

Ice’s smile is genuine as the kid pops off his callsign, no sweat. “You know it, kiddo. Gotta get my favorite shortstop ready for the Phillies, right?”

Bradley’s face couldn’t be any brighter as you lean against the threshold of the living room, arms crossed over your chest as you watch Ice interact with Goose’s son.

“How have you been, Bradley?”

“Gooooood,” the boy giggles and draws out the double-o of the word like children do, breaking off into another giggle as Ice wiggles his fingers into his soft stomach, “can we go play?”

“Yeah, bud. Go grab your mit and we’ll toss a few,” setting Bradley to his feet, he sends the boy off with a light swat to his rear, Bradley beelining past you to whip up the stairs. He's chanting Ice’s name with childlike joy nearly bubbling out of him.

Ice considers the state of the sandwich you still haven’t cleaned up off the floor before looking to you with a raised brow. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a light smirk as he slips the aviators off, hanging them from the collar of his t-shirt as his eyes move about the living space, easily.

You can see he’s calculating, and something shoots down your spine to ricochet off your uterus.

Good god he’s handsome. Sexy as all get out with close-cropped blonde hair, eyes bright enough to melt steel. He can level you with nothing but a smile, make you forget your name the way he kisses you. You might as well be dead when he says your name.

Thinking through all the times he's called you his, wondering if you’ll ever get tired of it, heat in your blood blossoms to your face. You suddenly warmer than you thought possible in the A/C of Goose’s house.

Crossing the kitchen in a few long strides, he reaches for you. Hand sliding home at your hip as you smile at him, he bridges the daylight hanging between you and shuffles your hips flush with his. Smiling at you crookedly, his eyes track yours. Reaching for a curl that’s fallen from your clip, he tucks it behind your ear.

“Help has arrived, princess,” he teases you, low. “Holding up okay?” His voice is quiet, smoky. Dangerous.

Every one of his words hits you right in that little spot between your legs, which has not stopped aching since you laid eyes on this man eight months ago.

“Thanks for coming over,” you coo, lips parting into a little smile. “I’m alright, just tired. Should’ve known I’d need my wingman–you should’ve been here for lunch,” nodding past his shoulder to the mess still living beside Bradley’s booster, your bottom lip rolls inward sheepishly. “Peter Pan and Smuckers crashed and burned.” Your nose scrunches up, teasingly. “I needed reinforcements.”

He snorts a little, brow lifted knowingly. “So I gathered.”

“You’re such a jerk,” you try not to chuckle, but that look he’s giving you makes it impossible.

He shrugs, flippantly. “Yeah, but you like that kind of thing,“ fingers skipping down the full curve of your cheek, they anchor at your chin and tip you head back just so. “I’m here now, love.”

Somehow your eyes just know to drop to half mast as your heart kicks up a few beats against your ribs. His head angles in that kissable way, and before you can even remember to breathe, his mouth brushes against yours tentatively, seeking out a kiss. Grabbing the front of his shirt, fingers fisting into the material, you edge him a little closer until he seals the deal, kissing you long and hard and slow.

His other thick hand is moving to rest at the curve of your neck and shoulder, thumb delicately brushing against the column of your throat as he moans a little into your mouth. Gasping a little, you suck at his bottom lip, tongue carefully slipping between his teeth to lathe a little against his own. Suddenly the room is spinning as he’s bracing an arm against the threshold of the kitchen, backing you against the sheetrock as his hand moves to cup the curve of your cheek.

“Ice,” you whine between his mouth moving against yours. Every nerve is on fire, and you can suddenly taste and feel nothing but his heat as it crashes against your chest. “I—”

“Mmm,” his fingers curl into the flesh of your hip, harder if possible, and he presses his weight forward with his hips, against yours, pinning you against the sheetrock even farther. “It’s okay,” he enunciates with rough exhale, “Bradley is fine—”

Knees basically gelatin and as if on cue, you hear Bradley’s little feet upstairs. He’s talking to Tom the T-rex, looking for his glove before he cries for you to come upstairs. It’s painful, brushing Tom’s hand away from where it’s tracing the soft skin beneath your navel under your shirt, but you have to.

Groaning in irritation before breaking your kiss with Tom, your gaze moves to the ceiling. Tom’s eyes do as well, and he sighs a little in defeat before putting his hands up, stepping back to allow you to slide away, towards the stairs.

“I’m coming, Bradley,” you call up the stairs, your voice not nearly as strong as you’d like it to be. “I’m sorry, baby, I—” His smile is slow as he nods in understanding, and he smooths his hand over his mouth, you not missing the flush on his face.

You rake your hair back as you’re about to take the stairs two at a time, but you stop when Ice’s big hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you. Looking to his hand briefly, your eyes track up to find him, your face painted with the silent question of “What’s wrong?” that you don’t even need to ask.

“You know I love you, right?”

Heart skyrocketing into the back of your throat before it melts back between your ribs, the corner of your mouth lifts in a soft smile as you shrug a shoulder. Winking at him, you step forward onto the stairs, hand falling from his grasp as Ice moves to track you up the stairs. Over your shoulder, you smile at him and nod—you absolutely know you’re in love with Tom Kazanksy, it isn’t even a question.

“And I think I might be in some kind of love with you too, Kazansky. Maybe just a little.” Your fingers pinch to indicate a little amount, nose scrunched up in that way you always do that makes him roll his eyes and shake his head. You round the corner of the open staircase, but backtrack a few steps to peek around the corner.

“But in case you forget, Iceman—I love you too.”

#100 followers #100 followers celebration #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #controlled chaos squad #call sign meerkat #tom iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #answered asks #tom iceman kazanksy x reader #tom kazanksy x reader #iceman x reader #iceman x you

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psikonauti · 8 months

Text

Carol Wax (American, b.1953)

Vine-El Glory, 2019

Mezzotint engraving

#upl #va #art #prints #mezzotint #Carol Wax #flowers

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muchadoaboutstartrek · 9 months

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Sooo....

Christine dumps Spock in the coldest way possible after willingly participating in his effort to cheat on T'Pring only to get cold feet the second Spock asks her "hey, how about we tell the starfleet about us?" before he even terminated the bond with T'Pring. She liked the challenge but apparently didn't feel like sticking around. Talk about shitty moves - both her's and Spock's (the Vulcan idiot doesn't get a pass after being a dick). She will now proceed to go get engaged to Korby while Spock presumably shuts himself off and accepts that he's either better alone or reestablishes his relationship with T'Pring (if she were smart she'd dump him too) and then when she comes back she's suddenly pining over him again because Spock is once again unavailable and is posing a challenge. That's just.... wow.

Jim Kirk is apparently just as trash as Sam Kirk because the bitch flirts with La'an the whole time while gazing deep into her eyes and waxing poetics about how he's not forgotten about that drink she still owes him - only to shut her down in a rather cold way by telling her he's in a relationship (an 'on and off' relationship like that somehow makes it miraculously better) and is going to be a dad🙃 after poor La'an bared her entire soul out to him (and broke a law by telling him about what she's been through in an alternative reality) and imagined herself pregnant with his child. With the show insisting on dumping trauma on La'an - I wouldn't put it past them to make her witness the reunion with jim and carol after the next epsidoe and encounter with gorn.

That being said:

Am I unhappy these relationships crashed and burned like I predicted it weeks ago - No!

Am I happy with the execution of it - also No!

The episode was amazing though but I thought there could have been a better way to make both Spock and Chapel as well as Kirk and La'an go their separate ways without breaking hearts and subsequently mine as well.

Klingon rap was just... An icing on the cake and I loved it - it was almost enough to make up for everything else🤣

#star trek: strange new worlds #star trek strange new worlds #star trek #star trek snw #st snw #snw spoilers #subspace rhapsody #spock x chapel #la'an x kirk #we believe in spocklaan supremacy on this blog #spock #la'an noonien singh #christine chapel #jim kirk

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blackramhall · 7 months

Text

Carol Wax

#Carol Wax

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year

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He hasn't been himself

What -- we're still in S02E05 Chupacabra, and Daryl gets some stitches (courtesy of you), T-Dog teases you about calling that mangy hick so many pet-names, and you come face to face with your big brother Shane's descent into something that you're afraid of you don't recognize.

Relationships/ is there fluff? -- yes! found-family fluff and slowww-burn Daryl x Reader fluff

Perspective - 2nd you, 3rd Daryl at the end

When - right after Spell your last name, please. when Daryl is getting some medical attention after his very rough, hell of a day

Pronouns - neutral, y'all

TWs - some language, and light discussion of giving sutures (stitches), and Daryl's significant scarring (the result of child abuse) is mentioned

I always do my assigned reading, what chapters will help with context? XD -- all of them muahahahaha Start with souls stripped bare, then the Invisible, tugging strings Part 1 and Part 2, then of course Spell your last name, please.

is there a crappy screenshot of the mangy hick? -- yes, you'll be embarrassed on my behalf.

Masterlist -- Official One here, purely chronological one here :)

Have fun and happy reading!

You

Because Maggie and everyone else but Hershel and Rick are leaving the room, you use your uninjured side to take over maintaining pressure on Daryl's head wound.

That he wanted specifically you to stay made that strange, invisible string on your chest tug more. And that you had to curl your arm gently around him so you could press the rag down properly didn’t escape your notice. Neither was the way his hand just brushed against yours to take over for you.

While you’re waiting for the tugging string to give it a rest, Patricia mumbles to you that she’ll come back in to help clean Daryl’s head once Hershel gives the okay.

“Daryl, is this about what you found?” Rick asks.

“Hell yeah it is.”

More quietly, he wants to know “Would it be alright if Shane and Carol came in, too, or is it better if it’s just Shane?”

You think he means if what Daryl had to tell him was good or bad news regarding Sophia.

“You and Shane seem to be a package deal,” Daryl grunts in response.

“Like a BOGO sale,” is your unhelpful, dumb comment to yourself followed by a more helpful, “Oh snap, doc, his second bag is empty already,” when you see his IV fluids are drained again.

A blunt, “Remove it and bandage him,” answers that. “The wax for the needle point is in my kit.” Mr. Greene’s patience gauge is pointing to the E, that much is plain.

While you’re busy taking out the IV catheter (guess what!—this time you did the venipuncture and IV setup! You can do that now!) and pressing a gauze pad to the site, Rick lets your brother in.

Shane seems kinda terse when he hands over the search map and squats on the little ottoman.

Rick places the map on the bed in front of Daryl, then kneels down to face him.

Before anything is said, Mr. Greene points to the bloodied rag that Daryl is not pressing down like you’d directed. “Are you able to maintain firm, constant pressure, or will Rick have to assist you?”

“I can hold a rag,” he responds back in that…unpleasant way he’s got.

You make a face at him. Rudeness is bad enough, but 1.) rudeness to the host, 2.) to the host who’s offering medical care, and 3.) whose horse he’d stolen borrowed without asking and now lost, and 4.) who is about to teach you stitching, and 5.) was using/had used a ton of his own stock of medical supplies? Who 6.) also just lost a man he considered family because of helping your group, like dude?

Daryl. Use a tablespoon of that gentleness you got in there.

Hershel looks at you, and you hope he sees the apology in your eyes.

“Y/N, if you’re going to observe,” he begins, pulling the towel off Daryl’s back and putting it aside. “Wash your hands again with me in the chlorhexidine solution and position yourself on this edge of the bed, there.”

It sucks that you’re all out of gloves. You’ll have to add that to the supply list, along with IV fluid if possible. Fortunately, there was enough chlorhexidine as well as iodine to sanitize, plus the leftover doxycycline but don’t get you started on how that’s unsafe antibiotic use, there’s only so much you can do.

Under his breath, Hershel explains, “We used the clamp and forceps during the boy’s emergency, but they aren’t sterilized. Stitches are best done with a clamp, but as you can see, it will be just our fingers today.”

Thankfully, you have clamps in the med-bag, you’ll donate one.

“Shane, in the med bag, there's a small bag with blue stripes, in it are two clamps,” you call over. “Grab one for me?”

“Swirl it in the solution first,” Mr. Greene requests. “Y/N, did you observe the two times you were stitched, and when Theodore had his?”

“Not the first time.” You shake your head. “But I did watch when Teddy got his, when you did Carl’s, and when Miss Patricia redid mine earlier.”

“She what?” your brother cuts in.

You idiot, Y/N.

“Y/N, what happened that you got stitched up again?”

You’d not told him on purpose. It’s not like you did anything wrong in not telling him, but you immediately feel overheated and guilty as if you had.

You reach out to accept the clamp from him. “Yeah, she checked them earlier,” you do your best to reply in a way that would imply it as being a routine course of action. That didn't count as a lie, right?

Mr. Greene to the rescue: “Y/N, watch what I do, then copy it on your own when I say. I’ll guide you along.” He holds up a small packet. “This is called a swaged needle. There's no eye, the thread is part of the needle. An ordinary straight needle can be used, likewise regular thread, in an emergency, but ideally a curved and swaged is best for obvious reasons. Cleanliness would be a concern, for one.” He opens the packet, points to Daryl’s side.

You sit where he asks and look at Daryl’s wound.

Hershel continues: “We’ll do a simple continuous stitch, the pattern is straightforward. If Daryl pops them, then I suppose you’ll learn how to do interrupted suturing. It’s time-consuming, but more secure.”

That your eyes travel down Daryl’s back again isn’t intentional, but there they get stuck, the same way your eyes had gotten stuck staring at it earlier when you’d helped remove his shirt.

The poor man.

What you thought you saw earlier, back at the house, was correct. Scars. Very big ones.

It looks like the tattoos he’s got on his upper back are partially to cover/distract from some of them on the more visible places up near his shoulders and neck.

A lot more money for a lot more ink would’ve been needed to try concealing the rest of what that person did, those scars were very thick and wide. And no, an accident would not have made such specific scarring, unfortunately, how those got there had to have been deliberate. Scattered all around were cigarette burns, too, some in patterns.

Statistically, it was probably a parent or parental figure.

Mr. Greene’s hand passes over your line of vision as he calls your name. You blink out of it, see his finger wag as if to say ‘don’t look at them anymore.’

After wiping your eyes with your forearm so as to not contaminate your hands, he points to the spot and nods once. “Daryl, I’m going to begin. It will pinch, then burn. Stay still.”

You cringe as the needle goes in. The invisible string tugs when you see Daryl’s breathing pattern hitch and his muscles clench in discomfort. Your stomach tells your eyes to look away when the skin tugs as the needle exits and the thread is lightly pulled.

“Then use the tool to gently bring it across like so,” Mr. Greene murmurs, “going slowly with the thread.” He does two more, then pauses. “Alright, now take over.”

Already?

“Rest in peace, bud,” you joke, whether to ease Daryl or yourself. It’s an insane blessing you have the doxycycline, is all you’re saying.

Slowly you thread the needle, as smoothly as you can. You use a low angle to pull it all through and gently hold the skin down to reduce how much it pulls…oh my gosh, you’re giving sutures right now. “You have my leave to cuss me out if it’s hurtin’ too bad.”

“Ain’t nothing.”

“There’s that phrase, dude,” you quietly tease, focused on closing the wound and Mr. Greene’s silent guidance.

Daryl must be doing okay (or is toughing it out like a champ), because he starts to talk to Rick. “Right around here is where I saw the doll, see where the creek bends there?”

“Was it on top of the ridge, or down by the creekbed?”

“Creekbed, right near a waterfall. Spotted it from up top.”

“Was there a little camp or any tracks?”

“None that I saw. My guess is she was thirsty, but got her feet stuck in the mud and needed both hands to get out. Or somethin’ made her run again.” He stops pressing the rags to his head to look at the bleeding for a quick second.

Shane speaks up. “You run into any walkers by that spot there?”

“Yeah.”

“How many.” Not really a question.

You lose your focus for a moment, hearing his tone and being disappointed and a little frightened by it, so you pause the suturing. Breathe slowly and bite your tongue.

“Why? They friends of yours?” Daryl tosses at him, completely unphased even if dickish. You’re on his side with this one. “They wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t stuck on my back with a bolt stickin’ out of me.”

Shane raises his eyebrows as if to say “See? Told you,” then licks his teeth but doesn’t say anything other than: “Yeah, so I just wanna be realistic about this. Think we all do.”

“Daryl, I’m all ears,” jumps in Rick, ever the decent human being diplomat. “Can you tell us more?”

Mr. Greene taps you and directs you to get back to it.

Daryl tells Rick, “I’m thinkin’ the doll flowed downstream a ways after the rains yesterday, see the area closer to the road, there? I’d check around there.”

“I’ll take some people there tomorrow.”

“Not now?”

“Sun’s going down.”

Without looking up as you resume your work, you know Daryl will understand. His own words were 'Out in the dark’s no good.'

Rick then points to the map. “This spot here?”

Daryl hums in agreement and nods at wherever he’d showed him. “She must have dropped it crossin’ there somewhere.”

Rick looks back at your older brother and tells him “Cuts the grid almost in half,” as if it were a plea.

And just as you and Mr. Greene finish stitching him back up, Daryl grates in the most unattractive way possible, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Rick whips out his skill at de-escalation again. As poor Hershel has to quickly remind you to snip the suture from remaining thread in the packet (you legit forgot, so he does it for you), Rick turns the focus on the patient. “How’s he looking?”

“I had no idea we’d be going through the antibiotics so quickly.”

Fair enough.

Hershel then washes his hands again, so you do the same. “Any idea what happened to my horse?” he then states more than questions, in the way you might confront a teenager who left their dirty clothes on the kitchen floor after sports practice.

And God save him, that mangy hick has no shame. Caught red-handed, he still yips like a grumpy little coonhound, “Yeah, the one who almost killed me? If it’s smart, it left the country.”

You either just huffed, tutted, scoffed, groaned, or made all four at once. RIP invisible, tugging string.

Mr. Greene’s response implies his generosity, which makes you feel shame on Daryl’s behalf all the more. “We call that one Nelly. As in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she’d throw you if you’d bothered to ask.”

Your friend says nothing back. He stays quiet, and simply twists onto his back and starts spacing out at the ceiling, pressing the rag to his head and looking as if he feels very small and very tired.

His eyes close—and you remember that he’s just been through hell and back. He almost died how many times today?

As annoyed and on-guard as he is, Mr. Greene was offering him due kindness and patience when he didn’t get overly short with him.

Still, the way the older gentleman next chides in the most graciously Southern way possible, “It’s a wonder you people have survived this long,” strikes you as having such dry comedic timing that now you’re the only one cracking up in a room full of uncomfortable people.

It doesn’t stay full of uncomfortable people for long; Shane and Rick see themselves out.

When the door opens, you spot Lori in her worried-position (on the floor with her knees curled toward her chest). As she leaps up from the floor to see Rick, you give her a little wave before the door is once more shut.

Quiet and stillness passes over the room. You breathe out. Breathe in.

Okay, it's probably just about time to clean up and bandage Daryl’s head.

You turn to see him still laying there on his back, eyes still closed. By the looks of it, he wanted to cover up; he’s pulled the side of the quilt over his stomach. You take the towel you’d used to give him some modesty earlier and gently drape it over his exposed abdomen.

But your big brother’s voice sounds through the door before you can do anything else.

The beginning of whatever he said, you don’t catch, but it doesn’t matter. You hear enough. “…Hershel on this one. Can’t keep goin’ out there, not after this.”

Rick is saying something back, but his voice is softer and you can’t make out as much of it. “Daryl” “risked,” and “first, hard evidence” gives you the gist, as does Shane’s response to him:

“That’s one way to look at it. Way I see it, Daryl almost died today for a doll.”

“Yeah, I know the way you see it.” Rick’s footsteps then fade down the hall.

On the other side of the door, your pulse thumps in your ears. Your breathing is faster than it should be.

Shaney still has that little girl written off?

“Y/N,” Mr Greene calls from the bedside.

Before you calm yourself down enough to turn to help Hershel, your brother starts talking again.

He’s whispering, but it’s still recognizable enough that you hear every word. “I’m not out to be a hard case, just bein’ realistic. He’s just gotta start making the tough calls.”

Shane's speaking to Lori, then?

His footsteps are moving down the hall, and you quietly open the door in time to hear him mutter, “You know I’m right.”

Door now open, your fist grips the knob and doesn’t let go.

“I may not agree with all his choices, but I respect him,” Lori states.

With all she's got going on, she shouldn’t have to deal with how much Shane has changed for the worse. In fact, in your gut you don't want your brother even near her, now that you know they’d been intimate. And that she’s pregnant…

You miss her first few words, but do hear “Your way isn’t harder, it’s…it’s the easiest thing in the world to cut our losses and to not help. You keep telling yourself you’re making the tough calls, you’re really just trying to justif—”

He cuts her off by mumbling, “—The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.”

His words aren't a put-on, that's what alarms you. You know what smooth or schmoozy Shane sounds like; but that there was genuine.

Lori calmly shakes her head and walks toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Even abandoning a lost child?” she prompts. “Really?”

She sounds like she expects Shane to snap out of it and think better on it. To remember his goodness.

But.

To the woman that his best friend since childhood married, and in the context of not caring about a missing, abused child, your brother instead tilts his head and offers Lori a small grin.

He’s…he just flirted with her.

Lori takes a step back.

Her back tightens, her head bows slightly. “My son and I are not your problem anymore. Or your excuse." She turns away. "As for Y/N, they’d be horrified to hear y—” she cuts off as you loose your grip on the doorknob, making noise, causing her to finally notice you standing there.

“You’re right, Lore, they would be,” you drawl, voice soft. “Sh-Shane, get out.”

Whatever he starts responding with, you don’t give a fuck, your softness vanishes as you growl back, “Get. Out.”

You link your good arm into Lori’s and take her down the hall to Carl’s room. She stops you from plowing through the door by holding you by the waist. You take a moment, turn toward her.

She looks you in the eyes and shakes her head, silently mouthing “Please.”

“I won’t,” you mouth back. Still, under your breath, you do stress “B-but he, he needs a leash. Rick can leash him.”

She looks into your eyes but says nothing back.

As soon as the door is open, your words charge out, “Ricky, Shane needs—

“—Mom! Y/N! Mr. Dixon found Sophia’s doll! The one Eliza gave her!” interrupts Carl, (crying and) grinning so wide that your cheeks are getting sore just looking at it.

You take in the room.

Carol and T-Dog are there along with Rick. Lori goes to her son, takes his hands and kisses them, Beth scoots in behind you holding three glasses of water.

Seeing your nephew helps you remember yourself, and you begin to smile back. Your lip wobbles. “He found her doll, little dude.”

Some tears decide to fall when you take a moment and lean against the wall.

Shane is scaring you.

You are frightened of your own brother.

And no, it's not just how he's been after Otis got killed, he hasn’t been himself. He’s scaring Lori, you saw it just now—and this is before he even knows about the new baby, oh my God how are you going to fix this? God, Shane doesn’t even care—doesn’t understand—that a clear sign of Sophia was found today.

And, and he doesn’t care about anyone else here, either, not even about Rick? “The only thing I care about in this world is Y/N, you and Carl.”

If that was really just him trying to flirt or whatever, you aren’t sure whether you’re more disgusted that he claimed to not care about jack-shit else to do it, or that he was saying something that awful not only to flirt but to flirt with a married woman. His best friend’s wife.

That you’re at Rick’s side and murmuring low, “Shane’s a problem,” doesn’t register in your head until he’s replying with what’s pretty much a platitude: “He’ll see reason.”

Even coming from Rick, it doesn’t comfort you.

“But how to we fix it?” you whisper. “Ricky, it’s like I can’t see him anymore. I’m gettin' scared of h—” you stop what you’re saying, a little alarmed that you just started to confess it out loud.

Rick is quiet.

“He hasn’t been himself,” he admits.

Lori’s whispering cuts in, “Honey, w-what are you two talking about?”

You figure she’s scared that you’re telling Rick more than is your business, so you subtly shake your head, then ask “Lore, have you noticed Shane ain’t been himself?”

The expression on her face is controlled. “He hasn’t been.” And she turns to sit back down beside her son and takes one of his hands into hers.

Rick rubs your arm a few times, and nothing else is spoken.

Whatever, you need to get back.

You’re supposed to be helping patch Daryl up, not hiding moping in here like some idiot bitch.

Cursing yourself that not only did you admit to being scared of your brother, but that you’re scared at the possibility he’s still in the hallway, you hold your injured side to lessen the pain when you bend down to peck a kiss on Carl’s forehead. “I’m headin’ off, baby, to help with Mr. Dixon,” you mumble in goodbye.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn back around to see Carl giving you his—sneaky grin? Why, what’s he about to rag you about? “Mr. Douglas told me you called Daryl ‘baby’ like a hundred times after he fainted.”

“That ain’t true,” T-Dog cuts in. “Y/N, I’m sorry, he’s mistaken.” He turns to Carl.

Wait up, T-Dog’s doing his pout thing he does before teasing somebo—

“First off, Y/N was at it before he even passed out.”

*sigh*

“And it wasn’t just ‘baby’, it was also ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sugar.’ Oh yeah, and ‘mangy hick,’ gotta admit that one threw me.” He makes a particularly wide smile in your direction. “Can’t remember if they also called him ‘darlin’ or not, though.”

“However many times Y/N called him a sweet name, Mr. Dixon deserved every one and more,” Carol softly tells the room.

As for you, you must feel lighter, because now you’re smiling, too.

What's better, you’ve thought of a way you’ll feel safe comfortable if Shane’s still in the hallway (that won’t include taking Rick, because you’re pretty sure Lori needs him to feel safe comfortable right now).

“Theodore, will you walk me back to darlin’ baby sugar sweetheart Daryl’s room, please?”

“Walk you a whole six yards down the hall?”

“Please," you ask him more urgently than you'd intended.

He might could've noticed, because he quickly stands and goes to the door with you. "I'ma charge you for this, though."

"Naturally, how many of my jewels will it take?" you joke.

"You gotta call him 'mangy' again for me."

You snort so hard it makes your new stitches hurt. That's the easiest possible exchange he could've made. "Deal."

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

Him

When he heard from outside the door their soft, “Thank you, Teddy,” his muscles relax again.

He’d been worried. Last thing he knew, Shane must’ve been saying some bullshit, ’cause Y/N had dead-ass growled at him to “Get. Out.”

After two knocks, a pause, and a “Daryl, it’s me,” he realizes he’s gotta call back, “You’re good,” so they’d come in the room. Usually people knock and just bust in, it was real nice to have someone wait until he said it was cool.

He’s damn relieved they’re back and doing okay. Other than worried about whatever crap their brother was slinging around them, he’d felt…small, and, and naked without them in there. Now that they’re back, he feels safe, like he’s got clothes on again.

It’s the total opposite of earlier that morning, when he’d felt like Y/N had seen too much of him, and him too much of them. Didn’t feel like that no more.

“Well, you’re still lookin’ nice and mangy, so I guess I haven’t missed much,” his friend jokes, then shuts the door behind them.

Why did they just make a face to whoever was out in the hallway?

“Where’d Mr. Greene go?”

Daryl grunts, unsure.

Y/N sinks into the little footrest by the window. “We’ll get you some dinner in about an hour, okay, sugar?”

Another pet name, another weird feeling in his stomach and chest.

His friend stares out the window and massages their shoulder and neck. “Oh, are you thirsty?”

That he can answer. “The opposite.”

“Ah, let me help you get up—wait, maybe let’s wait for Patricia or the doc to get back, just in case. Can you hold it?”

He just grumbles back. Ain’t like he’s two years old, of course he can hold it. "What's the deal with your brother? Heard him mouthing off."

"Yeah. He, um, he ain't been himself." Y/N grimaces as if there was a bad taste in their mouth, then covers their face, sighs, and changes the subject. “Should we might call today ‘rough,’ or pick a different adjective?”

No idea. Today was…“Today was somethin’ else.”

“Whoa, we’re going hardcore.”

He starts to crack up, which is how he learns that now, laughing makes his head and side ache.

“Crackin' up hurt, didn’t it?” they guess correctly.

A grunt passes as his “yes.”

His friend breathes in slowly, out just as slow. “When you’re up and at ’em again, I’m taking you with me to go light all the candles at that little church to help thank the heavens you got home alive.”

…he feels all warm and can hear his pulse again, what gives? Like, it’s just that he’d imagined Y/N talking about his coming “home” safe, it’s just weird it’s coming up again in real life. Not a bad weird, but still.

“Well,” they scrunch their nose and stare into space, “‘home’ might be different than the usual definition, but you know what I mean. You got back alive to us after all that, it’s—I dunno, God’s got plans for you yet, dude.”

Hadn’t had a friend say stuff like that to him before, so he just lays there like a beanbag.

Y/N is still still staring into space. “And like, all afternoon I had this tense…dread, that you were hurt. Kept explainin' it away, with a quick prayer just in case.” A chuckle. “We’ll bring Carol and Sophia with us when we go light those candles, deal?” Then they give him a look he can’t translate. “Right-o, bud, let me see that side of yours, I wanna admire my handiwork.”

Standing up with a wince, they walk to him. When he begins to slowly twist back onto his side, they stop him and tell him to stay comfortable. His stomach gets all funny again when he partly pulls aside the towel covering his abdomen and his friend gets close.

Y/N starts to put their hip on the bed, then pauses. “Does it hurt you when the bed jostles, baby?”

His stomach goes all funny again. He’s, um, he’s hungry… “You’re good.”

And not a moment after sitting on the bed and exhaling does Y/N groan and start to jabber, “Oh, Moses, I just did it again, look how red you got. Tell me, did you feel redder when you knew how many of us were crowded around you like seagulls on french fry, or when I kept callin’ you pet names? T-Dog’s been poking fun at me for it.”

He…grunts again. It’s, um, he isn’t really sure what else to do, this isn’t a conversation he knows how to tackle. Hadn’t had a friend who called him a ton of pet-names while taking care of him after he’d pin-balled down a ridge twice and got a bolt lodged in his side and fought off two zombie bastards after dreaming up a conversation with Y/N and Merle.

Now Y/N is looking at him in the way they usually look at Glenn before they goof off together. “Wanna compare yours and mine right quick before they get back?”

Well, he hums this time instead of grunts, so that counts as conversation.

“Carl and I joked that we have temporary, sewn-in friendship bracelets. You’re in the club now, too, welcome!” They lift their shirt slowly, blocking the rest of their belly with their arm. Their stitches are up by their ribs aaaaaannd why are Daryl's goddamn cheeks feeling hot again?

“We both have white nylon thread. Carl got blue, though, real fancy,” Y/N says, cute smile on their face.

“He showed me his when I talked to him last night, actually.”

With a giggle, they nod. “Of course he did.”

The front door to the house opens, and the muffled voices of Dr. Farmer and Patricia sound outside the closed bedroom door.

Y/N looks back and forth from their stitches to his, then mumble to themself, “Miss Patricia definitely gave me a different stitch, check out the variations.”

Daryl couldn’t tell from the angle he was in, to be honest, but…“Yeah, mine are way better.”

Y/N deserves a compliment. And, dunno, he’s not an expert, but his side is probably sewed together nice. It’s not like it's still bleeding, right?

Y/N almost misses it. “Hey, the stitches Patricia gave me are grea—ohh.” Their face lights up, and they bop him on the arm. “Aww!”

Daryl feels the corners of his mouth raise. His shoulders relax.

Dr. Farmer Mr. Greene calls from the hall, “I’m opening the door,” and finally walks back in with Patricia.

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

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steviewashere · 4 months

Text

Return to Sender

Slaps you in the face with this chapter of my new fic, Return to Sender. Which I will update every Saturday, or at least attempt to. Different first meetings, strangers to friends to lovers to strangers (and then endgame). Hope you enjoy, I'll add tags when necessary.

Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove (A Warning in Itself), Eddie Munson (E.M.)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

General Audiences (May Change, but Will Not be Explicit)

Tags: Pre-Season 2, Rewriting Canon, Though Keeping to Main Canon Events (i.e. Steve getting roped into finding Dart, Billy smashing in Steve's face, The junkyard, etc.)

Expanded from This Post!

Next Part is Out! ------>

Enjoy <3

------- Steve picks up a little piece of paper that somebody shoved inside the grates of his locker door. It's folded, crumpled, creased and stained. He glances around. If the messenger just left this, they must still be around, right? At the bathrooms, nobody stands. Or at the narrow opening that floods into the main hall of Hawkins High. Or even peeking from under the stairwell. He runs his thumb over the paper. It's soft, most likely worn down from being held onto for so long. From being in somebody's pocket. Pressed up against the radiating warmth from their naked thigh. Possibly held between their fingers, twirling and folding in the gaps.

Does he open it? He's curious, he should. But what if it's another one of Tommy's pranks, which have increased tenfold since they stopped being friends. What if it's Carol giving him a fill-in on gossip he no longer wants a slice of? Or...What if it's Nancy apologizing? He shakes his head at that. What does she shave to apologize for, he questions himself. If anybody should say sorry, it would be me.

Basketball practice is in ten minutes. He's got his sweatbands on. Retied his sneakers. Changed into shorts and a particularly revealing muscle tank. Slathered on deodorant, lip balm, and baby powder to prevent chafing on his thighs. He's ready to go. Gotta go, he hastily thinks.

But...

The note. Somebody left it just for him.

Oh, but what if it's to tease him? To poke fun at the fact that he lost his girlfriend to somebody the whole school deems as his rival. To laugh at the new cut near his hairline, pink and puckered, laughing at his inability to fight back (parents teach their kids the damndest things). From that insufferable guy, Billy, that's barreled in through town from California and shoved him on the spikes of his King Steve crown. From that band girl with choppy strawberry blonde hair that's always too observant. From somebody else...somebody who wants to see him bend over, gasp for air that's too sharp and fleeting, and cry with nothing else to do.

He blearily thinks, Fuck it. He thinks, Men don't cry. Though the voice is his father's and they're almost the same in intonation, does it matter who's ridiculing him? He thinks, I just want to go home and rest.

It unfolds without him willing. The paper still soft, not yet agitating his palms. Gently torn around the edges. Blue pen glowing up at him. He takes a breath and reads.

"You seem haunted. But you're lovely. I hope you find peace soon, Steve. -E.M."

Steve's watch beeps at him. Time to shoot some hoops. And all the while he will think, Who the hell is E.M.?

---- He's at the three point line practicing his free throws. Back wet with sweat. Hair drooping over the sweatband around his forehead, the prickly ends threatening to stab his eyelids. The ball is in his grip just under the tip of his nose. He gives it another couple dribbles for luck. Poises to shoot.

Just as his arms flex, he goes tumbling down to the ground. A thump across the waxed gymnasium floor. His head misses, thankfully, but the rest of him is in a gigantic sore heap. Limbs splayed out around him. The basketball bouncing off somewhere to his right. And the impact scared him into shutting his eyes. Opening them, blearily and blinking fast, he realizes he's now nose to calf with that asshole, Billy Hargrove.

The guy—broad, tall, muscular with an ugly shaggy mullet and a permanent sneer to his lips—has been consistently knocking Steve down. Whether it be on the court, as it is right now. Out on the track in gym class. In the hallways, slamming Steve's left shoulder into the closed locker doors, enough he swears it dislocated at least a couple times. Even once in the parking lot; leaving a ding on the trunk of Steve's BMW. It's one of the nicer things he owns and it made him see red the way the metal was dented in. He'd tried to fight back against Billy, but that ended up with him and a blood nose. He's retired all efforts in making this guy leave him alone. Too pussy to be the first to throw a fist. Too smarmy to confront a teacher.

Steve groans and tries to sit up, but is promptly shoved back down by the bottom of one of Billy's sneakers. He hears from above, "Fucking stay out of my way, Harrington." And then his presence is gone. Footsteps, heavy and quick, making their way away from Steve's supine, sweaty, adrenaline leaking body.

He successfully sits up with the next groan and gasp from his lips. Rubs a firm hand on the small of his back. And decides, Fuck this. Rising from the ground is no ambitious feat. And choosing to barrel past his coach, give him the finger, slam the locker room door behind him, take a quick hot shower, and reclothe himself in a usual school outfit—none of that is ambitious either. It's freeing, in a way.

Sure, he loves basketball. Loves gym class. Loves working out in general. He's been on a basketball team every year since he was seven years old. Watches games from the middle cushion of his parent's three-seater sofa. Skims through Sports Illustrated every chance he gets. Has assisted with little league teams and the junior varsity tryouts annually since freshman year—always there to encourage and uplift nervous players, because he had been one once, so he gets it.

But, also, the amount of running up and down the basketball court. The amount of watching from his peripherals. Dodging and very nearly hiding away from other players. It all just reminds him of...Of that stupid flower-faced motherfucker that tumbled through the Byers' place. All the trouble for wanting to apologize. Now he's more scarred than a pink eraser some distracted kid uses in math class—puncture wounds in his brain where the images of blood, snarling saliva, and twirling some weaponized bat are permanently flashing. All the time. In his waking existence and in his sleep.

Playing on the sports teams also comes with expectations. Not from his peers. Or friends. Not even the coaches. But, rather, his parents. And damn it, if being bullied off the court is a way to try and get them off his back, then he'd fucking take being roped by his ankles and shook like a can of pop for his lunch money. He thinks, Fuck what they think. Fuck what the coach thinks. And fuck Billy Hargrove.

When he's finally out of the locker room and back at his everyday locker, he notices another little white paper making a minor appearance. It's a fresh piece. From the way it's bright in the light and sharp around the edges in his hands. Even the blue pen marks are smeared slightly, as if the person—E.M.—was in a rush to get away. To not be caught.

It reads now:

"I'll charge that dickwad more for his weed. It's fucking stupid that he thinks he rules the school now. Hargrove gave one of my friends a swirly last week. Tried to dump my lunch earlier today. Don't worry, Steve, I'll drain him for more than he's worth. -E.M."

His hand falls away, note still gripped, and slams against his thigh. Runs a hand down his damp face. And becomes dizzy with the implication of the last line; or at least, his interpretation.

Now, Steve's smoked before. Came home one time from the quarry smelling like it and knew what it was like to be caught by a ring on the face when he'd walked through his front doors. But...that had been weed that Tommy's cousin brought around during the summer they were in town. Steve isn't aware of anybody in Hawkins who would be dealing. And, if he's honest, marijuana isn't a top choice for unwinding. He prefers a beer or a cigarette, something that won't leave a trail of evidence behind.

So, now he's aware that somebody—a stranger—is watching him from a distance. Somebody who goes to school with him. Somebody who deals drugs, maybe even does them. And...their initials are E.M.

He almost wants to shout out for the person to make themself known. But the mystery behind it all is intriguing, to say the least. Like they're playing hard to get. And, Steve doesn't usually go after people that make anything—friendship or romantic relationships—hard on him, but the lack of info, the observance, the knowing somebody has their eyes on and out for him...

Well, that makes something stir in his gut.

And he doesn't know what that says about him. To be swooning, slightly, for somebody without a face. Somebody who could be a stalker if he thinks about it. They're protective, though. And that's not something Steve usually gains from somebody else.

It's frustrating, though, not knowing who this person is. Maybe if he can ask around, maybe get Billy to slip up about his smoking habits.

He wants to put a face to this mystery person.

Wants to...see if they're just as attractive as their instincts.

--------

Next Part is Out! ------>

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #pre-season 2 #different first meeting #passing notes #canon divergence

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