#Fuck DoorDash but what else is new

[sonodaten]

I think we should be allowed to kill DoorDash’s CEO and marketing executives for the existence of their “50% OFF YOUR ORDER!!!!!!1!1!!1 (in teeny tiny print: max of $10 off)” coupons

[lovingbarbariancomputer]

Cody used to have abs. Now he eats DoorDash till he’s writhing and whimpering in his recliner. Moanin like he’s gettin fucked. He knows it makes him a fuckin man. He’s American after all. How can he resist? His dick drips with precum after he’s on his third pizza slice. Too fuckin irresistible. The cycle of feeding, edging, sleeping is all he thinks about. He’s up 35 pounds this summer. He’s starting to get fat just like all his bros. He catches them lookin at his belly pushing against his shirts. What’s the point in buying new clothes? Turns him on so fuckin much feeling his new thick body rubbing against the fabric. His thick hairy thighs rubbing against each other as he walks. His belly shaking with every step. His tight briefs are perfect for concealing his boner. Now that he’s an American fatboy, he’s perpetually full. And perpetually horny. Completely hypnotized by his own domestication process.

He can’t help but notice other changes too. Feeling dumber by the day. Why bother thinkin about anything else? Why bother reading books? Besides, he likes watching tv more anyway. He’s a fuckin man now. Just another proud dumb American fatboy. He never had an interest in country music, but now he can’t help but blast country music from his speakers when he does lawn work. Beer in hand. Shirt off. So everyone can see what a fuckin man looks like. Now he’s an all American thickboy. Just like all the other men in his neighborhood. He can’t help but look at them. Thinkin about their hairy hands cramming food into his mouth. In fact, he doesn’t even seem interested in women anymore.

Now all his bros have matching bellies. Inevitably gettin bigger every month. And Cody can’t help but order massive amounts of food and beer for them. They can’t help but eat competitively. Joking about how fat they’re getting, jokingly patting each others bellies. They almost seem to like it as much as Cody.

After days of edging and eating and showing his belly off. Every once in a while, he can’t help but let it out. Cummin harder than he ever has before. Hypnotized, writhing and grunting, rubbing his own fat. Pure ecstasy flowing through his whole thick body. Warm pleasure resonating in his full hairy belly. He barely has to touch his dick anymore. The smell of pizza and the feeling of his rough hands on his belly is enough to make him shoot loads. Cause Cody’s makin his country proud. The new standard of American masculinity. Little does he know all his buddies are jerkin off to their own bellies too. They can’t help it, they’re dumb American fatboys now.

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part three

part four: say the one thing i've been wanting

Steve had been dreading actually talking about this with Robin. He hadn't wanted to put her in a position to feel like she had to come out or stop using him as a plus one to industry parties to fuel rumors. Even as he and Eddie pretty publicly dated Robin's agent and most tabloids still thought Robin and Steve were a couple some even going as far as insinuating Eddie was Steve's side piece or their third.

"Steve, you're kind of scaring me, what's going on?"

"Birdie, I'm only telling you this because I can't not anymore but I want you to know nothing is your fault and I literally don't need you to do anything. I just need to be able to talk to my best friend and in order to do that I kind of have to get through this uncomfortable part," Steve answered.

"Anything, Steve. Whatever you need," Robin said.

"Okay, so Eddie and I kind of broke up because Eddie assumed I was cheating on him with Nance when she came to visit earlier this year. He got really upset and kind of blocked me from any way of contacting him so there was no way to clear anything up after he left but he definitely assumed I was cheating on him and he wrote that fucking song and I just need to talk to you without leaving out this really huge massive reason why Eddie left and why I still feel like total shit," Steve rushed to cover the main points.

"Steve, hun," Nance comforted. She probably guessed something else was going on but had been understanding enough not to press Steve for more.

"Steve, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," Robin started catastrophizing.

"Can you please stop saying my name. It's kind of freaking me out," Steve joked, "Robs, it's totally not your fault at all. It was a shitty situation I could have handled better and so could Eddie but there's really nothing to do about it know because I can't explain it to him and he clearly doesn't want me to so we are moving on, all right?" Steve attempted to keep the energy light.

"If that's what you want, sure babe," Robin said.

"I just want to stop going down Tik Tok rabbit holes of Eddie's stupid song without being able to complain to you about how fucking tired I am of not being able to do anything," Steve said, "and also I want so much ice cream and a really stupid TV marathon with my best girls and maybe roast Eddie's new song a little bit."

Nancy had already pulled up doordash and they were soon on their way to eating a smorgasbord of snacks and ice cream while watching reality TV and eventually dissolving into a karaoke session initially overdramatically singing along to Eddie's new single and ending with some old school Taylor (her version of course). Steve was feeling better than he had in a long time and started getting out of the fog he'd been in since Eddie had left.

Eventually, Steve started answering his agent's emails again and submitting tape for different roles. He'd gotten a part in a small indie film in Italy and Steve was pretty ready to take it. It was an interesting part, it was literally away from everyone he knew, the director was kind of weird and didn't let his cast use socials while filming and encouraged only phone calls and old school letters to really get into the period mindset. It was honestly kind of a perfect next project and it helped that the script was actually kind of great.

"As long as you aren't going because you're running away, Steve. You know I don't want you to leave and you shouldn't feel like you have to," Robin said as he was starting to pack his bags.

"I really like the project. It's a good script and I get to get out of my own head for a while. Kind of perfect honestly. The shoot is pretty short its only like four weeks so I won't be gone that long and you and Nancy can keep holing up in my apartment without me getting in the way!" Steve answered.

"You're never in the way, dingus," Robin nudged him and then brought him into a hug, "we'll just miss you kiddo."

"I'll miss you too, Bobbie. Now let me go so I can pack." Steve pulled away with a bigger smile than he'd had in weeks.

part five

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)

[gtsdreamer2]

"Mmmph. Yes. That's it. Umph! I can feel it pouring into me!" You hugged the lamp tightly to yourself, hidden under your shirt and nestled between your petite breasts, bucking against the air as you laid in bed. Having the warmth of the lamp contained with nowhere else to go, your body seemed to absorb its energy quicker than your mother had. The heat was almost unbearable, but you knew that you needed to hurry. Your brother's girlfriend would be here soon to steal away this treasure that was suddenly thrusted apon you. After seeing how large your mother had grown simply from this morning at breakfast to only a few hours later, you were hoping that you could at least gain a few inches before then.

Aa your body adjusted to the heat, your arousal levels began to spike. You could feel your body expanding and becoming more sensitive. The lamp's energy being concentrated around your breasts was causing them to swell more quickly than the rest of you which elicited a coo from your plumping lips. You felt them growing bigger and bigger as they began to envelop the lamp, which was quickly running out of room under your shirt. You felt your feet sliding further down the bed and figured you must be close to the six foot tall mark by now.

"This feels so good!" You cried as you bit your blanket to try and stifle your moans and whimpers. Sweat poured off your body, but the heat only felt like a gentle, loving caress at this point. Just as you were starting to get lost in the throes of ecstacy, a knock at the door forced you back to reality. "Shit. She might wake mom."

Quickly you withdrew the lamp from its prison and put it on your nightstand. All your clothing was sopping wet from sweat and desire as you got up. Stretched beyond its limits, your pants tore at the seams, as did the sleeves of your shirt. Your midriff was exposed and glistening with sweat as your now massive and surprisingly perky tits tented your top. As you exited your room and made for the door, you were suddenly overtaken by your mother, who's stride greatly outpaced yours.

"Don't worry, sweetie, mommy's got it." As she opened the door, you were surprised that it wasn't Katy, but instead a delivery man for Doordash. "Finally. I'm famished." Your mom said, hungrily. Being in the presence of your eight foot tall mom, the poor man was immediately captivated by her overwhelming pheromones. "Come on. We're going to enjoy this in my room." Cindy beckoned the delivery driver and he shambled behind her, caught in a trance while carrying enough food to feed three people.

'Well that was weird' you thought to yourself, watching the whole scene play out until the door to your mom's room was shut. Just as you thought you might have more alone time with the lamp before Katy arrived, there was a second knock on the door. Before even waiting for an answer, your brother's girlfriend let herself in. She was immediately thrown off by the size of her boyfriend's "little" sister.

"Woah, Des, you're massive. What the fuck happened to you?? I mean, don't get me wrong, you look gorgeous, like seriously, super amazingly scrumptious, but your clothes are all torn because you're just...bigger." She was practically drooling as she took in all of your new stature. "Your tits grew. And your muscles grew. And you're like six foot two or something. I'm seriously jealous."

You were suddenly aware of the effect you were having on this woman in front of you. It seemed similar to the way the delivery guy had just reacted to your mom, although not as strong...yet. You began to form a devilish plan as a smile crept across your face. "You wanna feel these muscles? I'll give you a taste. Come to my room, it'll be fun." She only hesitated for a moment.

"I..um...your brother sent me here to get...something. A present? I forget...um..."

"Oh, don't worry about that. It's in my room! Come on. I'll show you! You replied jubilantly. Grabbing her hand, you pulled her into your den, trying hard to ignore the moans that were escalating from your mother's room.

You pushed Katy gently into your room and closed the door behind her. "Wow," She said, dazed and dosed with an even higher concentration of your phenomenal pheromones. "It's smells so good in here. So sweet and feminine. Nothing like your brother's room. It's nice." She took the liberty of sitting on your bed while you closed the vent above your door, which you had no trouble reaching. When you turned around, Katy was staring at the lamp, still aglow beside your bed. "Hey, this is really pretty. It's totally my aesthetic."

"Ya! Isn't it cool! That's your present! I'm borrowing it right now though." You hopped into bed between Katy and the lamp and rested yourself against the headboard before grabbing it to give her a better look. As soon as it touched your hands, the familiar warmth began to spread through you. You couldn't help but let out an audible coo."

"What was that?" Katy asked quizzically, reaching for the lamp instinctively before you pulled it further out of her reach.

"It just feels really good...and it's turning me on.", you confessed, embarrassed about how honest you were being with what the lamp was making you feel. You spread your legs, revealing the split seam of your pants and a pair of strained and soaked pink panties beneath it. "I need you to...um...help me. You rubbed the soft wet spot between your legs enticingly and Katy began to drool subconsciously. She was easily being overwhelmed by your pheromones in this confined space.

"I...um....what?" She said absent-mindedly as saliva began to pool in her mouth.

"Here. Like this." You pressed the lamp to your chest with one hand while you grabbed the back of her head with your free one. With ease, you forced her head between your legs and she automatically stuck out her tongue and began to eagerly lick you over your panties, completely unaware of what she was doing. She was yours now.

"Mmph mmph mmph." Your brother's girlfriend made rhythmic whimpers between laps of her tongue as you grew more and more aroused, the warmth of the lamp still pouring into you. 'This is my own personal heaven.' You thought to yourself, your panties growing tighter as the seam in your pants split further and further with each pulse of energy.

"You know...umph..I know you're my brother's girlfriend and all, but...(holy shit I'm getting so big) you're so good at this. I might just have to steal you and make you mine." You let the lamp rest between your massive tits which had no trouble gripping onto it unassisted as you reached down and grabbed two fistfuls of Katy's hair to both pet her and force her harder against your sopping panties. Looking down on her, you suddenly realized that she was packing more ass into her jeans than she was when you ushered her into your lair. 'This girl is leaching size off of me!' You thought to yourself. You could feel yourself still growing, but you were also now aware that the warmth of the lamp was being fed to her through you. 'This is so hot.' You bucked your hips harder against her as your jeans and panties snapped off. Katy peeled the remnants away and continued her work, now unobstructed.

As Katy grew, she was slowly starting to shake off the pheromone fog caused by her boyfriend's gargantuan little sister.

'What the fuck am I doing?' Was her first thought as she was tongue deep in Destiny's snatch. Her second thought was 'why was she enjoying it so much?' Her third thought was 'why was the bed so small?' Quickly coming to the conclusion that her boyfriend's sister was causing this and that she wanted more, she continued to indulge her temporary lover. No longer bound by Destiny's pheromones, Katy began to get more aggressive with her movements. She gripped Destiny's hips with force and tried to maximize her skin-to skin contact by laying her arms against her larger partner's thighs.

"Fuck, who taught you to eat like that?" Desiny moaned, crying out in sudden ecstacy. Unable to hold back, she finally let go and succumbed to her first orgasm of the evening. The heat of her arousal peaking only added to the lamp's power, forcing a sudden growth spurt out of her and causing destiny to crest the ten foot mark. "Fuck!" She cried out, gripping Katy's head and adding a second climax.

"Who taught me that? What, like your brother has been my only lover?" Hearing Katy's voice snapped you out of your euphoria only briefly. How had she broken your spell? You felt her grip on your hips change as she pulled herself up to get on top of you. She was still clearly some feet shorter than you as she maneuvered herself swiftly face to face with you. Lowering her weight, she was suddenly sandwitching the lamp between your ample chests as she pressed her lips to yours. A small whimpered moan of surprise escaping your lips. "Let me show you what else I know." Sharing the lamp between you and tasting your own arousal on your tongue immediately relit the fires between your legs and ignited another session of passion.

Your first thought pulling up to your house after a long day of work was that Katy must have been late to pick up her gift if her car was still out front. Your second thought was curiosity about the extra car that belonged to the delivery driver trapped (unbeknownst to you) in your mother's clutches. As you opened up the front door to your house, you were greeted by a half naked delivery driver making a mad dash past you to his car. He sped off, not even bothering to collect the money for his deliver. As you turned back towards the inside of your house, your eight foot tall mother exited her room, covered in nothing but a bed sheet. "I wasn't done with him." She pouted.

"What's all that noise?" Your sister said groggily, squeezing her twelve foot tall frame out of her doorway. She had to crouch next to your mom as to not dent the ceiling.

"Oh fuck. Des, what happened? You were supposed to give that to Katy, not use it!"

"Oh, I gave it to her alright, she said sardonically as a ten foot tall Katy followed your sister out of the bedroom. Seeing your twelve foot tall sister, your ten foot tall girlfriend, and your eight foot tall mother was too much for you to bare. You fainted at the sight, and the gaggle of girls giggled about what to do with you next.

[i-hope-this-is-a-phase]

Insult to Injury

Homeward Bound by Zuesue for @honelle56 (T | WIP | 3k)

#bathing/washing #hurt/comfort Dream and George want to go home. They find it together.

Thank you to everyone who commented and shared my fic yesterday! Here's the penultimate chapter.

Happy reading!

(Fic under the cut for those who prefer reading on Tumblr)

The nurses wake George every couple of hours. They say they’re monitoring his vitals, but Dream knows enough to understand they’re making sure his concussion isn't getting worse.

George is accommodating, but Dream knows the lack of sleep is getting to him. He isn’t grouchy to the nurses (of course he isn’t) but by the fifth check-in, he’s demanding Dream for a smoothie.

“It’s six a.m. George.”

“Gimme smoothie.” His voice is smothered by the pillow he’s placed over his eyes. The lights are still dimmed, but maybe the headache is getting worse from the lack of sleep. “I want a smoothie.”

“George—”

“Now, Dream.”

Dream sighs, but he stands up from his chair. He stretches. “Anything else you want, my King?”

“No, that will be all peasant.” George shoos him away, and Dream chuckles to himself while he goes in search of the cafeteria.

If he’s being honest, Dream hasn’t slept the entire night. The chair was too uncomfortable, plus he’s been too busy researching concussion recovery and texting Sapnap all the things they need to buy. He’s sent Sapnap at least a dozen articles on Discord of various products money can buy. And, his schedule is already fucked, so what’s one more sleepless night if he can make George feel a little more comfortable when he gets home.

“So, good news and bad news,” Dream announces as he walks back into George’s room.

George rolls over and flips him off.

“Bad news: there were no smoothies in the cafeteria.”

“Ugh.” George starts sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “Okay.”

“But, good news is,” Dream says, producing two smoothies from behind his back, “you can apparently fucking DoorDash the hospital.”

George laughs as Dream hands him his smoothie. The two drink in silence for a moment. It’s good, the smoothie. Dream doesn’t often go for the sugary smoothies, but he didn’t feel like ordering something else. Besides, he gets to share the experience with George, which counts as a win in his book.

“Has Sapnap texted yet?” George asks.

Dream thinks of the last text he had gotten from Sapnap at 3 a.m., reading dude shut the fuck up and go to sleep. “Uh—well.” He takes a big slurp of his smoothie. “He hasn’t texted if the house is ready yet.”

George grumbles. “We can’t leave yet even if it was,” Dream adds. “The nurses haven't come by to discharge you.”

“But I’m fine, Dream. Take me home now.”

Dream takes another sip from his smoothie as he shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says. “Not until the nurses discharge you.”

“Now.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“No.”

“Dreeeeeaaaam,” George whines. He takes another big sip of his smoothie before putting it down on the bedside tray and flopping dramatically onto the bed. He pouts for a moment, but then he stops. He looks up at Dream with wide, soft eyes, and practically flutters his eyelashes. “Please?” he pleads, giving him an innocent look. “Ask? For me?”

Dream sighs again. No wonder Sapnap says I don’t have a backbone. “I’ll…go talk to the nurses.”

“Thank you!” George smiles, the small, real one he only gives Dream (and sometimes Sapnap), and when Dream leaves the room to look for the nurse, Dream thinks maybe it’s alright that his soft spot is for George.

It takes a few more hours (much to George’s chagrin), but the nurses eventually clear George to go home. Dream has bought George a pair of women’s sunglasses from the shop (“They have the best coverage and darkest lens George!”), so with George’s eyes closed to block the sun, Dream is able to lead him by the arm to the car without a problem.

Driving back is a weird experience. Dream feels himself being extra careful on the road, even though it wasn’t really a car accident that got George injured. He’s mindful of every bump, every turn on the road. He can’t help but wonder if George is thinking about it too, or if he’s just being paranoid.

When they get home, George says he feels gross and wants to take a shower. And before he can stop himself, Dream blurts out: “Why don’t you use my bathroom.”

George turns to look at him. They’re still sitting in the garage, waiting for Sapnap to confirm the lights are off or dimmed in the house, and Dream curses himself for starting this conversation in a confined space where he can’t run away. “Uh,” George says. “Why?”

“Well—you see, my bathroom has an adjustable light switch.”

George stares at him. Dream fidgets with his hands. “I know,” George says. “Mine does too.”

“Yeah—well, I also have candles if you don’t want that, and bath bombs and, um, oils—not for that!” he exclaims at George’s face. “They’re for scents, essential oil shit. You shouldn’t use them for—I don’t use them for jerking off, and you don’t have to either, wait—”

“Dream.” George is full-on grinning now, and Dream’s face burns. “Who said anything about jerking off?”

“...I did. But you don’t—don’t have to, unless you want to, but then don’t use those, I have other stuff—not that you are going to, y’know, but if you wanted to, I can get you—”

George is full-on laughing now, and Dream feels helplessly embarrassed.

“Shut up! It’s been a day, I don’t know what you want.”

“And you think I need to jerk off?”

“Oh my god—”

“Fine, okay, I’ll use your stupid bath,” George says. “Will that make you happy?”

“Yes.” Dream nods, then pauses. “Will you need—”

“No, Dream.”

Dream’s phone buzzes with a text. He immediately grabs it, glad to have a distraction from this conversation. Never mind that he caused it. “It’s Nick,” he says. “We’re clear to go in. I’ll uh.” He gestures vaguely. “I’ll get it prepared while you grab your stuff.”

“Okay.” George is still smiling. Dream nods again, and gets out of the car, opening George’s door before walking toward the exit. Before he shuts the door behind him, he hears George call out, “Dream?”

Dream turns back around.

“Don’t grab the lube.”

He feels his face heat, and he can hear George’s laugh echoing behind him as walks away.

Goddamnit.

About ten minutes later, Dream has the bath prepared, with candles placed along the counter and floor. He’s using the cheap plastic candles because the real ones he has would flicker, and he’s not sure if those would hurt George’s eyes or not.

There’s a knock on the door, and Dream looks up from where he’s fiddling with the bath bombs. “Come in!” he calls.

George walks in, holding a towel and pajamas. He stops. “Dream,” he says. “What the fuck.”

“Okay, look.” He gestures at the quite substantial number of products on the ground and around the bathroom. “I didn’t know what you wanted—”

“So you bought out the drugstore?”

“Shut up, there’s not that much.”

George places his clothing and towel on the counter and walks over to the assortment of bath supplies. “Dream, this is crazy.” He picks up two bottles and squints at them. “Why do you have two shampoos?”

“Stop that, you’re not supposed to be reading right now.” He grabs the bottles out of his hand. “The fans send me products, and I don’t want them to go to waste.”

“Why don’t you just give them to your sister?”

“Wow, can’t believe GeorgeNotFound is sexist.” George freezes at that remark, and Dream backtracks. “No, wait, don’t listen to that. Dumb joke.” He clears his throat. “I do give them to my sisters. And my mom. But, some of the stuff is good, and I do occasionally use some.”

George rolls his eyes, but he gets up. “Whatever Dream. Just get me the normal stuff then.”

Dream scoffs at that, but he grabs a fairly typical shampoo and soap and puts it closer to the tub. He grabs one of the seven bath bombs he has (he likes them okay?), and places it on the edge of the tub.

“You just put it in the water and it’ll—why are you shirtless?”

George looks at him like he’s crazy. “Because I’m about to take a bath?”

“Yeah—but I’m still here.”

“Well, no one asked you to be.”

Dream’s face heats, but he stops messing with the bath and gets up. “Well, then.” He waves his hand. “I’ll get out of your way.” He heads to the door.

“Wait.”

Dream looks back over his shoulder. George has turned to where he’s standing. He shifts his weight to his other foot. Mumbles something.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” George says, “you could stay if you wanted.”

Everything gets quiet in Dream’s head. “Huh?”

George does a half-shrug with his shoulder, but he shifts his weight again. Nervous. “Well, you smell as bad as me right now.”

“Wha—I don’t smell.”

“—and you didn’t shower last night because you were with me, so.” He looks up into Dream’s eyes, and something must give him the wrong impression because George begins to backtrack. “It’s not like I’m forcing you to stay, Dream, you can say no.”

“I mean—I don’t.” Dream feels off-kilter. “Do you even want me to stay?”

George scoffs at that. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want you to stay?”

“Well—okay, that’s true.” He thinks about it for a moment.

Since George has arrived, their relationship has taken some…interesting turns.

He should’ve expected as much. His friendship with George has never been typical, and he should have anticipated that, on George’s first night home, he would end up in Dream’s bed.

“How are you still awake,” Dream had asked when George came barging in after the fireworks.

“Can’t keep up with my stamina?” George had teased, which had made Dream choke on a laugh.

“You’re so fucking weird George.” Dream had laid back down on the bed, and a moment later, he had felt George lifting the sheets up and climbing in as well.

There was a beat of silence, and then the bed shifted as George turned to face him. “Is this okay?” he had asked.

Dream had turned his head as well to look at him. He could feel the way the bed dipped closer, the extra warmth from another body in the sheets. ”Uh, yeah,” Dream had said. “It’s—um, like we’re sleepcalling, but IRL, right?”

George had scoffed, and Dream had felt the air on his face. Not exactly like sleepcalling, he had thought, but Dream couldn’t say it wasn’t a welcome change. “You’re so dumb,” George had replied, but even in the dark, Dream could see his smile.

It had only taken a few moments more for them to fall asleep, and even though it wasn’t a regular occurrence for them to share, boundaries between them had never adjusted to “normal ass friendship boundaries,” as Sapnap put it after he caught them napping together on the couch.

“I can, um, stay, yeah."

George smiled. “Alright.” George started pulling down his pants, and Dream immediately averted his eyes. “Get naked then.”

This isn’t weird, he tells himself. They’ve shared a bed. They’ve cuddled for hours at a time. They even kissed twice: once on New Year’s, when the high of finally being home and being able to embrace the new year together ended with a soft peck and a firm hug; another after a drunken night in January when they were, once again, in love with life and in love being together. Not, together together, and not in love with each other. Just very happy to share a life. Together.

(Even if that night had also ended in a bed, snuggled warm and close.)

It honestly won’t even be the first time he had been naked around George. Their house had an open-door policy that included bathrooms: if George needed something, he would often walk in while Drem was changing or in the bath.

And even though Dream tried to be respectful of George’s space when he first arrived, George allowed him to see. Whether that was inviting Dream in while he was taking a shit, or it was insisting Dream stay by his side while the doctor gave him steroids, there was little Dream had not seen of George’s body.

And yet, this felt different. More intense. More intimate.

Dream pulls his hoodie over his head and shucks off his sweatpants. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees George getting into the bath, so as soon as he’s naked, he walks over to join.

Only to come across a problem.

“Where do I go?”

George looks at him as if he is losing it. “Inside the bathtub.”<

“Yeah—but like, where do I sit?” If he sits on George's opposite side, their legs would be too close together to be comfortable, and this is supposed to help George relax, not make him more uncomfortable. Maybe this is a bad idea, maybe he should leave—

“You’re gonna sit behind me. Obviously.”

“That is—that is not obvious!” he sputters. “It’s perfectly reasonable to ask where I’m going to sit if we’re two men sharing a bath.”

“So,” George says. “It’d be different if we were heterosexual;?”

“...what!?”

George dissolves into giggles. “Wow, I can’t believe Dream is homophobic.”

“I don’t—I’m not—whatever, scoot over.” George moves forward so Dream can climb in behind him, and, suddenly, they’re sharing a bath.

t’s still a bit tight. They’re two grown men, after all, and the bath was built for one occupant, not two.

But, it’s nice.

Really nice.

It’s a tad slippery. They don’t smell the greatest. Dream’s dick is literally against George’s back. It should be awkward.

But all those facts aren’t what Dream is focusing on.

George is a solid weight against his chest. He’s not that small, but against Dream, he feels small. Like Dream can hold him here, keep him safe from the world.

His arms are around George’s waist because of the position, and he can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. If he wanted to, he could put his hands on George’s stomach and feel the softness of his tummy and the muscles beneath. If he went lower, he could feel so much more.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to. Not right now. This is a tender moment. A quiet moment. Right now, he wants to hold his best friend and relax after their ordeal.

And so, he does just that.

He reaches over and places the bath bomb he picked into the water. It fizzles as it dissolves, and George reaches out to touch it, delighted. While he’s distracted, Dream pours some shampoo into his hand. George’s hair is already wet, so he lathers his hands up and begins rubbing circles into George’s scalp.

He will go to his grave before he ever tells George, but when George had gotten his hair for him, he wondered what it would feel like under his hands. At the had rationalized it as loneliness. Maybe it was, in part. The pre face-reveal times were not without loneliness.

But, another part understood that he wanted to know because he wanted to know everything about George.

Because they’re best friends.

It isn’t an extraordinary experience. It’s just washing hair. However, as he’s rubbing the shampoo into George’s scalp, it soothes him in an almost intrinsic way.

He’s taking care of George. He’s making his head, the injured part of him, feel better. He’s making his best friend happy.

It isn’t long before he’s gathering water and pouring it over George’s head (making sure to shield his eyes first of course). Before he’s able to start on his body, George asks, “Can I wash your hair too?”

“Uh.” He can’t think of a reason to decline. “Sure.”

George grabs the bottle from the side and turns to face Dream. The water gets dangerously close to spilling out, so Dream helps him move until George is perched on Dream’s thighs. He’s looking into George’s eyes without needing to look down, for once.

“You’re so small,” he tells him, and George smacks Dream’s head. “Ow!”

“I am not.” George pours some shampoo into his hands and begins lathering it between his fingers.

“That’s not fair—I can’t even hit you back.”

There’s a beat of silence.

George stops soaping his hands.

“Well,” he finally says. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“George—“

“Tilt your head toward me,” he interrupts Dream before he can say…something. He obliges, giving his head as an offering.

George takes his time getting the shampoo into the roots of his hair, then gently applies the rest while making sure he doesn’t pull on his curls. It’s more methodical than what Dream did, but he’s as thorough. He's good at taking care of Dream.

He's always good at taking care of Dream.

A minute later, he’s scooping water to rinse out the suds, brushing the hair out of Dream’s eyes when he’s done. Their eyes meet for a moment, and for a brief instant, Dream thinks, He’s perfect.

The rest of the bath goes without incident. They take turns using the body wash on each other, rinsing with the bath water, and shifting positions for better angles. It’s easy. It’s simple. It’s Dream and George, of course it would be.

They get out of the bath, taking turns drying the other off before facing away as they get changed. They don’t need to, they’ve already seen everything. But it feels right in the moment.

They make their way back into the bedroom, and Dream offers to nap together since they didn’t get much sleep.

“We can watch Better Call Saul with the stuff blind people use so you can understand.”

“I have a concussion, I’m not blind, Dream.”

“Yeah, but you can’t look at the screen, so.” George looks incredulously at him, so Dream changes tactics. “Or, we could just talk. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

George gives him the soft smile again, but he shakes his head. “I’m good.” He reaches out and grasps Dream’s hand. Squeezes. One. Two. Three times. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, alright?”

Dream nods. George turns and leaves the room.

And even though George isn’t with him, the bed feels warm when Dream falls asleep.

[catslvrr]

heaven sent — 00. prologue

previous | next

You were never the type to believe in superstitions.

But as you stared at the document you had open, completely blank (excluding your name) with the cursor blinking, as if mocking you, you started to seriously consider Minji’s suggestion.

(“Bro, you will not believe what happened to me today.”

“I’m not sure if I want to know,” you said, noisily slurping up your instant noodles.

“No, trust me, you do. So yesterday, I saw this post on Twitter that said if you write down a wish on a piece of paper three times, put it under your pillow, and then recite that wish at exactly 11:11, it’ll come true.”

You barely flinched as she slammed the table.

“I wished for a hundred bucks. And guess what?” She grinned smugly as she waved a bill in your face. “I found this lying on the floor before class.”

“So what?” You shrugged. “It’s just a lucky coincidence.”

“No, bro,” she whined. “It’s real. You should try it. Get yourself a girlfriend or something, you’re so grumpy all the time.”

“Even if it is true,” you glared at Minji as she reached over to eat some of your noodles. “Why would you wish for only a hundred bucks? You should’ve asked for a million dollars or something, dumbass.”

“I didn’t know it was real until today,” she puffed her cheeks, then proceeded to slam her head on the table. “I probably wasted my one wish.”

She looked up after a minute and pouted. “Can you please wish for it?”

“Find someone else to do it,” you waved your hand dismissively, making your way back to your room. “Enjoy the noodles, you scab. I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Your loss!” She called out, mouth full of (your) noodles. “I’m the one a hundred bucks richer.”)

You slumped back in your chair in defeat, running your fingers through your hair.

I’m running on two hours of sleep, and I’m never gonna finish this essay anyway. What do I have to lose?

You ripped a piece of scrap from the DoorDash takeaway bag sitting on your desk. Uncapping a pen with your teeth, you thought about what to write.

What the hell do I wish for? My essay to magically write itself? Nah, that’d be a waste of a wish.

After a few minutes of pondering, you messily scribbled three lines: ‘I want to be happy. I want to be happy. I want to be happy.’

You glanced at your laptop. Huh, it’s 11pm. Perfect timing.

You slid the note under your pillow and flopped onto your bed, scrolling through TikTok to pass the time.

As soon as the clock hit 11:11, you sat up.

I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

You sighed, scratching your head before saying,

“I want to be happy.”

Your breath hitched in anticipation.

“...”

To no one’s surprise, absolutely nothing happened. You scoffed, falling back onto the bed, rubbing your face in frustration.

Of course nothing would happen. Why did I think it would work?

You shut your eyes, feeling exhaustion wash over you. Whatever happens to that essay is up to God now.

You lay still for a few minutes, eventually tossing and turning as you tried to sleep. But all you could think about was the stupid essay. You groaned as you sat up again, grabbing your laptop.

“Fuck uni.”

At least this is my last assignment before the break.

You ended up staying up all the way to five in the morning, downing an ungodly amount of energy drinks in a desperate attempt to finish off the essay.

You woke up to the sound of I Like to Move It from Madagascar blasting in your ear.

(Minji thought it would be funny to change your alarm ringtone to it, and you never bothered to change it back.)

You groaned, flipping over to check your phone to see no new notifications. You stared vacantly at your ceiling as you contemplated your life choices.

I got one hour of sleep. Why do 7am classes exist? Whoever came up with that idea should be tried for crimes against humanity.

Eyes half open, you shuffled your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth, passing Minji’s room on the way. Her door was left ajar and she was nowhere to be seen. I’ll never understand how she wakes up every morning to go on a run.

Just as you were about to enter the bathroom, you noticed a girl in your living room. She was focused on a bookshelf, a curious expression on her face.

Who the fuck is that?

You rubbed your eyes and squinted. She was still standing there, running her fingers along the spines of the books.

I must be seriously sleep-deprived if I’m hallucinating a very pretty girl. Yeah, no, not doing this today. It’s the last class of the semester anyway. That 7am class can shove a stick up its ass.

You briskly walked back to your room and face-planted on your bed, instantly knocking out.

previous | next

[donistheone]

The Scale

Summary: Eric, a recent college grad with a healthy appetite, is desperately trying to keep himself underneath the threshold of “obesity”. As he religiously keeps track of his weight and works out, he still craves junk food and his clothes are no longer fitting properly. Something isn’t adding up…

Eric threw himself down onto his old leather couch and turned on the TV, sighing with relief after his long day. He had started the day at his doctor’s office for his annual check-up, which hadn’t gone well. He knew that sitting in his office snacking had caught up with his waistline, and he no longer had the muscular and fit body he’d been so proud of in college. 

It had been a year since Eric graduated with his degree in business, and he had recently replaced all of his 32’ pants with 34s. What he hadn’t realized was that over the past year, he had packed quite a lot of weight onto his 6’1” frame. Eric was devastated that morning to hear the doctor tell him he weighed 220 pounds, 30 pounds heavier than he had been only a year ago. The doctor had been direct with Eric, smiling as he told him that he had gained too much weight too quickly, and that with a BMI of 29.0, he was tantalizingly close to a BMI of 30.0, or obesity. The doctor had happily informed Eric that he needed to take action to lose weight or else, at the rapid rate he was growing, he would cross this terrifying threshold very soon.

Sitting on his couch, Eric looked down at his belly, which peeked out in the gaps between the buttons of his strained size L shirt. His stomach growled, and Eric frowned. “Shut up!” he muttered to himself crossly. He needed to lose weight, and he wasn’t allowing himself to be hungry. After his appointment, he had skipped his usual breakfast order of 2 egg McMuffins from McDonalds, and he went into work with a determination to not snack at all. He ordered a salad for lunch, and had worked out for the first time in a year after his shift had finished. On the way home, he bought healthy ingredients and a scale to keep track of his weight. He wasn’t going to allow himself to cross the threshold to obesity, no matter what.

Eric had watched 2 episodes of his favorite show when he decided he had to eat something. After all, he was used to constant snacking, and he had barely eaten all day. He paused his show and walked over to the kitchen and threw together a low calorie salad with cucumber, lettuce, and tomato. “I feel like a fucking rabbit” he thought to himself as he nibbled a piece of lettuce. “Do normal people eat like this??”. 

Having not satiated his hunger at all, Eric miserably rose up from the couch and walked to the bathroom. He timidly stepped on his new scale, praying that all of the suffering he had endured throughout the day had at least been worth it. The scale displayed 219 in glowing red letters. “I’ve already lost a pound!” Eric shouted, pleased with himself. Just then, his stomach once again growled in protest. It seemed to have a mind of its own, and Eric could no longer tolerate the hunger pains. He remembered he had leftover pizza from last night, and while it wasn’t the healthiest option, he couldn’t stand the idea of eating more vegetables. He walked over to the fridge and opened the door, but then realized with dismay that he had finished the entire Domino’s XL pizza last night. Ravenous and desperate, Eric opened the DoorDash app on his phone and ordered his usual double cheeseburger meal from Wendy’s. 

Half an hour later surrounded by burger wrappers and an empty 64oz soda cup, Eric’s urgent hunger had been satiated, but he had made a terrible mistake. Panicking, Eric got up and looked at himself in the mirror, burger grease dribbling down his chin. His chest was puffy, and his gut was distended, jutting out far in front of him. He quickly stepped on his new scale, and sighed with annoyance when it read 221. Some quick googling informed him that his BMI was still under 30.0.  “Maybe I gained a couple of pounds back already, but at least I’m still technically not obese” he told himself. 

Eric woke up the next morning and immediately made his way to the bathroom and stepped on his scale. 220. “Ha! Looks like sleeping is a great way to lose weight!” He smirked at himself in the mirror and raised his arm into a muscle pump, ignoring the slight drooping of flab that had been solid muscle less than a year ago. “We’re going to really start losing weight today!” His 34” inch jeans obscenely clinging to his ass, he walked to his car, got in, and turned on the engine. 

At work, Eric decided that to avoid a repeat of the manic frenzy of eating that had happened last night, he would allow himself to have a few of his usual snacks to tame his hunger. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a few Twinkies and a family size bag of Doritos, munching slowly while he filled out his reports. He stopped by the gym on the way home, taking no notice of how his belly slightly eased its way out from underneath his tight gym clothes as he lifted weights. 

After his exhausting workout, Eric flopped onto his couch and picked at a salad. Putting the mostly uneaten meal aside, he weighed himself in the bathroom. 222. “How is this possible!” He yelped. He had been trying so hard to lose weight and avoid obesity, but it was so challenging! He didn’t even understand how he had gained weight over the course of the day, since he had only had a few snacks, and he had even done a thorough weight lifting routine! Defeated, he got onto his computer and calculated that he would be considered obese at a weight of 228 pounds. Six measly pounds lay between him and obesity. He sat in front of his computer for a moment, miserable and deep in thought. He gently rubbed his grumbling belly, his hairy paunch briefly visible. He then abruptly ordered an XL Domino’s pizza on his phone. He couldn’t stand being hungry, and a little treat wouldn’t affect his weight too much. As long as he weighed less than 228 pounds, he told himself, then he couldn’t be officially obese. 

After the pizza, Eric had demolished a half gallon of cookie dough ice cream in a particularly gluttonous moment, and then followed it with a dozen donuts. He had gone to sleep happy and absolutely stuffed to the brim. That morning, he had woken up, taken in the evidence of the previous night scattered across the floor, and cursed himself for allowing such a feeding frenzy to happen yet again. He had then reluctantly weighed himself, expecting the worst. 

222 was the number that flashed up on the scale. “Holy hell!” he thought merrily. “I was sure that I would have gained at least a couple of pounds after what happened last night!” The scale revealed that he hadn’t gained a single pound. It was a miracle! Joyous, he went into his closet and picked out a large pink polo shirt and his new favorite 34” brown chino pants. He was so thrilled to not have gained any weight that he didn’t notice how his thick thighs rubbed together viciously, straining against the seams of his pants. He didn’t notice how his belly peeked out of his polo shirt ever so slightly, or the new small layer of fat beginning to form underneath his chin. 

---

Eric walked into work two weeks later feeling ecstatic. The scale still read 222 pounds, even though he had completely abandoned his new diet of salad two weeks ago. Clearly, his workouts lifting weights at the gym were enough to balance out the calories of his extravagant evening meals. He binged on his favorite foods every night, but the scale continued to not change. He did have to buy a few new XL shirts and some 36” chinos, but when you build so much muscle, of course you might need to go up a size or two! He had found a way to conquer the looming threshold of obesity. He slowly lowered himself into his seat, not noticing the way his ass filled up his chair more than it used to. “Why would anyone want to eat salad when they could avoid obesity by eating anything they want?” he thought to himself smugly as he scarfed down another family size bag of Doritos. He leaned over to his phone and ordered a burger from Wendy’s for lunch. He was hungry, and he didn’t want to starve, after all!

---

About a year later, Eric lumbered into the doctor’s office for his annual check-up. His 44” jeans slipped down his wide legs and he quickly yanked them back up, the action making his entire body jiggle. His belly flopped out of the bottom of his new 3XL shirt. He had continued to eat whatever he wanted and lifted weights every day. Sure, he was lifting less than he had a few months ago and he wasn’t doing as many reps as he used to, but at least he still hadn’t become obese! After a few months of his new weight maintenance routine, his scale still reported a weight of 222 pounds, and he eventually stopped weighing himself since the weight never changed. 

The doctor looked up, and gaped in shock. “Eric?!” he cried. “Is that you?”. Eric looked at the doctor and frowned. “Yes, of course it’s me!” he replied. The doctor stared at Eric for a moment, looked at his medical report, blinked, and then shook his head. “Get on the scale,” he ordered. Eric proudly stepped on the scale, his hairy belly grazing the wall, and smiled at the doctor. “I’ve been on a diet and working out over the last year. I haven’t lost any weight, exactly, but I think you’ll be pleased nevertheless!”. The doctor laughed and grabbed Eric’s protruding belly. “Pleased? Remember last time you were here, I informed you that you were nearing obesity and you needed to get in shape? Well, it seems like you certainly have been busy since our last meeting.” The doctor smirked and pointed at the reading on the scale.

340

“A BMI of 44.9!” the doctor bellowed. Eric turned towards the doctor, belly and tits wobbling, and mouth agape in surprise. “But….but…. “ The doctor smacked Eric’s ass. “Yes, that’s a big butt alright!” he cackled. Eric’s cheeks burned red as he realized he had gained a whopping 120 pounds over the last year. All of those binges had made him gain so much weight! And he had foolishly thought that he hadn’t gained any weight at all… 

“But the scale said I still weighed 222 pounds!” he blurted out. The doctor looked at him and sighed. “Did you remember to change the batteries, fatty?”

The End

[hyperazraphael]

So I had a FUN LITTLE DISCOVERY about Facebook today!

So today I decided to go ahead and private as much as my Facebook as possible. Why? Because the less I have to interact with it, the better. Literally the only reason I don't delete it is because I use it to keep in contact with my D&D group who won't use Discord for some cursed reason and I do have some old memories on there with a couple of friends that are nostalgic. And while I was referring to an article which had some steps for how to do so, I came across this little gem:

To which I said, "What do you mean OFF Facebook activity??? What OFF Facebook activity would FACEBOOK be tracking???" So I followed those steps and went in there and pulled up the list of information it had stored and LO and fucking behold! Apparently Facebook has been tracking a BUNCH of shit that I've been doing online EVEN though my Facebook is registered with my old-ass hotmail account and almost everything I do online is through my modern gmail. Also, I VERY INTENTIONALLY don't have FB installed on my phone, so it is VERY much separated from anything I do. And not just my searches, oh no no. It has been monitoring a WHOLE BUNCH of fun stuff including tracking my doordash orders, etsy orders and searches, shopping on zenintcg, the fact that we have insurance through Allstate, even my old fucking HINGE dating profile which I haven't even USED since like 2018 but apparently they've been getting updates on as recently as last year.

Seriously the ONLY thing Facebook should know about on this list is Grand Summoners, because it used to use FB to log in. NOTHING ELSE had anything to do with my hotmail, or FB. This is all information that FB obtained independently without my consent.

SO THAT'S FAN-TUCKING-FASTIC. I'm just... such a fan of that!

So for any of y'all who you know, DON'T want this corporation who is known for mishandling and selling user information to have information that it obtained about you without your consent outside of its platform, I suggest you follow those steps above to disable that. Currently it takes you to a secondary page where you you will need to follow these additional steps to Disconnect from Future Activity:

So yeah maybe spread the word because this is sure news to me and BOY AM I PISSED. Like I expect this from Google. Google tracking my searches or whatever makes sense in a hell on earth capitalist society way. Amazon tracking what you search on Alexa (or say within the same room as Alexa), sure. But Facebook finding my information even though it's associated with a different email address and not through its platform? THAT is just insane and malicious to me. I feel like a tin hat lunatic that's like "the social media's secretly trackin' me and stealin' my information!" except this time they actually ARE.

[jaebeomsbitch]

Hi! Pls could you write a Roman fic with the following prompt: 36.“i know i said we couldn’t do this anymore, but i need you. please.”? Thank You!

Scotch and Tears

Summary: Comforting Romey and hurting him at the same time or Roman comes to you needing release and the painful reminder that he'll never be loved because he's broken.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Hurt, Crying, Jerking off Roman...

A/N: Not edited and written at 2 AM like every other fic of mine. I never ever intend to make this one so sad but.... Romey is just a sad little boy trapped in a dog cage :( GN!reader

You don’t know who you expected on your front door but it wasn’t him. Maybe a DoorDash delivery person or another Amazon package but not Roman Roy. His hands intertwined in front of him, that cocky smirk of his face. 

“If it isn’t my favorite whore” he says, a little too boisterous for your liking. 

“Welcome in” you say sarcastically as he bulldozes his way inside your apartment despite his small stature. 

“God if I thought you dressed shitty… this is a fucking rat-infested dying Victorian orphans type of shitty” he says, his hazel eyes analyzing every single detail of your apartment. You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorframe of your small living room. You’d never have the type of money he had but you were comfortable. More than the dozens of New Yorkers that couldn’t heat their apartments through winter or the ones that had eleven roommates. 

“Why are you here Romulus?” You ask in a cool toned manner. His head snapping towards yours, he hadn’t heard that name in a while. Not since… well not since his father died. 

“What, not happy to see an old pal?” He grins, taking off his little leather gloves. He makes a face as he uses the sleeve of his jacket to clean your little side table placing the gloves on it.

“Why are you here?” You ask stalking forward. 

“Don’t make me ask you again Romulus” you say with a bit more force in your tone. Roman gulps, those big doe eyes looking up at you with a mixture of fear and something else. That underlying swirl of emotion you were all too used to seeing many years ago. 

“Don’t-“ he says, trying to act strong but his voice slightly wavers under your watchful gaze. He tried to busy himself by taking his coat off. 

“I saw he died” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest standing toe to toe with Roman. He grunts in acknowledgment, afraid of opening his mouth. Afraid that the pent up tears will come crashing down the fragile walls he built. Because truthfully Roman hadn’t been coping. He thought it would get better with time. 

Thought a shrink would fix him, but they never did. No matter how expensive, how experienced they didn’t understand Roman, not in the way you do. So he comes crawling back every time. The pain and loss of memory crushing him into a little ball. 

Your fingers reach out to him holding his bicep lightly but he shrugs you off almost violently. He hates himself for being back here, for needing you. 

“Yeah he’s dead, should’ve gone a danced in his chew toy mausoleum when you had the chance” he tries to joke but it comes out slightly strained, at least to your ears. 

You circle him, reaching for the expensive bottle of scotch he gave you as a parting gift all those years ago. Popping in some ice cubes already prepared for his little digs but surprisingly nothing comes out. He gulps it down like he’s hasn’t had a drink in weeks. He quickly pours another glass taking that one back wincing at the burn

“Slow down,” you say sternly

“I’ll- I’ll fucking buy you another one” he immediately fires looking at you with an intensity. You can tell he hates being here. Well, hates that he has to be here again. He’d been okay for the most part but then every single person he loved had died or left him.

You silently take a seat on your couch, sipping on the scotch savoring the complexities on your tongue. Roman grips the glass tightly, hands shaking. 

“I-“ his voice wavers, that first sense of vulnerability sinking deep into Roman’s bones and it fucking disgusts him. It rips him to shreds that he can’t keep his voice steady. 

“I know I said-” he continues, filling up another glass. Watching the little ice cubes swirl in the amber liquid. 

“I couldn’t… we couldn’t… please,” he says looking at you with those big puppy dog eyes, all wet, as he tries to hold back his tears. 

“C’mere” you say softly spreading your legs and downing your scotch. You place the empty glass on the side table over his gloves as Roman shuffles towards you like a scolded child. 

His heart sinks deep into his gut. The vile thoughts filling up his head, screaming at him not to do it but, he sits on your lap with shaky breath. Your fingers find the familiar path towards his knees. 

Just like that the words dim and his breath picks up. The warmth of your palms seeping into his slacks, you knew that if you could see his eyes you’d see the swirl in them. The pink, smokey, tendrils of lust churning in his brain. 

It wasn’t that Roman hated you, he didn’t. In some sick twisted Roman way he loved you. You were the only person who could touch him, the only person who could untuck his fresh pressed dress shirt and undo his slacks. The only one who could slide his zipper down without him immediately going into a manic state. But after the comfort always came the guilt. That’s what he hated, he hated the crashing of sadness and despair pulling him down after your touch was over. 

Hated that he had to imagine it was your hands on him. That he yearned for you but you never sought him out. Not once, not even after he’d wined and dined you. Not after he let you into his fucked up head. 

Of course Roman never knew the truth. It hurt. It hurt seeing him cry, it hurt seeing him broken beyond repair. You take solace in the fact that you were the only one that brought him relief even if it was momentary. So you press your face into the line of his back, fingers taking his leaking cock out. Roman’s practiced spit falling onto his cock, his eyes closed shut not wanting to look at it. Not right now. 

He hated you for abandoning him. Hated the way he instantly moans when your warm hand wraps around his cock. The pool of heat burning deep in his gut.

“Fuck” he moans at your slow strokes. You wanted to prolong it. Smell his clean scent a little longer, feel the flex of his thighs on yours, memorize the hitch of his breath but Roman hasn’t been able to get off in a long time. 

His breath heavy as more profanities leave this pink lips of his. 

“Oh fuck” he groans, fingers digging into his slacks. You swirl your palm over his sensitive head, his toes curling in his dress shoes, jaw slacked. 

“Fuck I’m- so fucking disgusting” he swallows his spit. Your other hand working at his balls, rolling the skin in between your fingers matching your strokes. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck fuck fuck fuck” he whispers hurriedly, fingers clenching the fabric harder, his head hanging in submission. Giving into the pleasure, his stubbled jaw pressing into the pin-striped light-blue dress shirt. 

You missed him. You missed his stupid quips. Missed the way his dumb little grin would show the dimple on his cheek. You missed that stupid idiot even when he was insulting you. 

“G-god” he chokes.

“Just me” you chuckle, stroking him faster knowing his telltale signs like the back of your hand. You could feel his thighs clenching under your forearms, his back tightening, and his hips trying desperately to follow your movements. 

He finally comes as he heaves for breath. A strangled noise leaving his throat as he ruins his slacks. All the pent up cum spilling on his stomach. You stroke his cock until he’s a whimpering mess. The back of his head tilted back pressing into your shoulder. 

You wanted to hug him. You wanted to tell him everything would be okay but you know he’d only push you off. You hold your tongue as he slowly sits up pushing your hands away and tucking himself back into his pants. He swallows hard, trying to busy himself with wiping the cum off with a napkin. 

You keep your lips sealed when you see his face. That anguished look in his eyes, another painful reminder of why you didn’t do this anymore but his little ‘please’ broke you down. He leaves mumbling some stupid line about you being a whore. His heart aching as he tries to straighten out his wrinkled slacks. 

Your heart hurts, it hurts so much but this is what Roman did. He used and abused because he was broken. You could never fix him not even if you tried but what would happen when you found a partner? When you wouldn’t let him into your apartment again?

The next day another bottle of scotch sits at your doorstep, you tuck it away into the same cupboard, holding his glass as a tear slips down your cheek. 

[emmebearpaw]

Hello. I've worked in a grocery store for a while, I shop for people and take it out to their cars (this is my 3rd summer in a row...). I know lots of weird types of people at the grocery store. Please allow me to tell you what kind of person various characters are at the grocery store. Fandoms: Reverse 1999, Genshin Impact (R1999) Regulus is the Doordash driver who checks in to pick up groceries and then goes MIA. She shows up 5 minutes later to get them with a Dr. Papper and no cart and you just have to look her dead in the eyes with 2 dozen bags around you and say "You need a cart."

(GI) Furina is this one guy at my old store who was always the last one to show up on Saturdays. Tired. Easy. Does not feel like chatting right now. She's here to get Mac and Cheese and some Wine and then she is going to bed. (R1999) Kanjira, Erick, Balloon Party and Mondlicht are the group of unsupervised kids that are causing a Problem. (R1999) Oliver Fog and Eagle are the inexplicably unsupervised kids there at odd hours that ask you where a specific item is and are a joy to have. No problem. Inexplicably looking for a block of good cheese. (GI) Lyney, Lynette and Freminet are the kind of people shopping who employees don't even notice until they get to check out. They are sent to the store with a list. They plan out an ideal route like its a fucking heist. They are in and out of there in 20 minutes with the power of teamwork and planning.

(GI) Baizhu does carside pickup. Only buys organic foods. Qiqi doesn't get goldfish she gets Annie's crackers, that sort of thing. In a seeming contradiction there is a bottle of wine in the order too. (R1999) Ok listen to me. This isn't a customer story. This is my former STORE MANAGER. Constantine is my old store manager that everyone hates, but I have one particular story she is. We had radios in our department so we could communicate items that weren't on the shelf and to ask for assistance from other departments. No one else was supposed to use the radios, however management didn't want to spend money on the radios so they just let other departments steal from us, which usually meant we didn't have any. Our store manager in particular would get upset if we didn't use the radios. He also had a habit of stealing ours, so we didn't give him the code. I left my radio at my workstation to run an order outside as he walks in for the morning. I come back in barely 2 minutes later and the radio I left out is gone. Constantine is stealing my radio. (R1999) The Apeiron crew are this group of 4 or 5 Orthodox Jewish men who would all come in together (unusual, most grocery shoppers are alone or with their significant other + maybe their kids. Additionally we are not an area with a large jewish population) and I always had to inform them that. Yup that's our whole kosher section. No we don't have a kosher frozen section. I wish you luck on finding food for your diet, god speed, I can not find kosher food we don't stock. I do plan on writing something jsut for them because I think i need to, emotionally. 37 would throw a fit in the canned bean section.

(GI) Venti was this guy who was clearly reselling beer. Ordered 5 40 packs of bud light 3+ times a week. (GI) Yaoyao is every kid I've seen pushing around the tiny kid sized shopping cart they have at my new store. She's not accompanied like the real world kids are though. No she's just shopping by herself. Where are her parents. (GI) Neuvilette is the guy at my old store who would order like. 10 liters of sparkling water. All the same flavor. Made me climb the shelf most days to grab all of the bottles that fell over (the flavor he ordered was on the top shelf too) so I could try to scrounge together everything he ordered. Probably more later lmao

[elleloquently]

sneak peek for coffee shop au/college!ellie x female!reader

please note - this is not the full completed part!!! this is just an extended sneak peek as an apology for it taking so long due to how busy i've been from uni ): when the entire fic is finished, i will tag those who asked to be added to the list

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　

the late summer air might've subconsciously motivated ellie's walk that day, her relaxed demeanour acted as a foolish guise from her anxious thoughts. she usually waited until the last possible minute to leave for class, but something today was different.

maybe she hoped that if she walked around for awhile, her body and mind would tire themselves before class, leaving herself sleepy with concentration instead. maybe she hoped that her early start would somehow prompt a late arrival to class, giving her an excuse to just not go.

ellie sighed, squinting in the sun. it was too early in the semester to start that bad habit.

she came across a little campus cafe on her wander, quickly recognizing it as the one that dina had frequented. she hesitated briefly, trying to peer through the glass windows in a not obvious way. it looked relatively empty, compared to the usual crowd, so ellie dragged herself inside.

the air conditioning instantly hit her warm skin, causing goosebumps on her arms. a small group had claimed a table by a window, chattering away with laptops covering the table top. ellie wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for, and the line was pretty short, not allowing her much time to think. ellie lingered in the doorway, wondering how strange it may appear if she turned on her heel and immediately exited the establishment right after entering, until she heard possibly the sweetest voice to ever hit her ears.

"have a nice day," you regarded softly, handing someone their drink with a quick smile.

you were still relatively new at the job, fumbly and awkward with the interactions. your previous job had sucked. your co-workers were mean, you were paid basically nothing, and you were left with little time to complete assignments. your final straw was getting yelled at over the phone by your manager after calling off of work with the flu.

finally gathering the courage to quit, your friend had rallied you up to work at a campus cafe alongside her. the idea of that sort of work scared you, talking to customers, making drinks, but the pay was good and the hours were flexible. you put in an application and by the end of the week, you had started the training process. it was relatively comfortable, until your friend had suddenly decided to quit and left you alone.

"sorry," she had apologized weakly. "i think i might pick up doordashing or something instead."

you pushed out a quick sigh, drumming your fingers on the counter before plastering a smile on your face, moving to greet the next customer.

ellie craned her neck, trying to see the owner of the voice above the heads of the people that stood in line. once her eyes landed upon you, ellie sucked in a breath. she moved wordlessly into the line, no plan of action in mind.

she watched, dazed, as you entered orders and nodded. when you turned around to grab something and ellie spotted the bow that you were wearing in your hair, her palms began to feel warm. she strained her ears, desperate to hear your voice again above the sound of conversation and the typical coffee shop music.

ellie didn't even notice that there was another person, some guy, also behind the counter until he switched spots with you, greeting a different customer.

fuck, ellie thought, rapidly looking around to watch where you were going. you disappeared into the back, behind a set of secretive doors. ellie's heart sank. she would be up soon, and she didn't even know what she was doing. she didn't want to talk to some random guy.

she just... wanted to talk to some... random girl?

fuck.

someone else wandered into the cafe. ellie contemplated making that person's day, wondering if she should just leave the line. of course she should, this was stupid, but then you reappeared. you were carrying a small brown box, and huffed at a strand of hair that had fallen into your face.

ellie was almost up, and she rapidly began praying to any type of higher power that would listen. please don't let it be the guy, please don't let it be the fucking guy-

"hi," you greeted automatically, restocking a small display of reward punch cards. "what can we get for-" you finally dragged your eyes upwards, freezing at the sight of ellie.

your gaze widened and you mentally cursed yourself for having a horrible poker face. the girl standing in front of you was extremely attractive, to say the very least. you felt trapped in her green-eyed gaze, hand hovering above the cards that you were previously toying with.

ellie cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly on her feet. if anyone's voice matched their appearance perfectly, it was yours. you looked doe-eyed, caught off guard, and ellie's face flushed.

you blinked at the slight cough, snapping back into customer service mode. "what can i get for you?" you asked, pointedly changing the we to i. she had freckles. the smile you offered wasn't forced, but genuine.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. she had to actually order something, not just stand there and stare at you. it was ellie's turn to be wide eyed, as she scrambled to pinpoint something from the menu. god. she really didn't want to be that person. you had all that time waiting in line, just pick something for christ sake!

you stood awkwardly, smile wavering as you waited for a reply. at least while the cute stranger was distracted by the menu, you could use the opportunity to stare.

mentally, ellie was a mess. she had held the skill of reading for the majority of her life now, but ellie couldn't make sense of a single word that was displayed on the menu. everything blurred together and she could feel your eyes on her as she scrambled for something to say.

"uh, what do you recommend?" ellie questioned, meeting your gaze. her cheeks burned when she noticed that you had winced. ellie wasn't being cute or friendly, she was being annoying. the last thing that you probably wanted was to rattle off a list of seasonal beverages you had been asked to promote. ellie mentally cursed herself, but you were stuttering for an answer before she could take her inquiry back.

"oh! um, well there's the..." you glanced over your shoulder at the seasonal drink specials, and ellie held back a grimace. poor fucking girl, she thought.

your face burned. you were still pretty new to the job, and honestly, penny pinching. despite the few that you've snuck during your shift, you hadn't tried many of the drinks yet. you so badly wanted to have a quick answer, something to impress her with your amazing taste. instead, you faltered, taking too long to answer.

"sorry," you laughed, shaking your head sheepishly. "i'm pretty new to this," you explained, ignoring the stare that you were getting from your co-worker. please don't ask to help me, you silently pleaded. despite the awkwardness of the interaction, you didn't want it to be cut short. you wanted to know if her freckles were always that visible, or if they popped out more due to the summer sun.

"that's okay," ellie said, a little too quickly. she looked down at the nametag that you wore on your apron. your name was written neatly, in your own style with a mix of cursive and regular letters. you had drawn a little flower next to your name.

"that board has some of our summer features though," you explained, finally regaining your footing. you nodded in the direction of a display board. "they're super popular, people really like them. i've tried the lavender one actually, it's super good. uh, we unfortunately don't get the pumpkin spice stuff in for... two more weeks, i think? so... i'm sorry about that," you quietly rambled, wringing your hands.

"pumpkin spice? it's barely september," ellie commented, wrinkling her nose. her attention was drawn to your nails, painted perfectly and neat. she wondered how big of a fool she would be making herself out to be if she attempted to flirt with you.

you shrugged, grinningly bashfully. "it's good," you resigned.

noted, ellie thought. i like pumpkin spice now. ellie opened her mouth to ask about the lavender thing, but the girl behind her in line obnoxiously cleared her throat.

ellie's eyebrows raised and you glanced apologetically at the other girl, who was tapping her foot.

"i'll be right with you," you commented. the girl scoffed and ellie's lips twisted at the sound. you were so sweet, wasting one of your pretty smiles on someone who didn't deserve it.

"yeah, no big deal," the girl replied sarcastically. "it's not like i have a class to get to or anything." she looked around the room, trying to garner support for herself, but no one was paying attention.

"i'll be right with you," you reiterated with a harsher tone. ellie fully blushed, feeling guilty for delaying the interaction. now you were getting backlash and your co-worker was completely eyeing you up, and ellie felt at fault for it. you met her eyes again, apologizing with a sad smile. ellie's grip on the strap of her bag tightened.

"sorry," ellie mumbled as her cheeks burned. "i'll get, um-"

the girl in line sighed again and ellie lost her train of thought, noticing that you were holding back your frustration with a tight smile. finally, a good idea emerged in ellie's head. she knew dina's order by heart. dina was certainly a creature of habit, at least when it came to her food and drink orders. ellie had heard dina order a million times.

ellie confidently allowed dina's coffee order to roll off of her tongue. you blinked in surprise as she gave specific directions, a direct contrast to how clueless she had seemed just a moment ago.

you frantically entered the order into the system, scared of making a mistake and looking dumb. "hey," you called softly, gaining the attention of your co-worker. you recited the order to him, to which he nodded in understanding.

"what's your name?" you asked politely. you grabbed a sharpie, waiting.

ellie's heart skipped a beat and she thought maybe she would have stood a chance, until she realized that you were asking for the drink and not because you genuinely wanted to know.

except, really, you did want to know. having to ask was just a perk.

"ellie."

"ellie," you repeatedly warmly. it was the best thing that ellie had ever heard. "i like it," you mumbled, grabbing a cup from a stack.

"thank you," ellie mumbled, watching as you wrote her name on the cup. your teeth pulled at your bottom lip in concentration, determined to use your best writing. once you had gotten to the second L, you looked up.

"oh," you realized sheepishly. "you can go wait at the end," you gently instructed her. ellie could've facepalmed herself for her stupidity, but didn't want to drag herself away from your presence. ellie wanted to say something more, but failed. she did, however, feel as though she had caused you enough trouble for the day. ellie gave you an awkward smile, as genuine as she could manage, before moving to step away.

once ellie had turned away, you realized your mistake.

"oh! wait!" you called, your voice louder than it had been all day. ellie froze, wondering if she had done something wrong or maybe you wanted to ask for her number.

the girl who was supposed to be next groaned.

"i'm so sorry," you whispered once ellie's body was in front of you again. "i forgot to have you pay," you muttered your confession, humiliated as your co-worker made a tsssk sound.

ellie thought that after this, she might drop out of college and move somewhere, maybe the country. somewhere far away from civilization.

"fuck," ellie swore under her breath, quickly rummaging through her bag for her wallet. "sorry," she said. you gave her the total, eyes lingering on ellie's tattoo while she swiped her card.

"um, do you want a reward card?" you asked, your voice sounding more robotic compared to before.

ellie was ready to automatically say no, but she took in the sight of your rounded cheeks and bashful smile.

"i would love one," ellie replied, and she felt as though her body jolted when your fingers grazed hers, handing over the card.

"if you buy nine drinks, the tenth one is on us!" you chirped, clearly haven gave this spiel before.

"jesus, nine?" ellie grumbled, and to her horror, your smile dropped.

"that's a great number!" she exclaimed awkwardly, scrambling to fix her mistake.

you nodded. "have a good day," you dismissed, and ellie's stomach lurched.

as ellie made her way to the end of the counter, she heard an exasperated "finally!" before you began to mumble apologies. ellie rolled her eyes. asshole.

when her name was called and she was handed her drink, ellie froze. her name, written pretty in your handwriting, punctuated with a doodle of a smile. her pulse quicked, and ellie wondered if she had always been this pathetic or if she had just gotten soft.

before she left, she turned around to give you one last look. you saw her heading for the door, and strained your neck to look at ellie once more before she was gone. you made eye contact, and ellie almost did an awkward half wave that certainly would've kept her up at night, cringing.

you tore your eyes away from ellie, mentally cursing yourself. but god, she was cute.

ellie shook her head discouragingly, once again met with the warm breeze of the afternoon as she stepped outside. she stared down at the little smiley on her cup. ellie frowned. she didn't really like coffee, but she also didn't want to throw it away. she heaved a sigh, holding the beverage as she began her trudge to class.

the doodled smiley carried ellie on a high throughout the entire day.

[whatbusiness]

ahead of the s2 release, here are a few incoherent thoughts based on absolutely nothing while i have some time to jot them down during my snow day: (gv book spoilers ahead, so skip for now if you’re a show only fan!) 

above all else, i’m just excited to have these characters back in new (and yet still familiar) ways 

i do not need this to be a perfect season. it won’t be. no one should be expecting that. speaking entirely right now about the crows and their duology, we have two perfect books to go back to. nothing that happens in this show could “ruin” anything from SoC or CK because they are two different entities

i am scared of the kaz and jordie flashbacks in a way that i have never been scared of anything in my entire life. there is sheer terror coursing through my veins right now.

i know. i just know. that genya’s arc will end my entire life this season. if i hear the words “i am not ruined. I am ruination” delivered by daisy within the next 48 hours i will be ascending to another plane of existence

whatever kanej content we get this season WILL cause a medical emergency for me and i know this

wylan. that’s it, that’s the tweet. wylan. 

trying to prepare for my helnik brain cells to be beaten to shit this season

remembering that we also get jesper flashbacks just made me doordash tissues to my apartment 

just know this. any zoyalai interactions will have consequences that range so far. that are so intense. the shockwaves will be felt far and wide. 

i want unhinged kaz this season and i had better get it. just absolutely wild. cane beatdowns left and right. merciless. irrational. ruthless. give it to us. 

i am wholly unprepared to see nikolai living the persona he enjoys most. knowing what’s ahead for him and how much he yearns for these moments in the future. not ready for THAT! wait. if this season covers books 2 and 3 are we going to see demon!nikolai. oh FUCK. oh fuck oh fuck. why did i not consider this before literally right now. 

in summary, we are fucked. good luck out there everyone. NMNF. 

[idsb]

How do I even put this. Where do I even start. I tried to write a song but I don’t know what to even say because I don’t know if words can even touch what this feels like.

I have not set foot in one place that I was in the summer of 2022.

That was the summer of my first bus tour. My first big tour. The tour of my dreams. The kind of tour I’ve fantasized about being on since I was 15. The kind of tour that made me want to do this as a career. The whole tour package was a family in a way it has never been before or since. The opening bands took me out for ice cream some mornings. We all explored new cities together. We stayed out drinking until 4am. I had long talks with a random new person every day. I was creating the best work of my life. I was surrounded by 20 people or more at all times. I was making more than people my age with salaried jobs in finance.

On July 5, 2022, a part of me died. A part of me was ruined. A part of me was torn apart by a thousand hyenas while I was fed something to keep me alive, to force me to sit and watch in horror. A hand covered my mouth as I tried to scream. Nothing was ever the same. People talk of a light in my eyes that was present before it. Which hasn’t returned. And won’t. No matter how much time moves. Nothing will undo it and nothing will ever set it back. No innonence will return. My heart was cut open and a weight was put inside and I was stitched back together weighted but empty, and broken in a way where there will always be cracks.

On June 25, 2022, ten days before, I was in the room I’m in right now. I don’t remember anything about it because it was blocked out by the horror that came after, and yet being here now I’m remembering everything. DoorDash fucked up my order. There was a rave in the downstairs part of the venue. We could participate from the balcony. We spent a lot of time out there. The room was sweaty. The night was sweaty. It felt free like the summer that was laid out before me, seemingly endless. The show was good. I SEE it. I see it unfolding before my eyes as I stand here like a movie I’m watching. My memories are never that vivid.

It was 10 days before the day that would kill me off and I didn’t even know.

I checked out of that tour after it happened. It was hard to try. It was hard to think. It was hard to focus. I was there but I was a ghost. My mind was somewhere else. All I remember about the whole thing is The Empty. It got worse as the days passed. The people around me cared but they were afraid for me. Because they knew it could get worse. They knew the tour was the only thing holding me together. They told me I needed to hold it together because if it was too obvious something happened and too many people asked too many questions, the wrong people would find out WHAT happened. And I’d have to be gone for optics.

They were right to say that because it’s the cruel way the world works. But it understandably made it harder to focus. I was there and I watched the days roll by, but half of me was a ghost. I cried every singular moment no one was looking. I had many shoulders to cry on but strangers could only be that so many times. They told me, “Holly, don’t fuck up this opportunity for yourself. Don’t you dare do it”. I still hear their voices ringing in my head when they said it. I heard it in my head all summer. And I knew they were right, so I didn’t fuck up the career part of it.

But so it goes, it was the best summer of my life and I don’t remember any of it because a tsunami washed over it and dragged it and pummeled it and washed it away until there was nothing left. I don’t feel that many ways about what happened anymore, if I don’t have to think about it. But what I do feel, is the fact that I lost that summer to sea.

And now here I am in this room that saw me back when everything was fine; 10 days before Vesuvius exploded, unaware that anything happened at all. Washing the memories back over me of the last 10 days I’ll ever be able to have felt lightness about me. The last 10 days I didn’t have something I had to lock away. The last 10 days I felt capable of people knowing everything about me and that fact feeling safe. Feeling like aspects of me could be relatable to anyone, before knowing that my greatest heartache I’ll ever feel in this life was so unique, so strange, a depth and genre of pain no one around me could EVER feel, or begin to even imagine. A level on which I will never be fully understood by anyone, ever again. I tell some people because it comes up and I pretend I’m over it. But I tell them because of a strange compulsion. Not because I feel safe. A new part of me finds a way to die every time I think about it. And this room saw me right before it all. When my world was still beautiful, when the light still came in.

Nothing about this room knows.

But I’m in this room, and I know.

I see all of the ghosts.

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Hi hey hello Aly please can you rank the new directions according to how well they would do at preparing a holiday meal? I'm thinking like cooking a turkey or ham or something, all the different sides, dessert, etc etc.

HI BELLA MY BELOVED YES OFC I CAN DO THAT!!!! I'm only going to do like. OG New Directions, so like the mains from s1-2 lol

Coming in dead last at #13, we have: Rachel Berry! Girl can't cook. There is canonical evidence to support this from the season four thanksgiving episodes so I rest my case.

Next up, Finn Hudson at #12! Truthfully i think he would just be so overwhelmed by all of it and fall apart. I DO think he would make a FANTASTIC assistant though

Next, at #11: Mercedes Jones: I think she can probably follow a recipe better than Rachel, but she is a doordash girlie just like me fr i know this to be true in MY SOUL. Miss "What is this?" "Toilet brush." does not know how to make things from scratch but i fully support her love for tater tots <3

The #10 slot goes to Brittany S. Pierce! It's not that I think she can't cook. I think she would cook some of the most OUTRAGEOUS things really really well. I'm talking the shepherd's pie trifle thing from Friends except ON PURPOSE. The most heinous shit and she would genuinely like it but it's objectively terrible

First one to reach single digits at the #9 slot, we've got Puck. Lost a few spots bc he'd probably put weed in the desserts without telling anyone

#8 goes to Michael Chang! I just feel like he can follow instructions. Might not be perfect, but edible and not spiked with any illegal substances.

Up with the #7 spot is Artie Abrams! Being someone who is wheelchair bound, I feel like he prides himself on being self sufficient and learning basic cooking skills is something he'd take the time to learn. I don't think it would be gourmet or anything, but i do think it would give tasty comfort food

Coming in at #6 I put, and this might be controversial, Santana Lopez! Listen. One thing about mexicans is that we know how to cook. Something just happens and i truly believe it's in out genes but one day you just sort of wake up and realize that you don't burn your hand flipping tortillas on the grill, and i feel like those skills would translate really well to a christmas/thanksgiving dinner--especially all the traditional mexican holiday dishes? i think she'd secretly take a lot of comfort in making those for her found family

Breaching the top 5 at #5 is Tina Cohen-Chang! I feel like she's done it a couple of times with her own family and probably helped out in the kitchen growing up, just to be helpful. Generally, she seems pretty competent too so there's that

#4 goes to my beloved Sam Evans. My man practically had to raise his siblings, there is not a doubt in my mind that he already HAS made a whole ass holiday meal with what he could and it probably came out fucking delicious too! It Just Makes Sense!!

Alright up in the #3 slot is yet another one of my faves, the puppetmaster himself, Blaine Devon Anderson! Cooking pancakes for his fiance in the morning?? HIs love language is acts of service and you just know he'd love all the compliments and then brush them off like "Oh it really was nothing" but this man THRIIIIIIIVES on the love of his peers!!! Of course he's gonna cook for them!

Our runner up, taking her place firmly at the #2 slot is the Queen of McKinley, the one, the only Quinn Fabray! This one also Just Makes Sense. She was primed from a young age to basically be a trophy wife. Which. Hate that for her but I wouldn't doubt her mom had her prepping the sides at like, age ten. Her parents def would trot her skills out like a trick pony and show off how well she can "provide" for a future husband or some shit like that. Anyway, i like to think she uses these skills to make holiday dinners for those who don't have anywhere else to go <3

AND TAKING OUR TOP SPOT HERE IS LITERALLY THE MOST CHARACTER EVER: Kurt Hummel!!!!! This is literally canon. You can disagree with me on this, but you'd be wrong, His body is LITERALLY a rum chocolate souffle--if he doesn't warm it up, it doesn't rise. He makes tar-tar for housewarming parties for his future stepbrother. He planned a whole ass wedding. He realy can do it all I'm so obsessed with his little freak ass <333

THANKS SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS!!!! I put... way too much thought into it, but i had SUCH a blast!!! <3333

they evicted my teeth. pls send me asks while i recover <3

[watchoutforthefanfics]

achievement unlocked 🔓 (part sixteen) || Streamer AU! Reddie (IT)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: this prompt + BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

Summary: Richie liked to play video games, and by some stroke of luck, it became his job. Being primarily known as Trashmouth on stream, he found his own little group of streamer friends and they became intertwined: The Losers Club. It never did feel quite complete, though. Well, until, he got his very own backseat gamer in chat.

TWs: cursing, mention of toxic relationships, and shameless flirting.

[[A/N: Fun fact, I have never been to New York. Another fun fact their outfits are based on some clothes I have and Pinterest !!! Enjoy :))]]

Richie felt like he was on cloud nine, floating. Like a cartoon cat who was smelling a fucking pie. He had the whole rest of the day, eating some doordashed food with Eddie on the couch -wrapped around each other (Eddie's hair smelt like strawberries if you wanted to know). Richie clung to him, and just like he said before, Eddie didn't mind at all. Maybe even wrapped around him tighter, maybe even slipped his fingers to tread through his hair, maybe even wanted him closer. The trash TV was like a comforting murmur, and eventually with the rhythm of Eddie's hand in his hair, and the thrum of his heartbeat under his ear, Richie found his eyelids a little too heavy.

Eddie near instantly dragged him off to bed ("You're gonna hurt your back, dipshit."). And Richie doesn't remember too much after that, except for maybe the smell of strawberries.

Richie shifted, blanket scratching up against his skin. He hummed and went to stretch his arms, but found himself stuck. For a second, he thought it was numb but-

A tiny little snore.

Richie blinked, eyes shooting to the weight on his arm. And there he was (close enough to see without his glasses, although he doesn't really remember taking them off).

Eddie curled up against his side, his head tilted back a little and diagonal from Richie's eyesight. His eyes flicked along his face, the faded freckles he seemed to always be noticing. And his long fucking eyelashes that were so fucking... delicate, if Richie had to describe it somehow. He looked like a painting, all intricate details and just bliss, completely vulnerable. An Eddie no-one really got to see (but Richie fucking was).

Richie eyed his arm, which was under Eddie, and laid flat against the bed. He moved it to wrap around Eddie, fingers pressed into the soft fabric of his shirt. He actually didn't even know what he was wearing (he'd kinda passed out as soon as he hit the mattress), but it looked like a set of some kind with fancy trims.

With sudden realization, he realized just what he was looking at. Fucking Eddie, his boyfriend, cuddled up against him. Right, he'd driven 43 fucking hours, and he was here. With Eddie. Real Eddie. Eddie whose puffs of breaths Richie could feel on his face. Eddie whose heartbeat thrummed against his skin. Eddie. Fucking Eddie, his Eddie-

Richie raised his other free hand, and carefully threaded it through Eddie's hair. It was naturally soft, because, of course, Eddie fucking took care of his hair.

Eddie's nose scrunched up for a second, and Richie froze in place -halting his breath in his chest and eyes wide.

Eddie shook his head a little, just barely to the left, and Richie watched him carefully. And then, with a breath, Eddie pushed himself further into Richie's chest -nuzzling into his shirt like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Fuck, Richie wanted to cry.

Pressing his lips together and taking a deep breath, Richie moved his fingers out of his hair -careful and considerate.

Fuck, god, Richie was so fucked. So entirely fucked. He loved him so much, he doesn't think he could love somebody else as much as he loves him. Eddie is just... He's fucking Eddie. The only Eddie. His Eddie.

Richie smiled, wrapping his arms tighter around him. He kinda wished he could stay here forever. Although it would be so shit without Eddie talking to him, he might go fucking crazy. Richie had been alone for too long, and now, he had Eddie. He was used to Eddie and god, it would feel like he lost a fucking limb if he lost Eddie-

"Stop thinking so hard, idiot."

Richie blinked, as Eddie's finger thumped against his forehead.

"Did you just fucking flick me?" Richie laughed a little, voice a little scratchy.

Eddie moved a little, not enough to get out of his grip, and wiped at his eyes (Richie almost physically cooed), "You were in your fucking head about shit that you didn't need to be."

Richie stared for a second, before questioning, "How could ya tell, Spaghetti?"

"Because," Eddie started, brown eyes set on him and finger pushed into Richie's chest, "-I know you, asshole. I'm right here and I love the shit out of you. So, fucking stop."

Richie blinked. He loves me, right.

He was not really used to him saying that, nevertheless him saying it physically in front of him. Eddie saying anything nice to him right now meant triple the... emotion, because Eddie was right there, and he was real, and he meant that shit. And Eddie wouldn't let him think for a second that he didn't.

"I love you too," he finally said, meekly.

Eddie stared at him tilting his head, before reaching a hand up to fidget slightly with his hair. Like he could fix it (which with just waking up, he certainly could not). And fuck, maybe he really did like his hair-

"What shit do you wanna do?"

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, "What?"

"In New York," Eddie hummed, still entirely focused on his hair, "-You said you wanted to do some tourist-y shit. So, tell me."

Richie offered, "You said you didn't want to, Eds. That's-"

"Yeah, but you fucking want to," Eddie spoke, finally connecting their eyes, "-I'm gonna do what you want, shithead."

"If you don't-"

"Richie," Eddie leveled bringing both of his hands to hold the sides of his face, "-I'm gonna fucking do it because I fucking want to, so just tell me what you want to do."

Richie pressed his lips together, thinking, "I dunno, I wanna get like a... cheesy souvenir, and I wanna at least see the Statue of Liberty-"

"Central Park?" Eddie questioned, a little like he was planning, "-Times Square?"

"Fucking Times Square-" Richie grinned -excitedly, "-that would be so sick. All those fucking billboards that are way too fucking big, and the crowds of people. I could be like Avril Lavigne on her album cover-"

"That wasn't fucking Times Square," Eddie smiled, patting his cheek patronizingly, "-but nice try."

"A New York street," Richie dismissed, waving his hands around, "-It's the same fucking thing in like... aesthetics."

Eddie turned away from him, pulling himself up and against the headboard. Richie watched him, eyeing the pajama shirt. It was, in fact, a set with long sleeves, matching color, and fancy trim (Seams? Collars? He had no fucking clue what you called them).

Richie wouldn't expect anything less of Eddie Kaspbrak. Because of course, he had matching pajama sets. Fuck, he loved the shit out of him-

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie shoved into him, "-get up. We've got shit to do."

"What happened to resting?" Richie whined, gathering himself up into the covers and hiding his face away.

"You're rested, fuckface," Eddie tugged the blanket off of his face, and Richie was grinning too bright to be mad, "-We have to get a fucking move on. We gotta put all my shit in your car, go on whatever fucking trips you want to, and then get the fuck out of here."

"Okay, but that can-"

"Oh, and the salon," Eddie grabbed Richie's glasses and slid them onto his face, naturally, like he'd done it 200 times over, "-or some fucking... haircare place."

Richie blinked, taking in the very much clearer Eddie silhouette -who was not looking at him (fidgeting with a bottle on the nightstand). His eyes snuck over his bedhead and the skewed collar of his shirt, something Eddie normally wouldn't be fucking caught dead with. And Richie got to see it. Maybe he should literally fucking pray to thank whatever the fuck is up there that he got to-

Wait.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "A salon? What? Why?"

Eddie sipped some water and then turned to Richie, brown eyes solid. They were the fucking epitome of doe-eyed, he'd never even known what the fuck that meant until he saw Eddie, actually-

"They are gonna teach me how to deal with-" Eddie threaded a hand through Richie's hair, it physically almost got stuck but Eddie seemed unphased, "-this. So, I can fucking take care of it. Or make you. Or both. Probably both."

"Seriously?" Richie sat up beside him, not before stretching out his arms -just like he had tried earlier that morning, "-Is it that shitty or something?"

"No," Eddie tsked, immediately, "-It's not. Don't even start that shit, you're handsome as fuck either way. I just want it to be healthy."

"Do you do shit to your hair?" Richie asked (remembering the soft feeling of it between his fingers).

"I don't 'do shit' to it," Eddie mocked, stating straightforwardly, "-I fucking take care of it."

"Yeah, whatever," Richie dismissed, "-What do you do to it?"

Eddie pressed his lips together, before answering, "Just hair masks and shit, healthy shampoo and conditioner. I don't shower every day because your hair needs oils and nutrients and showering every day washes them away-"

Richie listened -attentively.

"-But, you'll need more shit because of your hair texture. So, I have to learn."

Learn how to take care of my hair. Because you like it. And you love me-

Richie smiled, "Whatever ya wanna do, Eds. You know I love you so much that I'll let you do fucking anything-"

"If you love me so much," Eddie interrupted, pointedly, "-fucking get up and get dressed."

Richie waited a second.

"For me," Eddie finished -a touch softer, more convincing. It was good, Richie's resolves were really fucking slipping. Fuck, he could probably convince him of literally anything.

So, he did it.

Richie ended up pulling out some slightly too-big jeans that creased and loosely fit him (held together with a black belt), a slightly cropped shirt (it was a bigger size, so the crop was lower) that was embroidered with the words 'extra spicy', and a red chili pepper. It made only a little of his skin show, which Richie had initially been weirded out by. But Bev had kinda helped him with... clothes, and he believed in Bev wholeheartedly, so he wore it with pride. (Not to mention, she had pushed it to the nines because he was fucking finally getting Eddie.)

So, he was a little more... fashion-forward today.

With a breath, he fidgeted with himself in the mirror. He's not entirely sure why because Eddie had surely seen him in worse. Yeah, so maybe Eddie had a point the other day. He wanted him to like how he looked.

Whatever, if he hates it he can always change-

Knock, knock.

"Richie?" Eddie echoed out, pointedly, "-C'mon, we got shit to do."

Richie took a deep breath, and moved to open the door.

"Yeah, yeah," Richie teased -playfully, and opened the door, "-I'm gonna miss the bus, yada, yada-"

"Just fucking-"

Eddie stopped.

Richie paused, turning to properly look at him. His eyes were stuck on him for a second, eyes skimming over his clothes. Shock-still.

Fuck. Did he not like it?

Richie scrambled, pulling at his shirt slightly, "Is it not... I can change-"

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie interrupted, sharply, "-You just... It looks good. I just, I didn't know you wore fucking... crop-tops."

"Is that bad?" Richie pressed his lips together, "-Do you not-"

Eddie stepped forward, grabbing Richie's arms solidly, "Stop. I just said it looks fucking good. I like it a lot. I'm just surprised."

"Oh," Richie blinked, "-okay."

Eddie blinked again, a flush of red crawling up his collar as he stared -unabashedly. Richie fidgetted with the end of his shirt, self-consciously. Eddie's eyes followed the motion a moment.

With a breath, Eddie snapped his eyes away, and muttering, "Jesus fucking Christ."

Richie laughed a little, skimming over Eddie for a second. His hair was still the kind of messy Richie liked, loose and just a little styled. He was wearing some pretty casual stuff, a big kinda ivory (was that the word?) t-shirt with brown overalls and big clunky sneakers with beige accents-

He blinked, fucking overalls?

And Eddie's cheeks were a flaming, splotchy red -cheeks puffed up. Fuck, he was so fucking cute, it made Richie wanted to sweep him up and keep him forever-

"You look really good too, Eds," Richie added, after a breath, "-Really fucking cute."

Eddie blinked, pressing his lips together -a little awkwardly, "Thanks."

Richie loved him so fucking much. He couldn't help it.

Leaning forward and kissing him once, domestically, like he was a husband going off to work in the 1950s or some shit. But it meant enough. Casual, like it was going to happen again, like it meant they had enough time to be casual, like they were going to kiss so much and for so long that eventually it would be fucking casual-

Eddie stared at him for a second, before leaning forward and doing the same thing -once.

Richie laughed, echoes of mouthwash mint on his lips -stronger because he'd just done it. He thought that he might never be able to see mouthwash the same again. Especially after Eddie. Would it be weird if he changed mouthwash? Or got a stronger toothpaste? Would he lose that familiarity? Would they kiss enough for it to be familiar? Probably. He could spend his whole day kissing Eddie, would prefer it, actually-

"C'mon, moron," Eddie grabbed his hand, "-we gotta get fucking moving. Help me with these boxes in the corner first."

And so, they were off.

They put away all of Eddie's boxes (in a trunk that Richie was sure they wouldn't fit in but miraculously somehow they did), and tossed his suitcase in the back for easy access. They had six days after this, after all. Well, unless they stretched it out that was fine with Richie. Except for the streaming part, he probably needed to catch up on streaming soon.

With that, Eddie was pulling his apartment key out of his pocket and handing it to a new lady (one that seemed a lot nicer). And the two of them were standing out on the New York sidewalk -the world at their fingertips.

Richie was still pretty mystified, eyes shooting along the buildings and the people. But, Eddie didn't waste much time.

"Phone," he patted his pockets, routinely, and Richie snapped to him (giving him his full attention, per usual), "-wallet. Do you have your keys?"

Richie pulled out the ring (which had an assortment of little keychains on it), shaking it a few times, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Eddie laid a flat stare onto him, but Richie could see his lips quirk up ever-so-slightly. Which was a win in his book.

"Yeah, yeah, it's a stupid bit, I know," Richie shook his hand -dismissively, and then interlaced it with Eddie's, "-Alright, Kaspbrak, lead the way."

Eddie smiled a little, eyes darting to their hands for a second, before straightening and starting to speedwalk in a direction (luckily Richie's long strides matched up with Eddie's speed perfectly), "We should hit Times Square first because the longer we fucking wait, the busier it is."

"Whatever you say, Spaghetti."

Eddie rolled his eyes but tugged him along.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie both knew his way, incredibly, and parted the crowds like it was the fucking Red Sea (Moses? Right?). Maybe because of the stern frown pushed onto his features, or maybe because he exuded the energy of an angry chihuahua. And chihuahuas would fucking bite your hand off if you tried shit, so maybe they didn't want to test it. (Richie wouldn't, if he wasn't immune.)

Richie saw a lot on the walk, cute little cafés, benches, too many stoplights to be helpful, somebody cussing out a store owner. It was a little like he was in a theme park, everything bright and loud and new and either really good-smelling food or fucking sewer stench. It was kinda fucking magical.

Before he could note anything else, Eddie pulled him over by a metal umbrella table beside some sort of restaurant -significantly out of the way of the sidewalk.

"What are you-"

Eddie grabbed Richie's shoulders and spun him around with one forceful motion. And then-

There was the rush of footsteps, the shine of billboards, and the elaborate fucking signs.

"Holy shit," Richie laughed -eyes scattering along the buildings in awe.

It wasn't like it was a magical moment, not really. If he was honest, it was kinda stimulation overload. All the noises and lights, but at the same time, it was cool as shit. He felt like he was in some movie, where the music swept up and the camera spun around him like he was having some sort of revelation-

Eddie squeezed his hand.

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, and spun to meet Eddie, thinking it might've been a sign that he wanted to say something. It was pretty loud so he probably couldn't-

And before he could speak, Eddie tugged his face down to his and kissed him. No hesitation. A kind that made Richie's head spin, heart fluttering, and brain quietening to a low buzz (he prayed he'd get these kinds more now). Because everything was just so... Eddie. Quick and emotional and impulsive and just fucking... passionate like he'd been waiting years-

Eddie pulled back, and Richie let his eyes flutter open slowly -head twirling.

Eddie was smiling at him when they parted, and it made something warm shoot down to Richie's toes. Because god. That's my fucking boyfriend, and he's smiling (smirking really) about making me blush? Fuck-

"Jesus," Richie laughed a little, "-The fuck was that about, Eds?"

"The way you looked was cute," Eddie shrugged, before adding casually, "-Plus, somebody was staring at you."

Richie burst into laughter then, "Look, I love ya, and believe me I am not complaining, but you can't just kiss the shit out of me every time someone so much as looks at me-"

"Who says?" Eddie retorted (Richie's heart skipped a beat, you're gonna kiss me like that again?), before continuing, "-And she was making her way over to you. I can't just take that shit."

"How do you know she wasn't just a fan, Eddie baby?" Richie teased, and he watched the pink flair up onto his cheeks with pride.

"Because your fans are sick in the head," Eddie retorted, "-and would've just interrupted us."

"You were a fan once," Richie laughed, pulling himself back and fidgeting with his hair, "-You know that, right?"

"I still am, moron, and I also didn't say I wasn't sick in the head," Eddie clarified, "-You're like a fucking parasite."

"Wow, how romantic," Richie spoke, flatly, but grinning all the same.

"No, I'm just-" Eddie let out a sigh, "-It's really fucking easy to be obsessed with you, is what I'm saying, dickhead."

"Are you?"

"What?" Eddie asked.

"Obsessed with me," Richie asked playfully -raising his eyebrows, suggestively.

"Richie," Eddie leveled seriously, "-I'm so obsessed with you that it's fucking clinical."

Richie blinked, "What does that mean exactly?"

"I spent a year and half silently watching your streams because I thought you were the most attractive person on the planet, I text you literally 24 hours a day," Eddie listed, stubbornly, "-I have entire album on my phone dedicated to pictures of you both before and after we were dating-"

"Wait, wait, wait-" Richie laughed a little, "-before we were dating?"

Eddie's face went cherry-red, cheeks puffing up, "Just fucking... stream screenshots and stuff. From when I just thought you were... Fuck you."

"You're the cutest human being on this fucking planet, Eddie Kaspbrak," Richie leaned forward and gave him an obnoxiously wet kiss on the forehead (Eddie scrunched up his nose), "-and I love the shit out of you."

Eddie broke into a little smile, "I love you too, idiot."

"But yeah, I have an album for you too, Eds," Richie grinned, "-So I think it's safe to say we're obsessed with each other."

"You should see the one I have as my phone background-" Eddie laughed a little, and Richie snapped to attention.

"What?"

"You're my phone background?" Eddie repeated, curiously, "-Is that a problem, or-"

"No, what," Richie smoothed his hands down Eddie's arms, "-That's just so fucking sweet, and I wanna see which one it is like... yesterday."

"You remember that day you were cooking? And listening to fucking Snoop Dogg?" Eddie asked, smiling, as he turned on his phone.

Richie moved to peek over his shoulder, "Yeah, of course, the day you told me I was your first fucking boyfriend. Still unbelievable, by the way-"

"Well, you were doing your cute little fucking scenario thing, and then your glasses fogged up, and well-" Eddie turned his phone toward his gaze.

Sure enough, it was Richie -shocked (he remembers forgetting Eddie was there), hair a mess, and glasses foggy. It wasn't the most special picture, but it meant a lot to Richie then. Because what? You chose that silly ass picture over ones that might physically look better? Because you love me? Totally and completely? And you love my weird shit? And you love me-

God.

Richie moved from behind his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, a simple one. He thinks it spoke enough. Eddie turned to match his eye with a sneaky little smile, and it made something in his head swim because, fuck, did he love the shit out of him.

"We gotta get going," Eddie turned and pressed a kiss to Richie's cheek (it made him go bright red).

"Yes, dear," Richie said -nasally.

Eddie shoved into him, hard, and Richie stumbled in place but they both were laughing. Laughing and smiling and Richie thought maybe he wanted this for the rest of his fucking life. And he let himself think that for once.

"C'mon, dipshit," Eddie called, laughing and intertwining their hands again.

"Yeah, yeah, lead the way, Kaspbrak."

And he did.

They went to the salon then, Eddie guiding him into this purple accented place that smelt so good that Richie physically closed his eyes.

"Hello," a woman with the sickest dyed hair (a purple gradient of some kind) Richie had ever seen smiled, "-What can I do for you two today?"

"Your hair is awesome," Richie spoke (he couldn't control his mouth).

"Thank you," she smiled politely, a little genuine though, "-Did it myself, actually. My girlfriend helped though."

"Speaking of," Eddie interrupted, kindly though (he was so straightforward that it might be a little rude if you didn't know him well), "-I actually wanted to ask you about his hair."

Richie obediently went to his side.

"Yeah, of course," she answered, "-What about it?"

Eddie moved a hand up to thread through it -casually, "It's curly, and he doesn't know how to take care of it, but I want to. Can you help me with that?"

"So," she started like she was just reassuring, "-you want to know how to take care of his hair?"

"Yes," Eddie answered -succinctly, moving his hand down from his hair and almost on instinct, Richie moved to wrap his arm around Eddie's shoulder to replace it, "-I like it this way, but I want it to be healthy."

"Oh, no, totally," the woman motioned with her hands, and started guiding them into the building, "-I get it. I can 100% help you. Do you want me to recommend products? Or do you just want to buy them here?"

"Whatever's good for his hair," Eddie answered.

"So, we're supposed to sell the products here," she stage whispered, "-but I know some better stuff for beginners."

"Thank you... um," Eddie started, asking without asking.

"Shit, sorry. I'm Emmy," she offered, laughing a little, "-I've got you guys."

"Eddie," Eddie motioned to himself and then, to Richie -who waved with his freehand, "-and Richie."

She paused for a second.

"I hate to say this, but," Emmy tilted her head, looking at Richie, "-do I know you?"

Richie smiled a little, "I stream. Trashmouth Tozier on Twitch?"

"No shit, my girlfriend loves you-" she grinned, "-She's always talking about you and-"

She paused, eyes connecting with Eddie.

"No fucking way," she laughed, still gently guiding them (towards the hair washing station, he thinks), "-Oh, if she was here, she'd lose her fucking mind."

Richie squeezed Eddie closer with a tug, just in case. It wasn't always the nicest experience being recognized, especially for the first time. Eddie nudged himself more into his side, and Richie turned and pressed a kiss onto his temple -near instinct.

"Yeah," Richie responded, "-I'm glad she's into my shit."

"She loves you," Emmy stressed, "-If you're okay with it, I'd love a picture. Just to say it happened? Just you, not Eddie. I know you're not in the spotlight or anything."

Richie smiled, opening his mouth to say something-

"It's okay," Eddie interrupted, "-I'll be in the picture, that's fine. It's only a matter of time until he starts fucking posting me everywhere. So, I don't mind."

Richie paused, grinning -squeezing Eddie into his side and leaning his head onto Eddie's. He doesn't think he'll ever willingly let go of Eddie, ever. That's all on Eddie. Eddie can let go-

"Just make sure to keep it off social media until he posts me first," Eddie added, casually.

"No, yeah, of course-" Emmy agreed, before motioning for Richie to come sit down (at, in fact, one of those washing stations), "-Let me get you started, actually-"

And then, she showed Eddie everything. Or well, Richie assumed so. He was getting his hair washed, which meant he was kinda useless. Getting your hair washed by someone was just so... relaxing. He heard Eddie talking, he knew that, but his mind was just a low buzz. His eyes closed, he just moved with the motions.

Richie was only a little more aware when she was styling. He was, honestly, a little scared that she was gonna bring out a straightener or a curling iron (he'd had some scary experiences with them before), but she didn't. Instead, Emmy did some like scrunching motion with some shit Richie didn't note. To be fair, he was fucking distracted as shit-

Eddie was so focused, typing away on his phone's notes app. To take care of him. To take care of Richie. And he was supposed to be normal about that shit? Yeah, right.

He had this set look on his face, complete focus as Emmy spoke to him. And then, she'd let him help. With the washing, his hands would smooth through his hair; with the styling, she'd let him do some parts. They were talking, yeah, but all that Richie could look at was Eddie in the mirror. All he could focus on-

Eddie was staring at Emmy, big brown eyes attentive and ever-so-curious. Hands ready to type away on his phone, eyebrows pressed together (with a cute little wrinkle between them), and biting his bottom lip slightly in focus. God, Richie loved the fuck out of him.

He walked out of there with shiny hair with significantly less frizz. But not enough for him to feel weird, he still felt... Richie. If that made any sense. He was always worried about changing his hair because it wouldn't feel right but this felt pretty good. Well, it helped that Eddie kept fidgeting with it, and Richie physically melted every time he did. And he wanted him to do that shit more, all the time maybe-

"Richie," Eddie snapped in front of his face, "-Are you in your head again? I won't hesitate to fucking-"

"Shit, sorry, I'm fine, Eds, just-" Richie blinked, "-You keep touching my hair."

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, "Is that... bad?"

"No, Eddie baby, not at all, it just-" Richie laughed a little bit, tilting his head, "-It makes me zone out. Makes my brain go fuzzy and shit."

Eddie hummed, stepping on his tippy toes to fix some of his curls with smile, "Yeah?"

Richie laughed, even still leaning into his hand a little, "You're such a little shit."

"Pay attention to me next time, then, asshole," Eddie bit back, grinning just a little.

"Awe, Eds, wants my attention," Richie cooed, moving his own hands to brush along Eddie's face and crouching slightly to match his eye, "-You've got it. Tell me, Eddie baby."

"You are such a shithead," Eddie smiled at him, the kind that made Richie's head a little woozy, "-I was saying, do you wanna go get some ice cream? I know a place by the Statue that's good, you'd like it."

"Eds," Richie leveled, grinning at Eddie (like he couldn't help it) "-first off, I'd do literally fucking anything you wanted. Secondly, you're the one with the sweet tooth-"

"Shut up," Eddie laughed, and something in Richie swirled.

"-but as said with point one, if you want it, Eddie baby, lead the fucking way."

Eddie rolled his eyes, just staring at Richie, a smile split across his lips that made Richie want to twirl his hair and kick his feet. And maybe kiss him senseless. Which actually-

Richie leaned forward and pecked him, just because he could. And he wanted to. A simple press of the lips, that made Richie's head twirl slightly, made him stumble over his feet for a second. Eddie laughed when he did it, and Richie preened.

He could hear no one else's laughs forever, and as long as he had Eddie's he'd be totally fucking fine-

When they separated again, Eddie's eyes were soft and sappy -detailing all over his face, and hands rested on his cheek, "I can't believe you're right fucking here. Right in front of me."

"No shit," Richie laughed a little, "-I thought I might've been dreaming when I saw you this morning."

"A dream?" Eddie cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, Kaspbrak, if you look up Richie Tozier's dream man-" Richie asserted, "-You'll be right fucking there. In your cute little angry gremlin glory."

"Yeah, well," Eddie puffed up his cheeks -which were flushed by the way, "-you're my dream guy too. Obviously."

"I would hope so," Richie teased, smiling big, "-What kinda celebrity crush would I be if I wasn't your dream man-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshole," Eddie shoved at him, but not far enough to let him fully go. Brown eyes solid on him, skimming along his face so affectionately that Richie wanted to squeal like he was in the audience of a boyband concert (because fuck, he loves me).

"I love you," Richie hummed -low and just between the two of them.

"Love you too," Eddie grinned -more serious than usual (it made Richie's head spin), "-Let's go get some fucking icecream."

The walk was surprisingly short, which made Richie think that Eddie had either planned this or was really fucking good with directions. Which, he could picture either. It might've been both actually.

"Here, let me just-" Eddie dug into his pocket, ready to pay.

Richie intercepted, near immediately and tapped his phone, "Yeah, no, Eds, sorry. I'm covering it."

"Richie-"

"Uh, uh, uh," Richie tsked, shaking his head and pocketing his phone (after the cashier confirmed it went through), "- it's your first date, Imma wine and dine ya."

Eddie frowned, obviously biting back a smile, "It's icecream at the Statue of Liberty."

"Oh, Eds, my sweet summer child," Richie pat his face, other hand holding his cone, "-I'm only getting fucking started."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Eddie questioned -following him and interlacing their free hands (something in Richie swirled).

Richie smiled, "I got shit planned, dear Spaghetti. Halfway courtesy of Big Bill. Which, you should be very proud of me for."

"Proud of you for what?" Eddie snorted, "-Fucking planning?"

"Yeah, exactly," Richie addressed, licking his icecream, before lowering his voice, "-I'm a new man for you, Eddie Kaspbrak."

"Better not be," Eddie retorted, straightforwardly, "-I like the old one."

Richie laughed, splotchy red climbing up his collar, "Funny, I like you too, Eds. We should date."

"You think so?" Eddie grinned -tilting his face to properly look at Richie.

"Fuck yeah, I do," Richie affirmed, walking where Eddie was guiding him, "-and then, tomorrow, you can move in with me."

"Yeah?" Eddie smirked.

"Well, as long as you're okay with 43 hours with this fella right here," Richie tried to point a thumb at himself, the icecream cone didn't exactly help the cause, "-then I'll sweep you off your feet to San Francisco. Best boyfriend ever style."

"Best boyfriend ever?" Eddie quoted, teasing, "-Those are some high fucking stakes, Trashmouth."

"Yeah, well," Richie let out a (exaggeratively) nonchalant sigh, "-I'll deliver. Plus, you have no other experience so-"

"Shut up, asshole," Eddie laughed, and Richie wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it forever. Store it in his pocket for when he is feeling sad. Or maybe just listen to it because he wanted to-

"I think you already are," Eddie hummed, walking forward with their swinging hands between them.

"Already am what?" Richie questioned.

"Delivering," Eddie looked at him with twinkly eyes and a warm smile (that made Richie's heart leap in his throat).

"Really?" Richie laughed, "-Two days and I'm in the ringer-"

"Yeah, I mean-" Eddie explained -letting go of his hand just to fidget with Richie's hair again, "-you let me drag you to a salon because I'm neurotic about hair health."

"And you-" Richie stressed, "-went to a salon to learn how to take care of my hair, by proxy take care of me."

"I told you I was gonna take care of you, dipshit," Eddie echoed, stubbornly, "-I don't say shit I don't mean. Especially not to you."

He'd dealt with a lot of empty promises from guys, a lot. Because they knew that's what Richie wanted, something sturdy, something safe. An unmoveable object that loved him. Someone he couldn't scare away. And they all used to say that was impossible ("I really care about you, Richie. And that's not gonna change."), but it did. It always changed (or maybe it wasn't the way they said it in the first place at all). But Richie fell for it every time because he craved it so desperately, and he wanted to be fucking... special to someone because he hadn't felt special his whole life. He felt invisible and he just wanted someone to see him.

And now, he was here with Eddie. Who saw him and couldn't fucking look away, didn't want to, actually. Who made promises and said things so solidly that Richie couldn't help but believe them. And if he didn't, Eddie would work on it until he did. He fucking loved him. Everything about him. Everything. The stupid accents, his dumb shirts, his frizzy hair. All the things that other guys didn't want to be caught dead with were Eddie's fucking favorites! And every time Richie hated something like that, an imperfection, Eddie set him straight. Because he loved every part of him, every single atom, and he wasn't gonna let any of it get shit on. Not even from Richie himself.

Eddie Kaspbrak was everything Richie Tozier physically wanted and everything he didn't know he needed.

And on top of that, he loved all Eddie's shit too. His snappiness, his perfectionism, his affectionate bullying (that Richie hoped he'd never have to go another day without), and his huge ass capacity to fucking... care (that sometimes he saw as negative, too much). If Eddie was freaking out, Richie could, and would, soothe it. Eddie was safe with him, and he thinks that's really important to Eddie. So, it's gonna stay that way. Richie will be a human shield to him if he has to, like that one fucking picture of that soldier, taking all the bullets. He'd protect Eddie, but only when he needed it. When he wanted it. He didn't always need it, but when he did. It was there, it would always be there. Forever, probably.

Richie Tozier was built for Eddie Kaspbrak, just like he knew Eddie Kaspbrak was built for Richie Tozier. Two peas in a pod.

Yeah, sure, maybe a weird fucking pod, but still. Richie, personally, couldn't ask for anything better.

"Yeah, Eds," Richie hummed, throwing his arm over Eddie's shoulder and leaning his head on Eddie's -both of them looking out to Lady Liberty herself, "-I know."

[pepsi-maxwell]

hello! have a snippet that's been hiding in my drafts for like six months

pairing: max²

rating: r

wordcount: ~900

warnings: female terms used for genitalia, typical sex swap fuckery

background: the fifth annual dynamite diamond ring contest ends with a heated match between mjf and max caster.

obviously, mjf wins.

the only issue is... this year's ring has a sex-swap curse on it.

cue semi-phone sex shenanigans.

---

The question is burning inside him, clawing its way out of his throat. “Yeah, I’m gonna stop you there because I don’t give a shit,” Max says, cutting Caster off mid-sentence. “If you–if you had a girl body, would you… stupid question, you would, right?”

He can’t fucking say the specifics out loud, for all that the rest of that sentence had tumbled out of his mouth. Doesn’t know what the block is in his mind, only that there is one, because it’s not like he’s ever had any shame in talking about jerking off before, even with Caster.

“‘I would’ what, Max?”

Oh, fuck off with the teasing, he wants to say, because Caster is teasing, he can tell by the sound of his voice. Sounds like he’s smirking, too.

“Would you… get yourself off,” he says, as low and sweet and sultry as he can manage, even though his jaw is clenched and his fingernails are digging into the newly soft meat of his thigh. “Would you stick your fingers in your cunt? Pinch your tits, rub your clit? Find some dick and take it for a ride?”

The same voice he uses picking up chicks, but it comes off different in this body. With this voice. Higher pitched than usual.

Caster giggles. “Gosh, you’ve got such a way with words–”

“Answer the fucking question.”

Caster laughs down the phone, short and tinny and obnoxious, and Max almost hangs up on him on principle, but then he responds, and Max finds he can’t bring his thumb to press the end call button.

“Of course I would! I mean, I did, you remember that time with the CAP title, right? I spent my whole time doing nothing else,” he says, sounding so fucking proud of himself.

And… Max gets a mental image of it that he can’t fucking shake. Caster, but… softer. More curves, plumper lips, longer legs. She’s spread out on her bed with her legs wide and her hands between them, touching, rubbing…

He wonders for a moment if Caster had found somebody else, somebody better equipped to fill that fancy new hole. The thought of it makes his stomach twist angrily, because he’d known Caster back then, and he... he could have...

He’s distracted from dwelling on that thought by another sensation, insistent and tugging between his own legs. It feels a little damp against his boxers, and for a second he’s worried he’s pissed his pants a little, but…

“–Haven’t you?” Caster asks innocently.

Max swallows. Wonders why the fuck his heartbeat’s suddenly kicked up a notch. “I’ve got better things to do with my time,” he says, and pretends he doesn’t notice how thick his voice is. That he doesn’t, in fact, have better things to do with his time, because he’s barely moved from the sofa in three days, save to get his doordash order or go to the bathroom.

“You should, you know,” Caster continues, still sounding innocent, but Max knows it’s anything but. “Trust me, it’ll feel real nice.”

God, he’s… he’s not going to. Obviously. It’s not like he needs to, he’s not some horned up teenager, and he certainly doesn’t need to do anything that Caster is telling him to do, but...

What if he did, though?

Just this once?

He can feel all that tension coiling inside him like a spring, and…

Maybe it’ll... unwind him.

He rests his hand on his stomach, fingertips touching the waistband of his sweatpants. His heart’s pounding nervously and he doesn’t even know why.

…No, that’s not true. He knows exactly why.

“And how’s it gonna feel nice,” he asks, throwing as much disdain into the words as possible, even as he slides his fingers under the waistband. Not touching anything, just… there. Plausible deniability.

“Want me to tell you?” Caster asks, his voice a little lower, and Max’s heart beats like machine gun fire in his chest. He forces his breathing to steady, in case Caster hears just how ragged it’s getting already.

The conversation feels different, now. Loaded, filled with a strange tension, and it takes him a moment to realise the exact nature of that tension.

“Wow, you mean you actually know your way around a pussy? Thought you were too busy thinking of my ass to get any,” he fires back, trying desperately to steer the conversation back in a direction he has control over, and cringing almost immediately because it’s the exact worst thing he could say.

Still, he slides his hand another inch into his boxers. Then another, then another, until the tip of his middle finger is resting just above his clit, to the point that he’d barely have to move to touch it. To feel that sweet, shocky spark he had that first night, before he’d yanked his hand away.

His lungs burn as the line stays quiet, and he tries to exhale as quietly as possible.

“Hey, I get plenty, pal,” Caster says, and the ‘pal’ is enough to force a laugh out of Max, because it’s normal, it’s someone not treating him differently, talking to him differently, just because he has a cunt between his legs this week.

And then he ruins it all by adding, “And now I can think about your ass and your pussy, daddy–”

“Keep dreaming,” Max says shortly, and hangs up.

He falls back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, suddenly aware that there's nothing to distract him from the wetness between his thighs and the fact that he’s got his hands in his pants.

And...

Caster would.

Hell, Caster had, he’d said it himself. Had spent the whole weekend exploring his girl body.

And… he’s not gonna let Caster psyche him out of getting off. After all, it’s not like he’ll never find out, so… what’s the harm?

His heart pounding against his ribs, he slides his finger down that last little bit.