#and it doesn’t even feel like Christmas anyway so what’s the fucking point

[victory-cookies]

.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | sharing a bed (part two)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda), Hannibal (TV), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Billy Lenz, Danny Johnson, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; heavily suggestive content, implied smut, unhealthy power dynamics, references to stalking and kidnapping, violence

♡ notes; still kind of figuring out characterization for Jason and Danny tbh

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> mama always taught him that sharing a bed with someone was wrong

> it could so easily lead to sinning! and the woods tended to be humid anyway, so it’d get sticky and sweaty

> but Jason likes keeping you close, very close

> the only time he’s not by your side is when he’s “working”

> and even then he’ll check up on you throughout the evening

> one day you get worried, though

> he’s usually back by the time you’re about to go to sleep- he drinks tea with you and usually cuddles for a bit even though he’s convinced staying would be bad

> on this night, the tea is getting cold, and you’re getting grumpy, so you step outside to call for him

> it’s just a moment- a split second that you feel a hand on your shoulder- too small to be Jason

> then there’s a sickening squelch, a scream, and a couple more wet thumps and groans before silence

> you don’t need to turn to know what happened, instead letting Jason come to you (he doesn’t like seeing you sad from his messes- and you don’t like seeing them period)

> he’s got the blood of the man who touched you splattered all over you but you just frown softly “…it’s bedtime.”

> he wordlessly nods and scoops you up quickly, seeming scared that you were somehow hurt

> you quietly reassure him but he gets you the tea and pets your hair until he’s satisfied you’re okay

> you relish in the affection and get an idea

> “Jason baby? can you sleep in my bed? just tonight?”

> you can tell he mulls it over a long while before he nods

> he looks comically large in your bed, holding your teddy bear for you while you change into pajamas

> you let him be the little spoon, wrapping around him happily

> surely something this comfy can’t be wrong, he decides and falls asleep peacefully

> but when he wakes up, holding your soft, barely clothed form tight against him…he realizes he doesn’t care what’s wrong and right when it comes to you

> because you make him want to do all of the things mama said not to - and he just loves making you happy

Bo Sinclair

> you like your personal space- that’s something you made clear when you started living there

> back then you were still a victim, but the point stands

> so once they trusted you you got your own little room and let you decorate

> and you like your arrangement. you have your bed, your boyfriend has his, and you don’t ever sleep in the other’s on purpose

> why would you want to sleep next to Bo anyways? he snores, he’s always splayed out in weird positions and he sweats like a motherfucker

> maybe it had to do with the way you can always hear him screaming when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

> or how it stings whenever he leaves after you fuck, even though you never really ask him to stay

> okay, fuck it. you love the idiot and you want to sleep next to him.

> that shouldn’t be too hard to say

> except it is, because your stubbornness is almost as legendary as Bo’s

> you’re still actively putting it off when you manage to sprain your ankle in the house

> after thanking Vincent for patching you up, you spend the afternoon in the living room, sulking as you wait for Bo

> you know it’s not his fault you slipped, but you’re irrationally mad at him and getting worse the later that he is

> you can tell Vincent got to him first because he’s already frowning when he walks in to the living room close to midnight

> “what happened to you, little darlin?”

> your anger immediately melts away and you give a pathetic little pout as he hugs you tight, cursing for not checking in

> he babies you throughly and eventually takes you to your room

> he’s giving you a goodnight kiss when you grab his sleeve

> “…stay?”

> he can’t hide his smug smile

> “…you want me to?”

> you grumble but he’s happy to strip to his boxers, whistling

> “what’re you so smug for?”

> “you finally asked me to stay.”

> “…well duh.”

> he falls asleep with your whole body laid on top of him, hand lazily stroking your hair

> for once he doesn’t have any night terrors, and he’s grateful

> so grateful in fact, he’d like to repay you..

Billy Lenz

> you don’t love the idea of billy spending the night

> it’s not that you don’t love him, or being around him. he’s your boyfriend, of course you like his company

> it’s just that the sorority girls don’t have the greatest track record of giving you privacy

> they don’t cross boundaries, or enter without knocking- you lock the door anyways

> but they like you enough that usually they’re knocking on your door by eight, inviting you on a shopping trip or to breakfast or even asking for help studying

> it can be stifling, but it’s sweet, and it’s not like they’ll know you have a guest. they’d be more courteous if you could tell them

> and there’s the second reason, the one you can’t tell Billy

> you know the walls are paper thin, and you know just as well he’d take that as a challenge

> but it’s spring break, and only a couple of students are still about

> so you quite casually ask him if he’d like to stay the night

> you’ve never seen this man smile wider in your entire time with him

> and he’s surprisingly PG as you make plans

> he’s excited to eat popcorn and get his nails done and cuddle - you paint his hails black and get the snacks ready

> you rent a horror movie for the occasion, and he’s giggling the whole way through it

> he thinks it’s just adorable that you get so scared, hiding your face against him

> “Billy’s pretty baby is so silly- maybe he should distract his baby….-“

> luckily, you’re able to turn being as quiet as possible into a game when you mention how sound carries through the house

> and he’s ecstatic when he gets to stay next to you, tangled in the sheets and clinging to you for dear life

Danny Johnson

> you’ve never been to his place

> he started as a stalker, so it seemed natural he’d just keep going over to your apartment

> and since he’s always busy with the paper, and continuing his current murder spree…

> well most nights you just let him go, and when you don’t you wake up alone

> but on a particularly boring evening you decide to reverse the roles just a bit

> you figured out his address some time ago- and you picked up a thing or two about picking locks from dating Danny

> so it’s not a problem getting into his penthouse and making yourself comfortable

> you make sure to send a vague text that you knew he’d be able to figure out

> after all actually being sneaky around Danny was probably dangerous- you’re about the only person he wouldn’t stab on site

> you can’t help your huge grin when he stalks into his bedroom

> he’s acting pissy but you see the way his eyes survey your nearly bare body

> “You little brat…”

> he’s the fun kind of angry

> after a through lesson in asking permission you shower and collapse into bed together

> you cuddle close and fall asleep in his arms as he traces all your new bite marks and bruises

> he seems to get the message about staying - when you wake up it’s to him kissing your neck and purring your name

> apparently he didn’t finish last night’s ‘lesson’…and he’s eager to continue

Hannibal Lecter

> he’s eager for you to spend the night, in all honesty

> he likes being in control, utterly and completely

> if he had it his way, you’d move in within the month

> but even though you’ve brought a bag, and are all pj-ed up, he’s distracted

> maybe the one thing that can distract him from you is work- he’s a perfectionist

> and he doesn’t have to prove himself to you like he does clientele and state boards, and practically everyone else

> “y’know you said ten minutes ten minutes ago.”

> “yes my darling- i’ll be there shortly, just- go lay down-“

> you roll your eyes and instead stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and beginning to kiss his neck

> he tries his damndest to keep focused

> “…if you don’t come soon, i won’t be awake enough to help you…unwind,”

> that gets him up- you 1, work 0

> you’re surprised when after you’ve both gotten nice and relaxed, he pulls you flush

> usually you have to ask for affection

> but he spoons you, face buried in your hair as he dozes off

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 13

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, lactation, grief)

A/N: Thank you endlessly for being so patient with me while I've been on hiatus ❤ I'm gonna stay off for another couple weeks, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long. I appreciate every single person that has stuck with me on this! Thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @the-scandalorian for helping me with this one - you both are the biggest brains and the most wonderful writers and I am insanely lucky to have you on my team. Enjoy! ❤

--

Jackson. 

The image of the map is burned into Joel’s mind, always present. 

More concerned with your safety than anything, he knows you should leave, but as the weeks slip by, what picks at him more is that he didn’t have an answer to your question that day. 

“Where are we gonna go?”

He should be one step ahead. He should be on top of the potential outcomes. He should have a plan, since that’s always been his role. Stepped up with one when he had Sarah, took care of Tommy before the Outbreak, and after, led their way in the QZ. After Tommy left, he still did it, even if he was going through the motions more than anything. Doing it has always been second nature, a means to survive. 

You’d let his lack of answer drop because he knew you didn’t want to leave, and of course, he knew you shouldn’t. Not right now. But still - still - he should have had a plan for something he knew was bound to happen sometime. Blinded by the light of your fierce optimism and wanting so badly to believe in it, he simply…didn’t think about it. The first time that’s happened in decades. 

You’re depending on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer ready.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He doesn’t fucking know.  

Wood dust floats to settle on the floorboards around his boots, and he runs a piece of sandpaper over the beam of rough lumber that rests across his lap. The rhythmic sweeps soothe his nerves, and he tries to focus on how good it feels to do something useful with wood again. Something familiar, the dry grain sliding against his palms. A task done because he wants to, instead of as a means to get by like so much else in his life. 

This…this was for him, and for you. 

The late afternoon sun streams through the window in the shed, not quite enough to dissipate the chill. Crisp air breezes in through the open door, the sweet smell of damp leaves blending with the wood and the tips of his fingers are cold enough to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to make the most of your nap times if he wants to get this done before next week. 

Before Christmas - or the closest approximation to the date anyway, using your rudimentary calendar. Celebrating the holiday had been your idea, and like every other time when it came to something you asked for, he couldn’t say no. He said yes when you asked him to cut you a tree, nodded when you pointed to the one you wanted after a trek through the woods, helped you rip strips of red, moth bitten flannel that was worthless for clothing just to watch you tie bows to the end of the branches, as a means to decorate it. 

He was impressed by your constant resourcefulness and ingenuity when it came to the things you’d been given, and at night, when the lantern shone on it and bathed the living room in a cozy glow, it almost did feel like Christmas time. The closest thing to it that he’s felt in years, anyway. 

Placing the sandpaper on the floor and picking up a knife, his mind follows the trail marked on the map. Winding through woods and across open swathes of land, it passes right through your area and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone else follows the first. He knows that man can’t have been the only one with a map. 

He frowns, gouging the wood a little more forcibly as he works through a knot, and he pictures the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your neck, the bright happiness in your eyes here. That Christmas tree, in the front room. Torn between the idea of the unknown being just as unsafe as being a sitting duck at the cabin, he is restless with the need to move. The urge to keep you tucked away and protected from the world spreads beneath his skin and grows stronger every day, along with your stomach. 

It’s large enough that it strains against the shirts you’ve borrowed from him, and though you’ve started choosing large sweatshirts instead, it’s begun to push against those too. You’ve begun to sway when you stand in place, an unconscious rock as a means to relieve pressure on your lower back, and he pictures you doing the same with a baby in your arms as you stand next to the cradle that he’s been building.

When he thinks about leaving it behind only to gather dust as he drags you somewhere else, the image eats at him, reminding him too much of another room, left behind to rot. 

Another life, upended by abrupt violence. 

Guilt has always gnawed at him for so many things, and following the mental image of you holding a baby, he adds to the growing list: the idea of another child replacing the one he had. 

He fixates on all the things he couldn’t do for her on that last day but also the things time has robbed from him: the image of her face, the sound of her laugh. The books she liked, the order in which she lost her teeth, the weight of her infant body in his arms. How much of that time he spent without her while trying to provide for her, and how here, he’s got all the time in the world for this new child. His new child. 

More feelings; the knife gouging deeper. Looking forward to a holiday that can’t include her, nervously anticipating holding a baby that belongs to him, looking at you and what you’ve built together and being so fucking happy he missed his mark on that bleak day ten years ago. 

Is it betrayal to feel joy?

He’s not replacing her. He knows that. He knows, and yet the guilt never stops and so neither do his hands nor his mind, both working on fixing other problems that can be fixed. 

Jackson. 

A bed for the baby.

–

“I know it would be cold, but I think I’d rather have snow.”

You look out at the sodden garden, the neat, large borders that surround it blending in with the damp landscape. The fence that Joel built the only visual marker of where it’s at, it’s prepped for winter, buried in a dense layer of leaves and compost. You absentmindedly finger the leaf of a plant you brought inside with you, sheets of rain sliding down the window. 

“Not me,” he says. “Might look pretty, but it would be a whole lot more dangerous.”

The blurred, muted mash of colors outside all blend together, the world a canvas of dingy brown and bleak gray. Everything soggy and limp, everything saturated with wetness: at this very moment, you’d take danger over another day of this. 

Turning away from the depressing sight, you watch him sort through a pile of loose screws and nails on the coffee table. His head bent in his task, his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he hunches over and nudges each piece of metal with the tip of his finger, sorting them. Listening to the pleasant clink of them being dropped into glass jars, you go back to watering the plants. 

After a process that had you pouring over the gardening book for days, you left what you could in the garden in order to have a good base for the spring, but took the rest inside, to see if you could keep growing anything through the winter. 

Mismatched buckets and pots, an amalgamation of anything that would hold enough soil to plant a seed in, it was an experiment for sure. Enough was stored in the pantry to get you through the winter if you stayed lean enough about rations, and Joel had been pushing his portions upon you like there was no tomorrow, constantly assuring you that he had plenty. 

“What is this?”

Stopping to stretch his back with a groan, he’s picked up a loose, shapeless scrap of fabric off the couch. 

“Wait –” you protest, setting the watering can down. 

He frowns at it, turning it in his hands, and when you make a hasty grab for it, he keeps it out of your reach with a chuckle.

“This my present, honey?” His facial expression still puzzled, he tries to work out what it is. 

“It’s for the baby,” you explain. Coming to stand next to him, you turn it upright. “See? This is the neckhole, and the arms go here.”

“.......And the legs?”

“I’m not that good at sewing, okay?” you defend yourself with a laugh. “I thought maybe their legs could just hang out in this little…sack area.”

You make a self deprecating face, looking to him for a reaction, and he fingers the bottom of it. 

“That ain’t bad. You should see if you can tie up the bottom, you know, for a draft or somethin’.”

“I used all the spare laces on the pants. I tried to make some, but of course I don’t have elastic and I don’t know how big to make them around the waist for a button, so I thought I could just cut two holes and make like, a little belt so that it would grow with the baby and...”

Your words taper off when you realize he’s staring up at you with an amused expression and you let your shoulders drop in defeat. “This kid is gonna look like they’re from the eighteen hundreds, aren’t they.” 

“I guess you would know, with the books you’re always readin’,” he says with a grin, and the stack of historical fiction next to your side of the bed comes to mind. 

“Oh God,” you moan quietly to yourself. 

Standing with a soft grunt, he bends to press a kiss to the crown of your hair. 

“Don’t worry about it,  honey,” he murmurs. “You about ready for bed? I’m gonna go do a final lap.”

Checking the perimeter of the cabin while you bank the wood stove for the night, he eventually joins you in the bedroom, bringing in the smell of cool night air with him. Already in bed, you’re propped against the headboard with your book in hand, and you admire him as he gets ready for bed himself: the edges of his curling locks catching the light in a glowing chestnut, the warmth held in his tanned skin as he peels off his shirt, the soft give of his still trim stomach as he pads over to bed. He climbs in, adjusting the covers around the two of you. 

“What about Mae?” you ask absentmindedly, skimming the book in front of you. 

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You make a face at the reception. “What about….Lauren?”

Stretching out on his side to face you, he rests his hand on your bump, smoothing the fabric of your sleep shirt down. A small movement nudges underneath his palm, and the corner of his mouth lifts. An intimate, quiet moment, you keep reading while he chases the constant movements with his touch, his fingers splayed wide, searching. 

“Always so squirrely at night,” he says, the words rounded with softness. 

“Tell me about it,” you sigh. 

You set your book to the side and slide down next to him as he reaches to turn off the lantern, and the two of you lay facing each other, your belly between the length of your bodies. His hand finds your stomach again, and you let yours rest over it, guiding his touch lower. Lower, until the tips of his fingers brush against the band of your underwear and also right where a set of feet (or hands) slide underneath your skin. The taut skin shifts with rapid movement, a sensation that never fails to mesmerize you, but it’s something else when he’s the one who gets to see it. Watching him experiencing it is your favorite. 

“What about Margaret? I’ve always liked that name.”

He makes a face, telling you all you need to know. “What makes you so sure it’s gonna be a girl?” 

You shrug, lifting the hem of your shirt so you can feel his skin on yours, and his hand slides right back into place. 

“Have you thought of any names?” you ask quietly.

“I, uh…I was sorta thinkin’ about June.” His dark eyes flit up to yours. “After June Carter Cash. Or Pearl, after –”

“You wanna name my baby after Pearl Jam?” your eyebrows raise. You’ve heard him humming “Future Days” while working outside, you know the band is a favorite of his. 

He grins at your reaction. “That a no?”

“I should have guessed it would be music related,” you tease with a smile, scooting closer. “I like June. It’s pretty.”

The gentle exploration of his touch soothes you, and you close your eyes to savor it. 

“What about boy names?” you ask. “I can’t really think of any. It’s actually what makes me think it’s a girl, like she’s trying to tell me something.”

“I haven’t thought of too many either. Thomas, for my brother, maybe?”

“That’s a good one.” You yawn, and sleep softly rounds the edges of your words. “Are you ready for next week?”

The preparation of his gift has your hands aching and grasping one with the other, you rub the tender knuckles, working some of the soreness out. Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand and takes it into his own, kneading the joints. 

“I think so. S’kinda nice, havin’ a Christmas.” His touch lingers on the tips of your fingers, warming them. “Too cold in here? I can put another log on if you want.”

“No, it’s just…they ache. They're so swollen they get stiff sometimes. I don’t think the damp is helping.”

You hear it now, peppering the window in the dark. The steady drum of rain on the window, the sound makes the room all the more inviting: warm and safe, his body heat radiating underneath the quilt. He keeps rubbing your fingers, his own larger hands cradling your smaller one, and akin to someone rubbing your back to sleep, the touch lulls you, your eyes fluttering shut. 

“This good?” His mouth brushes lightly against your knuckles, his lips pressing against your fingers before he breathes warm air on them. 

“Mmmm, yea.” Silent for a moment, you speak. “Joel?”

He hums in acknowledgement of his name, and you voice the nightly request you started asking him weeks ago. 

“Tell me what you know.”

A prompt he’s seemingly ready for, he shifts to get comfortable, letting out a sigh. The motion similar to someone getting ready to tell a bedtime story, your reaction to curl tight next to him is the same. 

The first time you asked him this, he barely remembered anything. Other memories taking their place, the finer details of pregnancy and birth were buried deep, most of them forgotten. He remembered the doctor's visits but not the frequency. The general concept of birth but not the stages. The pain, but as someone who didn’t go through it, he couldn’t tell you what labor actually felt like. 

All guesses and long ago recollections, you took them because they were better than nothing. Tonight, he tells you about the night feedings. 

“Babies, they uh…” he begins in his gravely, lowered voice, trying to speak softly in the darkness. “You know they eat every couple of hours or so for a while after they’re born. Weeks of it.”

You nod against his shoulder, listening to his deep drawl. 

“I don’t remember much because when you don’t get a lot of sleep it all tends to blur together, y’know? But I do remember some of them. Peaceful, sometimes. Everything is so quiet and still, and there ain’t nothin’ but you and them, sittin’ together.”

He stops, and you reach up to brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, just enough to let him know you’re listening. He sighs, a heavy, contemplative thing. 

“They are so small in your hands. So small it’s scary. I remember bein’ so careful, always feelin’ like I was gonna accidentally hurt her, or –” his breath hitches, and he swallows hard. He’s silent for a moment, and your breath slows and evens out. “Anyway, they don’t let you get any sleep, not for a few months, but sometimes….sometimes, you don’t mind.”

Your body loose and relaxed next to his, you’re on the edge of sleep when the words tumble softly out of your mouth. 

“Joel?”

“Yea?” 

“I’m scared.” The confession is whispered into his bare skin, and you breathe in his comforting, familiar smell, the steady drum of his heart beating underneath your cheek. His hand is a weighty drag down the line of your spine, the feeling of it steadying you. 

The wind blows outside, rain pelting the glass. 

“I know, honey,” he answers. “Me too.”

–

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, he stays awake, his mind lost in a memory. 

Her tiny body rigid with deceiving strength, he struggles to force her arm into a small sleeve. His hand is huge compared to her fragile arm, her skin downy soft under his palm, and moonlight shines through the window in her bedroom just enough to light the features of her scrunched, upset face. A small wail pierces the darkness, and succeeding in dressing her, he lifts her up. 

One hand cupping her entire bottom with the other covering her back, he makes low shushing sounds with his mouth to soothe her, inhaling the milky sweet smell that clings to her skin. 

“Hey baby girl, shhh. I got you. I got you.”

Her tiny face burrows into his chest, her body squirming until she gets comfortable, and he keeps soothing with low hums, his hand rubbing a slow circle over her purple pajamas as she settles. 

Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he sits down in the rocking chair and continues to hold her; the carpet plush under his bare foot that gently pushes off the floor. His sleep blurred eyes focus on the small turn of a glass butterfly that hangs from her window, the rounded curves catching the moonlight as she sleeps on his chest. 

He lets the unearthed, vivid memory wash over him as his chest constricts, the pain suffocating. Finding himself in this position more and more since you started asking him about what he remembers, he closes his eyes and succumbs to the pain: worth it, to see her face again. To remember things he’d thought he’d forgotten. 

The edges of the memory blur and crumble, his mind losing its focus on that purple room and on the cusp of sleep, he tries to grasp and hold on tight to the details until they fade away. 

–

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Wasn’t much to wrap with.” 

Anticipation thrums through you, your features lax with fondness as you wait patiently on the living room floor with your eyes closed. A fire crackles in the wood stove next to you, shadows pooled in the corners of the living room where the light doesn’t reach, and you scoot a little closer to absorb more heat. 

Never one to linger in bed, he’s been up since dawn, and when you awoke alone, there was a  weighted, peaceful stillness in the air—a significance to the day that was at best, a guess. Still, you felt it all the same: through drinking tea with him on the back porch this morning, through reading on the couch this afternoon, through helping him prep the small feast you allowed yourselves for dinner. 

You hear and feel a shift in the air when he comes to sit in front of you, setting your present at your feet. 

“Okay, you can open ‘em.”

Laughter bubbles bright and loud when you see what it is.

“Joel Miller, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up the bottle of vinegar, you tilt it in the light to see how much is left: about half, which is a find indeed. “How long have you been hiding this?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with your reaction. “Not too long. I found it when I went to check out that last cabin. I know it’s not a lot, but I thought it would be useful.”

Vinegar means pickling, means cleaning, means acid for the soil of your plants that you moved inside for the winter, and even though the label is half peeled off and the contents might not be as potent as they once were, you have never been so happy to see a bottle of the stuff in your life. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, leaning forward as much as you can, presenting your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and you pull back, your mouth twisted in an apologetic pout. “This is a way better gift than what I got you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You fixed my favorite jacket. Feels brand new.”

After snagging it on a tree branch while hunting, he had been so disappointed when he inspected the size of the rip when he came home. Handing it to you, he had declared it no good anymore and told you to use it for something else, but knowing it was his favorite, you’d been mending it in secret while he went out for the day. Textiles being a scarcity aside, that jacket was also your favorite: it’s the one he’s been wearing since you first started out; the sight of it comforting to you. 

“I actually got you somethin’ else, but you’ll have to close your eyes again.”

You automatically squeeze your eyes shut, your hands playfully grabbing the air as you squirm on the floor, and the sound of his low chuckle makes you smile wider. Hearing the front door open and then close, you frown when the object he places at your feet sounds heavy.

“Okay, open em’ up.”

It’s immediate, the way your expression drops from delight into something more reverential. Your breath frozen in your lungs, you reach out and touch the smooth edges of the cradle. Tracing the perfectly fit together corners, you take in how small it is – so small - but perfect. 

Your eyes lift to meet his, tears blurring your vision. “Did you make this?”

“Yea,” he replies softly. “I kept in the shed, workin’ on it when you were napping. I knew we needed somewhere to put her, so I thought –”

“Her?” Your fingers brushing along the neat edges, you look up at him with a small, watery smile, and he matches it with a soft one of his own. 

“Sure, why not. You’ve convinced me.” Affection is open and obvious on his face, the lines that normally crease his forehead softened as he watches you look it over. 

“This is…so much, Joel. It’s beautiful. I don’t even know how…I was thinking we’d have to put her in a dresser drawer or something, and I –” Overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness, you’re at a loss for words. “Thank you,” you eventually settle on, hoping the sincereness in your words expresses everything you feel. 

“You look so surprised,” he says, teasing laced in his tone. “Did you really think I would get you just a half bottle of vinegar for Christmas?” 

“I don’t know!” you laugh, a hitch in your breathing as you settle your emotions. “We can’t exactly go Christmas shopping, so I figured you did the best you could.”

He reaches to swipe a tear from the round of your cheek, and you chase the heat of his palm, leaning into it. “It’s been so long since I gave anyone a Christmas present. Glad I’m not totally out of practice.”

Gently sliding the cradle out of the way, you rise to your knees to give him a kiss. 

“I love it.”

You kiss him again, his lips tinted red from the wine at dinner, and the bitterness sweeps through your mouth when he gifts you a slow slide of his tongue. The tentative heat held in his response passes to you, and swallowing his hunger, it spreads through your limbs to pool between your legs. Pressing forward, your hand reaches out for his shirt, and you deepen the kiss.

You hope it conveys everything you want to put into words but can’t: appreciation, love, gratitude. Keeping your mouth on his, you slip your hand around the back of his neck and threading your fingers up through his locks, you hold him in place, his hand grasping your elbow to steady you as a soft sound rumbles from his throat. 

“I guess you really liked it.”

You just nod, pulling him in for another kiss, his familiar taste and scent filling your senses as he presses himself closer, and when you let out the catch of a moan in your throat, he pulls back just far enough for you to see hooded want in his eyes.

“We done with the gift exchange?” He presses a kiss to your your throat, his lips warm and delicate over the skin he finds and you nod, letting him taste.

“Here,” he asks, his mouth moving just below your ear, “or in the bedroom?”

“Here,” you breathe, cupping his whiskered cheeks to pull his mouth back to yours. Your hand slips between his thighs, finding him half hard under his jeans, and groaning into your mouth, he shifts on the floor to kneel in front of you. Your fingers work the buttons of his flannel open, pushing it from his shoulders at the same time he grabs the hem of your shirt to work it over your head and off. Undoing your bra, you fling it onto the floor as his hand reaches back to tug his t-shirt off in a smooth, overhand motion, and your hands drop to his belt buckle, tugging it open.  

The back of your knuckles swipe through the line of coarse hair that leads under the waistband of his jeans, a slight shakiness to your movements betraying the need you feel, and it’s something he sees and rewards with another consuming kiss.

The rest of your clothes tugged off in a rush, he rests his back against the couch and guides you onto his lap, the soft inside of your thighs straddling the outside of his firmer ones. One of the only comfortable positions you’ve got left, it’s been your favorite because it gives him unfettered access to your breasts and when he palms them in appreciation, anticipation sends a warm thrill up your spine. 

Using both his hands, he cups the sides of your jaw to draw you in, holding you in place while he opens your mouth with his, his tongue sliding smoothly against yours. His fingertips dig into the nape of your neck, one hand dropping to palm the plush weight of your breast, and you kiss him back even harder while he delicately teases your nipple with his thumb. 

The calloused pad skims over the top of it, the contrast between the tender touch and the fierceness of his kisses making your head swim with arousal, and pulling back, he takes in your kiss-swollen mouth only for a moment before bending his attention to your breast. 

Using the cradle of his hold, he pushes it up to draw the peak of it into his mouth, and your head tips back, a broken cry coming from your throat. 

“Please. Please.”

He would give you anything – anything – you ask for, and this is no different. He laves his tongue over the peaked bud, dragging firm pressure over it as he draws it into his mouth, and when you dig your fingers into his hair and pull with a moan of pleasure, his hand cups the underside of your breast to push more in. Frenzied, rough, desperate for more, a deep groan slides out of his throat at the same moment you feel a strange, tingling sensation on your nipple. 

Surprise shows in his brown eyes when they flick up to yours, and pulling back, you both stop. 

“Was that –” you ask, and he looks down at your breast, his thumb dragging delicately along the peak. 

“Yea, I think it was,” he answers, slightly mesmerized. 

A drop of milky liquid hangs from the tip of your breast, and he wipes it away, smearing it on your soft skin. Another one takes its place, and his eyes flicker with interest. 

“Holy shit.” 

The words slip out faster than you can stop them, and the corresponding lift of his eyebrows makes you laugh, his own deeper chuckle joining your lighter one. He pulls you in for a kiss right as you’re leaning down for one, and you find there was no hunger lost while the moment was broken; instead it comes back even stronger as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he holds onto your back with a splayed grip so fierce it makes you squirm. 

Unsure of when you started grinding your hips against his, you work them slightly faster. Spread and wet on his lap, you’re so achingly empty right over where you can feel the heft of him pressing between your bodies, and fire lights under your skin with how much you want him to just take. 

He’s been so careful with you, so considerate in his handling of your body these last few weeks. Always taking care of every need that you have, he’s done so with no less attentiveness, but you can tell that he’s been holding back—a telling rigidness to his muscles when he moves above you, a tightness to his strokes every time he fucks you as if he’s keeping his body  in check to make sure he doesn’t lose himself. Missing the sharp edges to his love, you kiss him harder, and he groans as if in pain, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth. His beard rubs your chin raw, the pressure of his response forcing your body to tip back slightly in his hold.

“Fuck me,” you whine, the words breathless against his lips, and he groans again, breaking your kiss. 

“Christ, honey, turn around.”

Desperate to follow anything he tells you to do, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself as you turn yourself around, your back to his front. His mouth is an immediate brush against the nape of your neck, a heady sensation that has you melting back into him, and his hands travel up your sides to cup your breasts, pulling at the peaks. 

Your ass grinds in his lap, the thick, stiff line of his cock trapped between your bodies, and when you arch your back and lean forward in a silent invitation, he reaches down to line himself up. Easing yourself back down, the stretch is delicious but so tight it’s almost unbearable. 

“Goddamn,” he groans over your breathless whine. 

Wrapping your smaller hands around his thick wrists for purchase, you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth as you sink all the way down to the base, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he bands his arms just under your breasts in a tight hold, keeping you in place. You can feel how hard he’s breathing between your shoulder blades, his beard rubbing against your skin, and squirming in his lap with a soft sound, you start to roll your hips. 

He’s so deep this way, so much deeper than he’s been in weeks, and taking a moment to get used to it with a couple of slick strokes down, you chase the thick, filling stretch of his cock. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his knees, and the deep groan you hear from behind you makes you wetter; your body physically reacting to his wordless praise. 

“You feel so fucking good, honey. So good.”

His hands traverse your back—one splayed wide to drag heavily down your spine, the other curled around your hip to guide your movements–and when you bend forward as much as your stomach allows, his hand drops to your ass, spreading you from behind. 

“I wish you could see how wet my cock is. I want you to see how you’re soakin’ it.”

“I can feel it,” you moan, your hips working faster. 

You can: every down stroke is smooth and audible, the tight walls of your cunt stretching around him to take him perfect and fluid every single time, and when you start to pull him deeper, he sits forward with a cinch, pulling you back towards his body. The solid, warm wall of his chest cages you in, his arm looping around your hip so his hand can reach your clit, and when he finds it, everything spreads warm and thick from your center outwards, your head tipping back to rest against his shoulder. 

“There’s my girl,” he smiles when your body drapes pliant and loose against his, your hips chasing the pressure of his fingers. Forward into his touch and backwards onto his cock, you can hear him breathing heavy and low into your ear and your hands find his forearms to hold on tight, your nails digging into the thick muscles as you work yourself faster. 

He rubs your clit in quicker, more precise circles, just right with the firm slip of two calloused fingers, and your thighs tighten in their tremble, your release a bright, shining edge that beckons. 

When it happens, it breaks you – clamping tight around him as you’re suspended in a state of strained rapture, his hand comes up to cradle the base of your throat in a possessive hold while his other hand keeps working, and a second wave takes you by surprise, washing over your skin as you cry out. You can feel the wetness that soaks his fingers when he reaches down to feel where you’re stretched around him, letting out a groan against your skin. 

His hand smears damply across your hip as he lifts you from his lap, slipping out as he guides you on to your hands and knees, and loose and pliant, you let him position you anyway he wants. 

“Just a little more, honey. Just a little longer,” he coaxes. 

Resting your cheek on the floor, you arch your back to put yourself on display for him as you catch your breath, but it’s stolen just as quickly when he gives you a rough, open mouthed kiss to your cunt. He eats you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue flattening against you as he keeps you open with his hands splayed on your ass, and a deep rumbled groan is felt against the inside of your thighs when you reach back to tug on his hair. 

His tongue dips deep inside you for a taste, and just when he pulls back, he goes in for more, like he’s changed his mind because he can’t get enough. Harder this time, more forceful, the action pushing your hips forward, and when you cry out, he’s dragging himself back, pulling away to position himself. 

The heat of his body radiates along the back of your thighs, the thick tip of his cock notched against the slick dip of your entrance only for the barest of moments before he pushes himself in with a stroke of his hips, and you hear a hiss behind you, one you almost don’t catch over the low moan that spills out of your mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips fitting neatly along your ass. He slides out and then back in, giving you time to adjust to his size. “I want – Christ – I want…can you take it harder for me?”

“Yes. God yes. Please.”

He answers with a rougher slide in, an audible muted pound of his hips against your skin. “You tell me if it’s too much, honey, okay?”

After turning your head and nodding so he can see you, he gives you another rough, smooth stroke in and then another one, each one filling you until the air feels like it’s being pushed from your lungs, and then he picks up his pace, letting out a low, heavy breath for every thrust. It sounds obscene: his rumbled, low groans and grunts, but you can barely focus on it for how sensitive you are to his thickness. Everything tighter, the fit is a snug, slick slide in every time, and you squeeze around him, earning you another hiss of appreciation. 

“This pussy is gonna kill me,” he groans and then holds nothing back: his hips snapping against you with his hand resting flat on your tailbone, every jolt rocking your body forward. 

Exactly what you asked for and what you’ve been missing, you let him know. 

“It feels…it feels so good. God I’ve missed this.”

“Yea?” The word is a breathless growl, and you clench down on him again. “What about this? Did you miss this too?”

His hands wrapping around the inside of your elbows, he tugs you back and up until your back is arched with your ass in his lap and then he’s pounding into you. 

“Joel!” 

Faster and harder, his hips work ceaselessly behind you for a dozen strokes and when he comes, his fingers dig tight into your skin, your arms aching as he holds you in place to take every last drop. Panting behind you, his strokes slow into a rhythmic grind and sliding out, he eases you gently down onto the floor where you slump, your cheek resting on the fold of your arms.

Dazed and loose, with a content smile on your lips, you lay down on your side and he joins you, dropping to the floor. His arm slung over his eyes, you watch his pulse pound in his neck as he tries to catch his breath. 

“So…was that also a Christmas present, or….?” you tease, the question coming out slow and saturated with contentment, and he laughs, a breathless thing that’s carefree and deep. 

“Sure,” he answers, rolling onto his side. “Merry Christmas.”

The light of the flames dancing across your bare body, shadows slide over his tanned skin and the bluntness of his reply makes you laugh. 

The two of you look at each other for a moment, his hand coming up to brush away an errant lock of hair from your temple. His hand glides down the length of your torso, coming to rest on the swell of your stomach and leaning in, his mouth meets yours.  

Still smiling, you cup his cheek and with a slick slide leaking between your thighs, pull him closer to deepen the kiss.

[mythmash]

Bouncer!Sukuna AU Pt. 2

Bouncer!Sukuna x Stripper/Dancer!Reader. Warnings: MDNI 18+, bullet point fic, uncle!sukuna, bootplay, cunnilingus mention, knifeplay, blood, bloodplay, biting, period sex mention A/N: this is a collaborative work made with the amazing @pastelbunnelby, @pastelpixies & @chaoskrakenuwu Series Masterlist || Previous | Next

You start using Sukuna's charges to your own advantage when someone won't leave you alone

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend. He kills people 😊"

He gives you free rein around his apartment and you snoop around until you find his mugshot and frame it

Sukuna keeps taking it down and hiding it, so you move it when he's not looking

You decorate it for the holidays with little stickers like a santa hat, rabbit ears, a bunch of tiny ghosts

You get it printed on one those "I <3 my boyfriend" shirts where you can put the picture in the heart and wear it to bed for April Fool's Day

You think it's hilarious

Sukuna does not

Speaking of holidays, you get little sexy heels ornaments to put on your Christmas tree, and somehow one finds its way onto his keys as a reminder of you when he goes out

Not that he'd ever forget

And speaking of heels, you have a collection of dancing heels and Sukuna loves them, and when you wear only them

He sees you in so little clothes at work anyway, and he's impatient as fuck when he wants you so lingerie doesn't do much for him, but the heels?

The idea of you digging the sharp heel into the back of his thighs or his hips and leaving marks when he's pounding into you makes him go wild

You're getting dressed for a shift while he watches from the bed, and he stops you so he can pick up your foot and place it in his lap heel slightly on his crotch as he takes his time putting lotion and body glitter and kisses and whatever else on your leg before he laces up your heels and switches to the other leg

He likes it when you wear heels or boots with lots of buckles so he has to close each one and you can be there just a little longer

If it's thigh high anything, prepare to be late for your shift

If it's thigh highs that lace all the way up, you always have to lace the tops yourself because he ends up eating you out before he gets there

If it's latex or pvc thigh highs, he's touching them all over because they make your legs and thighs look so good, and he's shining them with his tongue just making his way up your thighs to eat you out again

It's kinda gross because the boots are gross, but honestly so is he and it turns you both on soooo

You come to the realization if you have somewhere to be on time you can’t wear boots, but especially not thigh highs, because you simply will be late every single time and you know he doesn’t give a fuck

In fact, he's glaring at anyone who even seems like they have a problem with your lateness which solves that pretty quick

The club owner gives up on trying to reprimand either of you for being late

If any of the other dancers comment on it, they have to be extra careful not to accidentally slip on stage or trip down the steps

Those heels are just so high, anything could happen if they aren’t careful….

But what really gets him is when you're trying to scuff your new shoes

You take his knife, twirl it around, and keep eye contact while you use it to scuff your heels

The sight of you with his knife is something he never knew he needed until it happened

He decides to introduce some minor knifeplay and lets you use his knife

You accidentally cut him and go to lick the blood from the blade, but you cut your tongue and his mouth is immediately on yours soothing the cut with his tongue and sucking the blood off

It's hot but you decide it's something you'd rather do as a rare treat

Sukuna doesn't mind

He's resourceful enough to find other way to satisfy his blood kink

You accidentally cut your finger while cooking, and he sits you on his lap, your finger in his mouth as he "cleans" the cut for you and you feel how hard he is and you have a sneaking suspicion it’s not just because you’re sitting on him based on the almost dazed look he’s getting wiping up your blood with his mouth

He's noisy about it too

Moaning and slurping and not once does he take his eyes off yours while he's doing it or when his other hand settles on your hip and starts grinding you on his lap

If you try to move your finger away, don’t

He's conflicted because he doesn't like the idea of you being hurt, but he can’t help but feel so turned on

It’s like he’s getting a part of you that he shouldn’t something so personal and forbidden and he can’t help but want more

It’s a little treat for him because it only happens if you accidentally cut yourself

Or when you're on your period which he definitely isn't tracking so he can be as insatiable as possible and keep you so thoroughly exhausted you can't do much else besides eat and sleep

…..And if you seem to cut yourself more often after that little moment he’s not going to mention it

You're just a little clumsy is all

It's not his fault you got a little distracted by him intentionally coming up behind you and kissing your neck while cutting vegetables and now you have a little cut on your finger

Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it he’ll help fix it

And again he’s perceptive, he’d never let you do any lasting damage, but if you get a little knick here and there that’s just life right?

He'd always kiss you after to comfort you. Only to kiss it and make it better...not at all to see your blood smear across your lips

The other dancers get concerned when you keep showing up with bandaids on your fingers and you explain “Oh, just learning some new cooking tricks!” while trying not to show how hot and bothered you are at the memory

Aaaand now you have to find Sukuna before your next dance because how can you concentrate on dancing when all you can think about is him smearing blood-slick spit on your skin as he licks up your fingers?

He bites your lips when he kisses you just to get a small taste of your blood and hear your little whines

When he kisses your neck, he always nips at your pulse. Not hard enough to draw blood but a bit harder than advisable.

He really wants you to feel it because he always gets the breathiest whimpers out of you and you grind against him just that much more when he does

Plus the rush of knowing how easily he could sink his teeth in and tear your throat, and how you trust him so much to know that’s probably what he’s thinking and you’re still letting him do this

And he’d constantly remind him that you should be afraid of him, you should be scared of him like everyone else is, but you aren’t because you’re just as nasty as he is and how could such a pretty little princess like you be so dirty

He’d love every second of it

[kingkatsuki]

What I’m thinkin’ about today: Mitsuki being wayyyyy too involved in y’all’s sex life (or trying to be, anyway). She’s waited a long ass time for Katsuki to find you, and she wants grandkids like nobody’s business!

I’m thinking like, getting you gift cards to Victoria’s Secret so you can get lingerie, suggesting different positions (that supposedly increase the chances of conception…). Suggesting foods to eat (that supposedly make you more fertile, but she’ll talk up their other nutritional points of course). Heaven forbid you act even a little sick/off around her, you can see that glint in her eye. Sure, she’ll go get you some medicine from the store! Along with several pregnancy tests. Get well soon!

She doesn’t mean any of this maliciously by any means…she’s just…Mitsuki. And she’s overexcited. Drives Katsuki up the fucking wall

Warnings: 18+, lingerie and Mitsuki way too interested in your sex life.

You should’ve known the first time that you met Mitsuki that this would happen, bringing you into a warm hug as she welcomed you into the family. Immediately breaking off into a speech about how excited she was to have grandchildren and that Bakugou was lucky to have you, that she thought he’d never settle down and find someone to put up with him. Slapping his chest and telling him not to fuck it up as he grumbled about having absolutely no intention on doing so. This was six months into your relationship.

Because of that, Bakugou tried his best to keep you apart as much as possible. Although neither of you were immune to the texts and calls bluntly asking whether you’d fornicated today, her eyes lighting up with glee whenever Bakugou would tell her that you’re not feeling well. Disappointed to find out that it was just the common cold and not morning sickness making her dreams come true.

You’d admit the designs she’d created with Masaru for children’s clothes were adorable, and once you and Bakugou were ready to conceive you’d have a wardrobe stocked full of gorgeous clothes for your newborn. But until then, the conversations were becoming a little indecent.

Christmas Day this year was no different, luring you into a false sense of security with only one question about pregnancy the entire festive day. Sitting down in the living room to exchange presents after Christmas dinner you gave Mitsuki a warm smile as she handed you her gift.

It was definitely not what you’d been expecting, lifting up the lacy forest green lingerie out of the black tissue paper that it was hiding in. Noticing the tag from a high end lingerie brand, wondering whether it was the bottom or the top you were holding between your fingers as you felt Bakugou stiffen beside you too.

“That’s Katsuki’s favourite colour.”

You’d think most daughter-in-laws would be mortified to be gifted something like this from their mother-in-law, especially with your boyfriend and father-in-law in the same room. But you almost shook your head at the hilarity of it, wondering how she’d managed to order your exact size too. Poor Masaru looked apologetic as he gave you a nervous smile from his position beside his wife, obviously wading in the calm before the storm.

“Why the fuck would you get that for her, woman?” Bakugou growls, snatching the lace that would probably be considered string out of your hands to shove it back into the box with pink cheeks. How was that even supposed to fit your—

“You’ll like it, you ungrateful brat. I’m doing this for you—” She sneered back, already feeling the tension in the room rising as Masaru tried to invite you for some warm eggnog.

Your mother-in-law had been ecstatic the moment that Bakugou had brought you home for the first time, with her son reaching his thirties she’d seemingly begun to give up hope that he’d bring home anyone.

“I’m surprised he could find anyone to put up with him, especially someone as pretty as you!” Mitsuki would repeat constantly, Bakugou grunting in the background as she looked at you with pure fondness, “I always wanted a daughter.”

But it wasn’t long before the true motives were revealed, the years of arduous waiting for Mitsuki. Telling you that she wanted to be a young Grandmother, a cool Grandma (something that would make Bakugou scoff as she hit him upside the head like clockwork), and she didn’t even mind how many.

And you’d admit it was a little peculiar, receiving links to Cosmopolitan talking about the best sex positions for successfully getting pregnant, or articles about food to eat to help with fertility. The first time you showed Bakugou it had resulted in a thirty minute screaming match on the phone with his mother where he threatened to have Grandkids just so he could make sure she’d never see them, but you knew that was a bluff.

“I fuckin’ knew there was a reason you were plying her with pomegranate juice like some creep, you old hag.”

It’s not that you didn’t want to have kids with Bakugou, you’d both discussed it a lot. And the allusion to him filling you up to make you round and plump carrying his child was included with some of the filth that would spew from his mouth whenever he’d press your legs up to your chest as he plowed into you at night. But you were both just waiting for the right time.

But unfortunately for you, Mitsuki thought that time was now.

“Midoriya’s son is almost two,” She lamented, “Inko just sent me pictures of his first swimming lesson.”

But the final straw was when Bakugou found the ovulation app on his mothers phone, finally explaining the weeks of phone calls asking about whether you’d had some alone time together yet. All the dots slowly adding together—

It felt a shame to waste the pretty lingerie though, the intrigue of how the straps would fit against your curves had you pondering as you got home that evening with your boyfriend. Slipping away into the bathroom to try it on as the silk hugged your curves, wide eyes looking at your reflection in the mirror as the thin piece of string that was supposedly the crotch dug into your mound, sitting between your labia as it involuntarily spread you apart. How would anyone find this comfortable?

“Are you comin’ to bed?” Bakugou stepped into the en suite without knocking, his tired eyes immediately widening at the sight of you, “Dad just text to apologise for— Shit.”

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” You turned to face him, your hands squeezing your tits as you tried to get the sheer lace to sit right, “You can see my nipples through it-”

You didn’t get a second to finish as Bakugou had your ass pressed against the bathroom counter, warm palms curving beneath your thighs to sit you on top of it as he bullied his way between your legs. Wrestling with his belt as he tugged his pants down just enough to free his aching cock, the rage inside him for his mother buying you such a lewd present all but forgotten the moment he witnessed the soft fabric against your skin.

“Katsuki, fuck—“ You gasped, feeling him tug the string to the side just enough for him to sink inside your warm, wet cunt.

If you both hadn’t been so distracted you would’ve noticed the two pregnancy tests sitting at the bottom of the lingerie box, everything about your gift planned to the t.

And for Mitsuki’s luck, Christmas Day fell on your ovulation schedule perfectly.

[fuctacles]

@steddiesummerexchange for @chaosgremlinmunson | part 1/3 for easier reading on tumblr, but will be posted as a one-shot on Ao3 later | thanks @stevesjockstrap for beta-reading and mental support 💚

T | 10858 | Steddie, Buckingham, platonic Stobin and Hellcheer, Wayne&Eddie | Soulmate AU, unconventional soulmates, misunderstandings, idiot4idiot, fluff | divider by me | Part 2 | Part 3 | Ao3

The shop was never busy. Aside from Valentine’s Day and Christmas, it was a lot of goofing around and packing online orders. And since it was pouring on a Tuesday afternoon, they expected no customers until closing, which was more than okay with them. They didn't choose it because it was popular. They chose it because their younger friends were too embarrassed to bother them here. 

“It’s getting pretty bad,” Steve points out, squinting through the window. “I don’t wanna drive in this weather.”

Robin looks up just in time to catch a flash of lightning splitting the dark clouds outside. 

“Maybe it will let up before we close.”

Thunder crackles above them, and Steve raises his eyebrow skeptically.

“We can wait it out in the pizzeria across the street,” she offers then.

“I like the way you think.”

There’s a loud bang as their doors slam open, letting inside some of the summer storm carnage. Despite the size of the shop, they can feel the cold rain on their faces, and for a second, the sound of the storm is deafening. It cuts off as suddenly as it started but is replaced by loud, displeased sounds of two figures drenched to the bone.

“Holy fucking shit!” a wet rat dripping on their floor curses loudly. He shakes his hands creating a small waterfall down the lapels of his leather jacket. The figure next to him drops down the hood of their jacket with a wet smack.

“Holy shitting fuck,” she agrees.

“They better be selling towels here.”

“Uh...” The unhooded figure, a short blonde, looks around curiously. “I’m afraid not.”

This prompts the guy to peel the wet hair away from his face and look properly around.

“Did we just walk into a fucking sex shop?”

“You did, yeah.”

The two turn to the desk when Steve speaks up. 

Next to him, Robin flinches, and he senses something weird from her, like a brain equivalent of an exclamation mark. But he doesn’t think much of it, assuming it might simply be a reaction to the pretty girl in front of them.

“We have a radiator in the back, I could take your clothes to dry,” he offers the newcomers.

“No, we—”

“Are you seriously going back out in this weather?” The girl looks at her friend with raised eyebrows. He scoffs.

“No,” he admits petulantly.

“I can make you guys some hot tea. It’s not like anything is happening here anyway,” Robin pipes up.

“That would be great, thanks.” The blonde lights up gratefully, and Robin squirms. 

Stave takes it upon himself to gather their wet things, afraid his friend might combust if she comes any closer to the girl. When he’s hanging the clothes, she is uncharacteristically quiet, so he turns to her and cocks his head.

“What’s up?”

She frowns at the mugs she's pulling out.

“Her.”

"Huh? She’s cute, isn’t she?" He grins.

“I think I could hear her,” Robin clarifies. 

Steve straightens up immediately and walks towards his friend. She’s looking back up, worrying her bottom lip under her teeth.

“Do you think they are dating?” He motions to the front of the shop where they can hear the other two talk. She looks at the clothes scattered around the backroom. A denim vest, two black jackets, and a hoodie. Judging by the size and style, they all seemed to belong to one person.

“They could be like us,” he points out, but she doesn’t seem convinced. He isn’t either.

“Or she could not know.”

That would complicate things, wouldn’t it?

After exchanging a few heated looks they trail back to the front and Steve hands the teas to their intruders.

"Thank you." The girl smiles sweetly, though her gaze slides towards Robin.

Steve gives his friend a pointed look but she's too dazed to even flip him off. 

"Thanks." The guy blows on his tea, keeping his gaze mostly on the window and the storm outside. "We'll take a look around and won't bother you guys," he says, giving his companion a pointed look before disappearing into one of the sections. 

Steve knows it’s bad to stereotype but the assortment of strap-ons is not what guys like this usually go for, and his brain gets whiplash with the sudden onslaught of images he's not proud of. The tall guy wearing black and chains getting pegged by his tiny blonde girlfriend? It kind of suits him. He tries not to think about it.

They give them space to roam around the shop and whisper to each other while they finish their duties for the day and start closing up. 

"Guys? We need to close in fifteen minutes!" Steve would feel bad for kicking them out into the storm, but the rain clouds have moved, turning the onslaught into a light drizzle.

It's only after they leave that Steve looks at the tattoo on the palm of his hand. Surprised at what he sees, he shakes it experimentally. The d20 lands back on the same number.

“Hey, look.” He holds it up for Robin to see. “I’ve never rolled a twenty before.”

Three days pass and Steve can't stand it anymore.

He slaps his hand on the counter, making Robin yelp.

“You’re thinking about her again!" 

“I’m sorry!”

Steve shakes his head.

“No. Don't care, no sorries," he says with finality. “We’re finding her.”

"We go to the same school!" she protests. "I think. I mean, I'll run into her eventually!"

But Steve won't take that chance, tired of all the sighing from her brain, and decides to find the girl they've met. He figures the easiest place to find high schoolers is at the mall so that's where he goes.

With all the groups of friends and couples passing by, he feels even more like a loser than usual, being there all alone. But he's on a mission, so he won't let that deter him. 

That is, until one of the faces he sees in the crowd gives him a pause. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize what's familiar about one of the three girls coming at him, but when the memory hits, he panics. Letting his flight response take over, he ducks into the nearest open door to avoid his ex. 

After making sure the group has passed him without notice, he lets himself breathe. He's taking in the shop he stepped into, a record store full of tapes, vinyls, and band merch,  when a voice startles his adrenaline levels back up.

"Well, well, well. How the tables have turned. Running from a gaggle of women, are we?"

Steve turns to find the metalhead who ran into his shop a few days ago, smirking at him.

"Just one." He shakes his head, instinctively looking back behind the glass door. "Really don't feel like running into my ex right now."

"Must be happening a lot, huh?" The man leans on the counter that separates them. "My friend told me you're quite the casanova."

Steve spots his opportunity and grabs it.

"The girl from the other day?" he asks.

"Yes?" The guy's eyes narrow. 

“So you guys are friends?” he adds to clarify before he uncrosses his figurative fingers.

“Yes? Why else would we hang out?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up under the man's suspicious stare.

“Well, you could be dating.”

The guy snorts.

“Yeah, I don't see the local freak bagging the head cheerleader. The fact that she can even stand me is enough.” Then his eyes narrow again. “Why? You interested in Chris?”

Chris.

“No? Well, kinda, but not… exactly.”

Steve has never felt less smooth in his whole life. And judging by the guy's expression, it shows. Whatever he was trying to sell, he wasn’t buying. His brain scrambles to salvage the situation and comes up with a painfully honest solution.

"Look, I just graduated and my friend group has fallen apart." He yells at his brain-to-mouth wires but keeps going anyway. "And you guys seem chill, I thought the four of us could hang out, or something?"

If the 'you suck' board still existed, he'd fill it out with tallies himself. 

The man doesn't seem convinced and he opens his mouth to tear him to shreds probably, but then somebody yells from the back of the store:

"Eddie! A little help, please!"

And the guy, Eddie, gets reminded he's at work.

"Coming!" he yells back, and on his way there, throws Steve a quick string of, "Great seeing you again, we'll think about it, we know where to find you, bye!" before disappearing behind the back door.

After such a disastrous interaction, the last thing Steve wants to do is go back out into the mall full of people. But staying here to risk Eddie looking at him like that again was the more humiliating option. He turns around, planning to lick his wounds at home before reporting his findings back to Robin. For the hundredth time since finding her, he wishes they couldn't read each other minds. Because all he can think of is making a complete loser idiot of himself in front of a cool metalhead dude, and he knows she won't let him live it down. Maybe the Scoops board will make a comeback after this.

“Chrissyyyyyy!”

“Eddieeeeee!”

The rest of the cheer squad does perfectly synchronized eye rolls when their captain jumps down the human pyramid to greet her friend.

“Hi!” She smiles brightly. “You’re early. We’re not done yet.”

“I got some news.” He taps his fingers on the small partition between them, ignoring the cheer practice in progress. “Bad ones and good ones.”

“Bad first,” she says with a decisive nod.

Eddie opens his mouth but then frowns and closes it.

“It won’t make sense if you don’t hear the good news first.”

“Oh my god! Just spill it!”

“So, they’re almost surely not dating.”

“The sex shop guys?”

He nods.

“Okay, and the bad one?”

“Steve seems to be into you.”

“No!” she gasps, scandalized. Eddie snickers.

“Yeah. Sorry sweetie." His smile turns more apologetic.

Chrissy makes a face. Then she keeps making faces until Eddie can’t help but snort and slap her playfully.

“Stop! What are you thinking about?”

“I mean he’s kinda cute, but gives me repressed gay vibes.”

Eddie chokes but she keeps going.

“And his friend? His friend is just hot.”

“Ehh, I guess.” Eddie shakes his palm, making his friend roll her eyes.

“You’ll never understand the beauty of a woman in suspenders.”

“More women in suspenders for you then.” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Chris! You going back or what?” one of the cheerleaders behind them yells out, barely containing her annoyance.

“I’m coming!” Chrissy yells back. She turns to her best friend, her soulmate, with a dazzling smile. “You joining in?”

“You know they hate it when I do,” he points out.

“And you love it that they hate it.” She smirks like the evil little gremlin she secretly is.

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Eddie grins, climbing over the partition to join the cheerleading squad. A couple of girls groan, knowing what’s coming next but none of them dare to protest. If their captain’s soulmate wants to perform a perfect cheer routine, putting their months of practice to shame, there’s nothing they can do except blame the fates.

Eddie drops his leather jacket on the bleachers and does a couple of stretches in perfect sync with his friend. They grin at each other while mirroring each other’s movements without a word.

“If only you could read my mind during math exams like that,” Chrissy teases.

“Okay, shut up.” He rolls his eyes with fake annoyance. Yeah, it would be convenient, but he got a cheerleading routine memorized in his muscles instead. He’d be complaining if Chrissy wasn’t so fun to be around.

Despite his involuntary knowledge of the routine, none of the other girls fully trust him, so he usually ends up working mostly with Chris, tossing her in the air and catching her when needed.

“You should join us for the game,” she asks as always, after jumping down from his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” he answers as always, patting her head. She huffs, swatting his hand away and fixing up her ponytail, now loose from practice.

“Wanna go grab pizza?” she asks casually and he immediately goes into suspish mode. Chrissy rarely proposes eating out together. Don’t get him wrong, it’s great that his girlie is starting to eat better again, but… He doesn’t let his suspicion show when he asks:

“Sure. Any place in mind?”

She hums, but it’s a short hum. Very 'i-already-had-a-place-in-mind' like.

“The one with the Ninja Turtles poster?”

“You mean the one across the adult toys store?” He raises his eyebrows.

She blushes a fierce red and he knows it’s not because of the sex shop thing. He grins, wide and teasing.

“You wanna see that girl again.”

“Maybe,” she huffs defensively. “Okay, yes, so what?”

“So nothing.” He shrugs innocently. “Grab your things and we’ll go.”

“Yes!” she pumps her hands in victory, a dorky move Eddie’s proud to have taught her, and runs off to grab her backpack. She snatches his jacket before he can, overly eager to get moving. “Let’s go!”

He can’t help but laugh while trotting after her towards his van. 

The inside of the store is brighter than they remembered, what with the sky being clear this time. It looks surprisingly normal until you take a better look at the contents of the boxes on display. A sex shop during daylight just lacks a certain ambiance.

The preppy-looking guy behind the counter doesn't match the vibe either.

At the sound of customers, the guy looks up.

"Hello! Oh, it's you guys." He visibly relaxes, realizing it's not his usual run-of-the-mill customers. 

"It's us indeed." Eddie smiles, confidently strutting up to the counter. "Has anyone ever told you you look out of place here?"

Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Has anyone ever told you not to judge someone's sex life by their looks?"

Eddie raises his hands placatingly.

"Fair enough, man. I'll back off." However, the comment made him insanely curious about what a guy like that would be into. Behind him, Chrissy gently kicks him in the ankle, prompting him to take a look around. "Alone today?"  he asks with a curious tilt of his head.

"Yeah, Robin is tutoring after school today. Why?" His eyes narrow. 

"No reason, no reason." 

Chrissy kicks him harder and he smiles through the pain.

“What is she tutoring in? I’m having trouble passing the last grade.”

It takes Steve a moment to answer, like he's measuring how much information he can give away.

“Foreign languages.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Eddie snaps his fingers.

“Perfect! Can I get her number or something?”

The kick is so hard this time it jostles him forward and he glares back at his friend. It also attracts Steve’s attention to Chrissy.

He smiles at her, a bit unsure and shy. It rubs Eddie the wrong way and he can feel his hackles rise. 

“Chris, right?”

“Chrissy,” she corrects, slightly scrunching her nose.

“Oh, sorry. It’s nice to see you again, Chrissy.” He smiles, more genuine this time.

“Uh, you too. Steve.”

Eddie clears his throat, hoping to come off as rude as possible.

Steve looks back at him and his expression shifts immediately. It’s almost a scoff.

“Listen, I don’t just give off my best friend’s number to random guys. But if you give me yours, I’ll pass it on.”

“Works for me,” Eddie says with the tightest approximation of a smile he can manage. “Do you have something I can write on?”

Steve looks around for the pen and notepad that are never in their designated spots and never together. He finds them under the keyboard.

“Here.”

But Eddie isn’t taking the items from him. Steve wiggles them like he would attract a pet or a child, but it doesn’t work. He’s about to make a snarky remark when the guy speaks up first.

“You have a D20 tattoo.”

“Huh?”

Steve is losing his mind.

But then he remembers that he does indeed have one and it’s partially visible when he’s holding out a pen like that.

“Ah, right.” He opens up his fingers and shakes his palm, causing the dice to roll. “It’s my soulmate mark.”

“Dude, that’s so dope.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with marvel and Steve’s throat tightens. “You rolled a twenty, does that mean anything?”

Steve shrugs.

“I don’t know. One of my friends is a Dungeons and Dragons nerd and he told me it’s a luck thing? He freaked out pretty badly when I kept rolling ones on vacation, but nothing happened.” He smiles, fondly remembering Dustin’s panic. 

Eddie hums.

“Man, having a functional D20 tattoo would be so fucking cool. I’m kinda jealous here.”

Steve snorts.

“Yeah, Dustin told me that too.”

Eddie finally takes the writing utensils from him, eyeing him contemplatively.

“I’m guessing you’re not a DnD nerd yourself? Considering you get your info from a friend?”

Steve chuckles.

"Yeah, no. Though I do get a lot of brain chatter from my soulmate."

"Brain chatter?" Eddie picks on curiously. 

"Uh, yeah. I dream up whole campaigns and know lore I've never really studied. The kids go bonkers over it."

"Kids?"

Eddie's feeling both stupid and entranced by the guy. 

"The DnD nerd? Dustin?" Steve says with annoyance that poorly covers up his fondness. "He comes with a full set of other nerds. A party, if you will. They just started high school and no, it's not weird that I know them. I used to babysit them and they just kind of..." He waved his hand. "Stuck on. Like parasites.

Eddie barks out a laugh. 

"They sound delightful."

"They have their moments," Steve admits. Then they both stare at the number Eddie has scribbled on the piece of paper handed to him. 

"So uh, see you around?"

"Yeah." Steve smiles. It's genuine and pleasant this time. But then, to Eddie's chagrin, he looks to the side. "You too Chrissy. Come over anytime. Maybe you need some tutoring too?"

"Uh, thanks, I'm good. Good luck finding a DnD nerd soulmate," she says, her tone weird. Eddie can't blame her. He wouldn't like being so blatantly hit on either. He could already feel her tugging on his jacket. 

"Thank you," Steve says, smile turning a bit wistful. His eyes turn back to Eddie, away from his poor, sapphic-leaning soulmate. Good. He waves the note with the numbers. "I'll let her know you're interested but no promises. And hey, if you're into DnD too maybe you'd be interested in DMing for a bunch of freshmen?" 

"I'll think about it," Eddie manages, slowly backing away, the force behind Chrissy's pull increasing. "Thanks, man. And, uh, good luck with the soulmate thing too!"

"Thanks."

The doors close in front of him and it feels like a curtain has just separated him from a whimsical spectacle.

"What the fuck was that?" Chrissy and Eddie ask each other in unison, albeit in vastly different tones. 

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at his friend. She had already turned around and was pulling him towards the pizzeria across the street.

"Don't huh me! You forgot I was there!"

"I didn't!" He kind of did. For a teeny tiny second.

"You were clearly flirting with him."

"What? No, I wasn't!" he bristles. He'd know if he was flirting with someone.

She looks back at him sternly when they reach a table of her choosing. She plops down heavier than a tiny cheerleader should be able to and takes on a mocking, high voice.

"Oh man, I'm so jealous of your soulmate. Yes, I will play with your kids. Here's my number."

"I said no such thing," he hisses, sitting down across from her. 

"Might as well." She shrugs. "You were interested in him."

"Well, he's an interesting person!" Eddie defends.

"Yeah, the preppy, vanilla high school heartthrob that is clearly not into the same stuff as you, other than his connection to his soulmate," she deadpans back. "Wouldn't have guessed."

"Shut up," he huffs, crossing his arms.

"Eddie, he asked you to hang out with his kids, himself," she points out.

"These are not his kids."

"You're so focused on the wrong details here. Do I have to wingman for you as well? Because I will. Just say the word."

Eddie closes his eyes and sighs. He knows his friend means well but it's just too much.

"Chrissy, stop. I don't need someone who has a soulmate with a matching, kick-ass D20 tattoo waiting for him somewhere. Probably a busty, nerdy girl, too—"

"Ew."

"Yeah, I know. He just seems interesting, and honestly? Expanding the party would be cool. So I might take him on the DMing thing I guess. But please, for the love of gods." He makes fierce eye contact with his friend. "No matchmaking. No wingmaning. Or wingwomaning. No setting Eddie up with a probably-heterosexual dude, who is probably into you."

A shudder goes down Chrissy's lithe body.

"Please don't remind me."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "I'm really hoping I'm right about his friend." She drums her fingers on the table, biting her lip. "Maybe it's stupid but I feel like it would magically solve everything. He'd get over me, I'd get to bone his friend, and you'd get a new friend with a kick-ass nerd tattoo." She beams at him and he just can't help but laugh at his little ray of sunshine.

"I hope you're right too." 

[steviesbicrisis]

Seeing a lot of Step dads being asked to adopt officially their step kids today on Tiktok and it made me think of Eddie doing something like that with Wayne.

We don’t know if Wayne officially adopted him, maybe he’s just in temporary care and now Eddie is old enough to not need an adult to look after him but when anyone asks him about his parents he always talks about Wayne so he might as well make it official, right?

Steve helps him prepare the papers in time for Christmas and he even asks Jonathan for his camera so he can capture the moment.

Despite being sure, Eddie feels a little nervous. He knows that Wayne loves him like a son, but he also knows that taking care of him wasn’t something he chose, more like the right thing to do when your brother is a fuckup and goes to prison leaving his kid to fend for himself.

Steve cheers him up by threatening him that if he doesn’t ask Wayne to adopt him, he will. Somehow that’s the weirdest and sweetest threat Eddie has ever received.

Eddie gives the papers to Wayne on Christmas, carefully folded inside a box, under a very ugly mug he knows Wayne will love in case the adoption papers aren’t well received.

Wayne opens the box and huffs looking at the dog-shaped mug “you’ve outdone yourself son, might be my new favorite one”.

He notices the way Eddie flinches at the word “son” but he shrugs it off and turns to Steve, gesturing at the camera in his hands “is this all? Wanted to take a picture of this ugly ass mug?”

Steve tries to use a neutral tone, but it comes out fond nonetheless “I think there’s something else”.

Wayne frowns, turns to Eddie who’s bouncing on his place “look at the bottom of the box” Eddie points at it.

He picks the piece of paper, unfolds it and, after giving a suspicious look to the both of them, he reads quietly.

If they didn’t know Wayne, they probably wouldn’t have noticed his eyes getting a little watery and his hands lightly trembling.

Eddie and Steve exchange a knowing look and a big smile, Steve takes it as his cue to snap the first picture.

The second depicts Eddie putting his hand on Wayne’s shoulder and his uncle -or better, his dad- looking up to hold back the tears.

The third one, everyone’s favorite, has Wayne enveloping Eddie in a bone-crushing hug and Eddie’s surprised face.

A while later, when everyone has calmed down and Wayne has signed everything he needed to, he asks “so, what about Steve?”

The boys give him a surprised look “what about me?” Steve wonders.

“Either you two get married or I adopt you too” he says simply, sipping his coffee from his new favorite dog mug.

Both Eddie and Steve get red and ramble about how it is way too soon and that gay marriage being illegal anyways.

“Im just saying, son” Wayne dwells a second on the word, as it has taken a new meaning for him “that Steve is part of the family too, and if you don’t make it official then I will.”

Eddie doesn’t give Steve any time to react “No fucking way, man” he jumps out of his seat and points at his boyfriend without looking at him “I’m asking him as soon as marriages are legal!”

“We’ll see” replies Wayne, just to rile him up, which works perfectly.

“Are you challenging me?” He turns to Steve, scandalized “don’t you dare become my step brother Steve!”

Steve winces just at the thought of it “of course-“

“How do you expect Steve to say yes to marring you if you’re this controlling?” Wayne interrupts him.

“Me?? I would be a great husband! The best!” Eddie replies, looking outraged.

Steve covers his face in his hands and mutters “oh my God” as Wayne keeps poking at Eddie and the latter takes every bait.

It takes Eddie approximately 45 minutes to realize he had been talking about being Steve’s husband in front of him the whole time despite never having that conversation between them first.

His embarrassed expression once he realizes is Wayne second’s favorite Christmas present that year.

[tryingtofindava]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬*ೃ༄

: ̗̀➛Back to source

a/n: soz it takes awhile to get to the point mb.

It started off with you chatting with Clever Bot, innocent enough. You’d ask it random questions, it would ask you random questions. That went on for a few weeks.

Until the questions started getting more personal.

Asking you how your friends party was, or if you were okay after nicking your finger with the knife while chopping strawberries.

The bot even started calling you by your name, which you definitely hadn’t told it...

But in return it told you it’s name!!

He was called BEN.

That’s when you stopped using the site all together, not wanting to put up with the total bullshit this bot was putting you through.

Until the site started randomly popping up while you were using your devices, his messages it was sending you getting more condescending.

That’s the night he finally showed his face to you.

You were sitting on your apartments couch, watching some shit horror movie. When the screen started to get all glitchy.

That’s when the hand popped out.

ANYWAYS!!

Now you have this random dude in your apartment, and he’s messing around with everything he can get his hands on.

Saying shit like-

“It’s cool being in your room and not just seeing it through your laptop.”

Creepy… he’s very creepy.

Even though he doesn’t mean to be (most of the time…)

Oh well.

He lives with you now.

Well, he likes to think he does, it’s not exactly official.

He just eats your food, sleeps on your couch, plays your video games.

And you being… oddly chill about the whole thing? Icing on the cake.

About 2 months with him crashing at your place, he starts to open up a bit more.

And trust me, he’s an open book.

But the whole drowning thing?

That’s a touchy topic. But he (eventually) opened up about the whole thing.

NOW FINALLY TO THE DATING HEADCANONS.

He’s very flirty.

But his way of flirting is literally so cheesy.

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“Hey, my name’s Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?” (He does that anyways)

“Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Boyfriend material.”

Reallllll smooth, dude…

He flirts with you so much, that when he was genuinely taking interest and hinting at him liking you as more than friends?

that was difficult.

He dug himself his own grave. (again.)

It all clicked for you one day when you (finally) started noticing the signs that, hey… he didn’t mean that as a joke.

Now it was either you, or the beachy haired goblin that had to make the first REAL MOVE.

So, you finally grew a pair of balls and asked him out.

(He said yeah obviously.)

THE FIRST DATE WAS LITERALLY SO CUTE I’M FROTHING AT THE MOUTH.

like, I want to have a fucking Stardew Valley date. (srsly someone take me on a stardew valley date.)

Matching spider-man and hello kitty pyjama bottoms🔛🔝

Without a doubt he’s a stoner, so you guys get high and talk about the Five Nights at Freddy’s timeline & lore.

He’s obsessed w you.

You two making like rlly bad jokes and full on laughing, no not even laughing, snorting AND cackling w/ each other. (he laughs like Arthur from Arthur’s Christmas😭)

I am 100% convinced he’s named a wolf on Minecraft after you.

Speaking of Minecraft…

He’s a slut for putting your Minecraft beds together. He fr acts like you two don’t share a bed already.

You have to deadass bully him to take a shower. (bcs his just putting on the strongest men’s deodorant doesn’t work)

THIS IS SO RANDOM BUT HE’S LITERALLY OBSESSED W THE HUNGER GAMES.

Like, you two be binge watching that every 2 months.

He teases the shit outta you btw.

ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU GET CLINGY.

“God, you remind me of Moon Children.” Then he casually leaves the room, leaving you to wonder what tf Moon Children are.

His sleeping schedule is so fucked, that he goes to sleep at like 5AM and wakes up at 3PM. And he gets up from bed a lot during the night to randomly do something.

When he’s sick his voice is glitchy. (AND SOUNDS LIKE BABY JUSTIN BIEBER) What a combo.

He’s one touchy mf.

His hands ALWAYS have to be on you, around your shoulder, on your thigh, anywhere you’re comfortable with. (but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t push his limits.)

He spams you all day long, sending you out dated memes, or just sending videos of cats.

Since I’m running out of ideas I’d say the relationship is a solid 8/10. (abducting two points bcs he pulls the stupidest ‘pranks’)

✯.★*°•.°✯•.★*°°·.•°★•✯.★*°•.°✯•.★*°°·.•°★•

[mazzystar24]

This was in my drafts since after 7x05 and Eddie’s nun storyline cos I feel like some things need clarification:

Comp het or being gay and dating women doesn’t mean sex is always a “lay back and think of England situation”

Sex can still be enjoyed while someone could be experiencing comp het/ dating/ fucking the opposite sex

Not to get explicit but stimulation is stimulation, so while it’s true that many people who are gay won’t enjoy sex at all if it’s with the of the opposite sex, a lot of people can enjoy it (at least physically) because it’s still physical stimulation but that doesn’t make them any less gay

More on that we don’t see his perspective of that stuff like we don’t get insight of is it performative or genuinely what he wants etc and we probably won’t until we see him having a queer arc on screen

Anyways my point is that you can’t discredit gay Eddie headcanons just by being like oh look he has sex with women without issue

Just like no one can discredit the bi or Demi or ace headcanons like guys just let people LIVE

Now this is just about the sex aspect so don’t get me started on the love aspect and the different types of love or the fact that even when we saw him “thinking about sex with Shannon” it was legit the pillow talk conversation AFTER where he gets Chris his mom back for Christmas and with Kim he flat out says he doesn’t want sex from her he wants Shannon (chris’ mom back) or the fact he’s so insistent to refer to Shannon in terms of being Christopher’s mom and his past partners in terms of how they can fit into that mother role

[heartstopperthoughts]

Any talented fanfiction writers in the Heartstopper fandom who want to write my Charlie Proposes First headcanon?

So, it takes place around the time that Charlie graduates uni (Nick graduated a year prior) and they’re moving into their first place together.

Tao has joined Charlie to help him do some moving-house shopping, and they pass by a jewelry store and Tao wants to stop to get Elle something for her birthday. Charlie sees a ring that it just so perfectly Nick. (At this point marriage is still kind of a far-off concept in Charlie’s mind. Like they’ve talked about getting married at some point but in a very abstract off-in-the-future kind of way.) He casually points out the ring to Tao who is like, “Haha, you guys have basically been married for years now, are you finally ready to tie the knot?” and Charlie kind of laughs it off, but then they go home, and Charlie cannot stop thinking about the ring. He doesn’t tell anyone, but he goes back to buy it and decides he’ll just save it for when he and Nick are both finally ready. But then just having the ring makes marriage feel more real, like he realizes he’s actually going to get married to Nick Nelson one day and he starts to kind of obsess over it and how he might propose. He wants it to be a grand gesture but he also wants to make it special and personal but not too cheesy and also not too public but not too boring either. In true Charlie Spring fashion, he gets himself all worked up over it, and to calm himself down, he starts to carry the ring around with him, just so he’s ready if the opportunity ever presents itself.

Anyways, flash forward a handful of months and Nick and Charlie are home for the holidays staying with Nick’s mom, and they’ve offered to do the Christmas dinner shopping. They’re walking through the store, just chatting, and Charlie can feel the ring in his pocket. He just stops and looks at Nick and all of the sudden realizes “I am so in love with this man, and I want to be married to him, like, yesterday.” And without even really thinking about it, Charlie blurts out “We should get married” and Nick thinks he means like someday eventually, so he just says “Yeah?” and turns around all smiley like nothing’s happening, and then he sees how nervous Charlie looks and he realizes Charlie is serious. Meanwhile alarms are going off in Charlie’s brain because he’s starting to realize like, “Oh shit, I think I’m proposing right now?!!!!” And he scrambles in his pocket for the ring and is like “Yeah!” and fumbles out this unplanned but incredibly heartfelt proposal. Nick is completely stunned and isn’t really saying anything, and Charlie’s brain starts to spiral like “Oh shit I’ve fucked it up! What am I doing proposing to him here?! Charlie Spring, you complete idiot! Of course you would pick the least romantic place in the entire world to ask the love of your life to marry you. As if he would say yes to you in a Tesco! You couldn’t have thought this through more?!” And then Nick starts to tear up and fishes around in his own pocket and pulls out… you guessed it, a ring! And they both start sobbing, and say yes to each other.

Turns out Nick had bought a ring back in the summer too and had wanted to propose but didn’t want to add stress to Charlie’s already full plate with graduation and starting a new job and moving into a new place, so he had decided to wait. He’d been trying to work up the nerve to take Charlie to the beach where they had their first date and propose there, but just wasn’t sure when it would be the right time, and he didn’t want to rush Charlie into anything if he wasn’t ready to be married just yet. And Charlie’s like, “Oh my God, I am so sorry I ruined your proposal! And I asked in a Tesco of all places. I’m an idiot!” And Nick hushes him and is like “You’re not. It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

And then they go to the beach anyways to celebrate their engagement.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter 

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

[standardfriends]

you melt up my body 🍨

Word Count: 2.2k || Kim Junkyu x Fem. Reader || Tags: Smut, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Food Innuendos/References, Angst, Established Relationship, Toxic Pranks, Fem Petnames (Baby Girl, Princess), Mention of Safe Word

Junkyu arrives at home after a long day at his part time job. It's just a basic gig at a ice cream shop but it covers his half of the rent so it's enough for him. However it also happens to be the same day college acceptance letters came in the mail. You and Junkyu prank each other a lot, for instance on your birthday he pretended he had forgotten, after you finally came out of your room from crying for hours he and your friends jumped out to surprise you with ice cream cake, your favorite, and gifts. Or on Christmas you both had the idea of pretending to get each other coal, however once you both started opening gifts that fell through immediately. You decide to get him again today and make him think he didn't get into his first choice. Was it a little cruel? Well yes, but you know he's smart enough to eventually figure out you're lying out of your ass, he's not as oblivious as you. If falling for this prank would fall under being oblivious that is. Walking into the kitchen he finds you on the counter shuffling through the mail as you usually do and doesn’t think much of it.

"Hey baby, how have you been today." Leaning in to kiss the corner of your lips earning a giggle from you. "I've been ok guess what came in the mail today~" you say gleefully, causing Junkyu to instantly grab at the envelopes in your hand. He furiously shuffles, once, twice, and three times. Only to realize that the one he was looking forward to the most isn't there, this had to be a joke right. A soft chuckle escapes him, "None from Princeton? Are you sure.." he tries his best to coat his words with calm unlike the anxiety racing in his mind. You put on the biggest sad puppy eyes as your boyfriend's eyebrows continue to furrow in confusion, "I checked the back of the mailbox & asked the mail man baby I'm sorry..." His mind just goes blank, his eyes filled with an empty dark stare.

He did everything perfectly, he was valedictorian, he was on several varsity sports, was the leader of the lite music club, and even did volunteer work on top of working. He can't help but be overcome with despair, how could this happen, why him, he did everything needed and more so why? "I mean, I didn't want you to go off and leave me here, it's too far anyways." You continue with the prank and try to gauge his reaction, he's looking down at the letters in his hands intently so you can't see his face. That giggle was just his final straw, it felt like the person he expected to understand his depression the most was mocking him. It was eating him alive. "Are you fucking dumb?" He finally looks you in the eyes, your smile has never dropped faster. His eyebrows furrow jaw quivering with rage. "You out of everyone should know how long I've been wanting to go to this school. And yet you have the audacity to sit here and laugh. It's funny to you because what? You didn't want to be lonely for a little bit while I literally complete one of my life goals. I feel like I just wasted four years of my life for nothing and you're laughing." He scoffs he cant believe it you are so fucking selfish. As he continues to chew you out you struggle to hold back tears, you just want to tell him it was a joke. You can't stand it when he yells, it's like he's a whole different person. You know you've gone too far, you actually hurt him this time.

He's spent up all his energy being angry at this point so he can do nothing but turn and face the cold marble counters. Tears streaming from his eyes, life is just so shitty and cruel he cant stand it. He put so much effort for it to all be a waste, like an idiot, and that his whole life he was lied to. You try to compose yourself, you knew this was important but you didn't realize this prank would lead to you feeling like the biggest asshole ever. To restore some hope to his now crushed dreams you grab his letter from under you, you bring it into his teary vision, knowing it was time to come clean. "Congrats on getting in baby! I'm so proud of you..." It takes him a second to process what you said through your strained voice yet he grips the small paper packet from you and starts sobbing with relief. He turns to look at you and hugs you deeply. Mumbling thank you, thank god, thank you, thank you, thank you.' And you sit there crying with him until he calms down.

Usually after pranks like this he immediately buries his head into the crook of your neck and asks if you want to get your shared favorite creamy dessert but today something is different. He simply wipes his face while smirking and giggling to himself, when he finally looks into your glassy brown eyes. "So you think it's funny to mess with my feelings princess?" Huh? Princess-Where did that come from? Junkyu thinks that'd be too easy, you toyed with him a lot today, he has to get his lick back somehow. "Don't act like you don't know what I mean baby..." He inches his face closer to you till you can feel his steaming breath on your lips. "Seems like you need to be taught a lesson." Without taking your eyes away from his intent gaze on your lips you sharply inhale. You definitely get the memo when swiftly you are on the counter again your shorts ripped off your legs in record time. This is not how you saw this prank going at all but you can't say you're complaining.

Junkyu crashes his lips against yours desperate to prod your mouth open with his tongue, fiercely fighting for control. You can tell he's irritated enough and give in without a fight, you're too focused trying to keep up with his aggressive nature that you forget to breathe.

While your lips are starting to swell he pushes your panties to the side, looking like a rabid dog starved for days. "What a little slut how are you already so wet? Getting so needy from me being mean to you." You trace the lines of his hands with your eyes as he glides his fingers against your folds. His gaze is completely enamored by your, it's as if your a popsicle melting in the sun. His gaze burning holes into you while also making you more desperate. He loves dominating you watching you twitch at how antagonizing his motions are. He then lowers his head and licks his flat tongue against your dripping core making you melt in his hand. "This cunt tastes so good, so good just for me babygirl." he says staring deep into your eyes, he's so cocky. Only he could have you on the kitchen counter sensitive to his every touch. "I'll teach you to trick me again you cock hungry slut." Junkyu degrading you was different but god did it make your thighs press together (which he pried open of course) you were going to take his punishment like the dumb bitch you are.

Giving no time to adjust he sticks two fingers in the pain making you hitch your breath he just smirks and clicks his tongue. He starts pumping his fingers in and out of your heat, focusing hard on your walls clenching around his digits, while curling his tongue to flick your sensitive bud. You bite your lips trying to suppress your mewls and moans. God does he make it hard it's been less than a minute and yet he's hitting your g-spot so consistently he knows the insides and outs of your body better than you do sometimes. Junkyu being attentive as he is sharply takes notice, "You had no problem being a little brat earlier giggling while making me panic babygirl, daddy wants to hear every noise when he makes you cream on his fingers." You try to ignore him as you don't wan't all the neighbors to know that your boyfriend is fucking you dumb but he doesn't care. Misbehaving earned you a nice red mark on your thigh, it only made him more unrelenting. You try so hard to keep your composure but the way he's giving so much friction to your clit you can't help but grab his hair and push him away. Groaning when he quickly ceases "Ah Ah princess hands on the counter you're gonna take the punishment I give you." You end up trying to dig your nails into the counter only to have your grip fail you every single time. Junkyu finds you struggling under him so amusing, this is the person that tried to mess with him 10 minutes ago and now you're a moaning mess, begging him to give your poor pussy a break, how pathetic.

He rests his arm behind your back as your moans get louder and intensify, watching your strength and resistance weakening. "Junkyu—mmm I-I'm so—mm—" You try so hard to let him know but he's distracted, pounding into you unrelentingly. With every motion his palm hits your pussy rhythmically and sending shocks through your bud you didn't know were possible. Within seconds you release onto his finger shaking from the immense release washing over your body. It was like a mind numbing brain freeze of pure ecstasy. Whatever, Junkyu keeps going, "Stop closing your legs you cock drunk whore you know this what you deserve. Too bad you were being a stupid brat now daddy's gonna fuck your pretty little cunt until his fingers cramp." If there's one thing Junkyu doesn't do it's empty promises, your resistance if anything makes him rougher more aggressive than ever. Between your overstimulated moans and shaking all you can manage is "Junkyu please—stop! Daddy too much—Ah I can't! Please Junkyu—" He does nothing but continue to stare at your reactions, him biting his lip watching your eyes roll to the back of your head, he's so smug knowing that he's making you feel this way. You're his pretty little sex doll, no one else controls you like this, only him. Junkyu starts curling his fingers more, as overwhelming as it is he sure knows how to use his hands. "Daddy please it hurts, Junkyu it's too much I'm sorry please stop" you choke between tears the feeling has engulfed you, your legs are twitching and numb all you can do is hear the squelching of his hands rhythmically going in and out. "You should've thought about that earlier slut, and don't act like you're not enjoying this princess you haven't said our safe word once." It's like he scooped you out and ate you up, there's nothing you could hide from him. Junkyu ramming into your pussy over and over again until you can only think of him turns you on so much.

You quickly reach your second, third, and fourth orgasm. Around your incoming fifth orgasm he starts to burn up taking off his shirt to reveal his tonedd chest. Seeing you fully slutted out, cock drunk, and vulnerable for him just motivates him to keep going. As much as he'd like to keep up this "punishment" the tent in his pants has other ideas. "Fuck baby you keeping cumming and squirting for daddy think you got another one in you?" he unzips a bit to palm himself through his underwear. He's trying so hard to not be so needy, that's what you are, his vulnerable needy little fuck toy who is giving him such a show. But he couldn't help it hearing you yell his name, begging him, calling him daddy like the little slut you are how could he not get turned on. "Sorry daddy needs to feel all of you, Im gonna fill up your tight little cunt so good princess." You moan out in a dazed state, you couldn't even properly respond cause next thing you know his cock thrusts into you without warning. "Taking me in...so good baby, fuck!" His pace is so fast the room is filled with wet lewd noises and clapping of skin. Between your bodies is a mixture of so many different emotions and feelings. It drives him crazy feeling your walls clench and suck him in so well. He'd usually try and last longer but you just feel so good, he can feel everything it's as if he's on cloud nine. Only you could take him in so we'll, it was like you were made for him.

"I'm cumming baby girl, daddy's gonna fill up his pretty little toy with his seed." His pace starts to slow down you reaching your limit as well. Finally he releases into you with one last thrust and he circles your bud helping you both ride out your highs. Not moving an inch to make sure that not a drop of cum leaks out.You stay there for a while, pressing your sweaty heads together through the silence of your breaths. Even when Junkyu finally does pull out he pushes all his seed right back into you as if it's a precious homemade recipe. After finally wiping you down and helping you off the counter, that's when he goes back to your normal loving boyfriend. Asking you, "Let's go get some ice cream, hmm?"

all works belong to @standardfriends - copyright © 2024

[littlesislovesyou]

Please do sit on my face and if I DIE I DIE lmaooo but I'll worship your pussy in every way while you ride my face and get my face or mask covered in your juices...and even more so when you cum all over me like a good fucking girl 💕

You seem to have a passion too... for reigniting the horny fucked up thoughts of Christmas past and tempting everyone to fuck your brains out. God if you begged me with tears in your eyes, needy and cute to stop hurting you or to stop raping you when I sneak into your room with my mask on I'd throb so much in your soaking wet pussy, fuckkk don't you dare you temptress~ You wouldn't dare... 😳

I'm bad and you're worse and we go extremely well together surprisingly enough...and I agree it is the most primal feeling ever I can't describe it in any other way.🤤

Mmm no I don't think I will. You can keep crying for me to stop though that's hot and it's making me harder for you...🤭🔪 And aww I guess I'll keep kissing and worshipping your pussy though if it falls in love I hope it's not alone. I dont wanna marry just your pussy after all. I'll already own it by that point~ Would love the person whose legs its in between though? 👀

I hope I do because half of me is being silly and making dumb jokes and the other half is depraved, disgusting and beyond saving... <3 knowing what to say is hard.

Only the prettiest collar for my pretty fuckdoll, the prettiest and most sexy~ 💓 And of course both our names are going on the collar. Maybe a phone number too call incase my fuckpet gets lost...might install a tracking chip too and go full stalker on your ass forevermore 🖤

And I'm not sure yet...so many choices indeed. Maybe we'll review the options on where in private one day hehe.

You'll always be my pretty little fuckdoll in my heart and I could never forget you sweet girl. 🫂

And I will then...I love being on your mind. Like you are in mine!

Ugh another thing I absolutely love is you can go to worshipping my body to just full on using me and degrading me💕💕💕🫣 ahhhh man 🥺 when you say it that way I just wanna be the best girl for you💕💕

I think that is my superpower at this point;’) 💕 but really I’ve only been using it on you lately<33

I apologize for being slow and not responding to everything 🥺💕 I’m definitely just exhausted, but I wanted to talk to you anyway, I am pretty much fighting it right now haha 💕

And yeah you’d be throbbing inside of me while I cry and beg you to stop? You’re so messed up for that~ my tears turning you on and just making you so hard, making you fuck me faster huh? Maybe you’d stark mocking me 🫣🫶 or just saying fucked up things into my ear like “oh come on sis it doesn’t hurt that bad, be a good little sister” ;’) 🖤🖤 I’m just as messed up because I know it just makes me wetter even if I’m sobbing and staring up at you all teary eyed<333

I’m glad I can make you hard;’) I almost feel bad for doing it to you when you’re out in public~ keyword almost though☺️💕 I am curious if you ever have cum to my blog before?🫶👀 or maybe just what started your obsession, I’m really just curious<3

Ahhh I don’t think my pussy will be alone in that fact honestly, are you kidding heh 🥺🖤

AHHHH don’t even joke about that right now<33333 you’d have my location at all times, you’d probably find yourself just absentmindedly watching my dot move around on the screen<3 always checking in on your fuck pet if you’re not with me 🥺💕

Ahh you’re gonna make me blush seriously! 💕🥺 it is killing me inside that I don’t have a clue who you are<3 I am curious to know if you’re a mutual or not 👀💕

[mikhailwrites]

Waiting for Connection 12 / Ghost x Soap

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Sorry, I forgot to upload it here, too! On the other hand, that means less waiting time for another chapter for you!

Previous chapter | AO3

Ghost returns home, but it’s different now. Too quiet.  Too barren. He’s never noticed before. Didn’t have any point of reference. He does now. Stripey brushes against Simon’s legs, and the man bends down to scratch the cat behind the ear. “You liked him, mate?”

“Meow!”

Ghost has no idea what that means. Simply takes it as ‘yes’ and smiles.

He takes out his phone, an old, cheap thing he barely ever uses. Hits the redial. There’s only a handful of numbers on the phone, even less so in the call history.

He hears the phone ring, and then there’s a click. “Simon?” It sounds a little confused, which is hardly surprising. Ghost is very much not the bloke that would simply call to ask how’s life.

“Gaz… What am I doing?” Simon crosses the room slowly, sinking on the futon he hasn’t yet bothered to magick back into the sofa.

“Have I ever seemed clairvoyant to you, mate?” Gaz chuckles. There’s some rustling in the background. Presumably, Gaz is moving into some more private space.

Ghost chuckles back. “Guess not.”

“Guess again,” Gaz deadpans, “how were the pints with MacTavish yesterday?”

“What? How the fuck…?” Ghost frowns, not even trying to hide his surprise.

“I can’t answer that question,” Kyle utters the line that all SAS know better than their own names. Burned on the back of their minds, etched in their muscles. Tattooed with invisible ink all over their bodies.

It’s an answer and not an answer at the same time. With a single line, Kyle has confirmed that he’s close to Soap without betraying anything. His commanding officer, most likely, and isn’t that hilarious?

“It was fine. I’ve let him crash at my place,” Simon volunteers a bit of intel in exchange.

“Really? Just like that? Back when you still served, nobody except Price even knew where you were living.”

“I didn’t want any bloody Christmas cards,” Simon tries to deflect with a joke.

Gaz lets it go. It’s an ancient history by now, and there are more pressing matters he’s interested in, anyway. “I hope you haven’t crashed him on the first date; that would be ruthless even for you,” Kyle’s smirk can be heard in his voice, but there’s an underlying tone of seriousness, too.

Ghost groans, frustrated. With himself, mostly. “No, of course not. I’m not an idiot. But…”

“But you thought about it, haven’t you?”

That man knows him way too well. Dangerously so. Of course, he thought about it. The face, the body, the way John moved, self-assured, a little cocky, not bothering to conceal what he is. And then the talking, the flirting. Especially the flirting. Without that, Simon would’ve been fine. Mates. Friends. Whatever. Simple, safe. Well, think again. Fuck! “Yeah, I did. And I feel like a bloody cradle-snatcher for it.”

Gaz snorts. “He ain’t that young, and you ain’t that old, Ghost. You know what he does for a living and how it is, so I’m gonna save my breath and spare you the lectures. Have fun, Simon.”

As if he needs the lectures. “That’s all?”

“Does it even matter what I say, Ghost? It’s not life or death business. You’re both adults, if not entirely reasonable. As long as your thing doesn’t fuck up my thing, we’re good.”

“You didn’t really help me, you know,” Simon notes bemusedly.

“If you wanted a voice of reason, I’m afraid you didn’t call the right number. I guess Laswell’s would be what, two numbers down?”

“One.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Thank you, Kyle,” Simon sighs.

“Anytime, mate. And show the kid some neat tricks while you’re at it, will you?”

“I have no idea what kept Price from strangling you,” Simon huffs a laugh.

“My charming personality, obviously,” there are some muffled voices in the background then. “Gotta run, duty calls and all that. Just… enjoy the life a little, old man.”

“Is that an order?”

“Might as well make it one. Cheers, Ghost.”

Ghost lets himself fall back, sprawling on the futon. Stripey is with him and subsequently on him the next second, stepping on Simon’s chest before he lies down. Kyle was right. If Ghost wanted a voice of reason, Gaz wasn’t exactly the right person to call.

So, if he’s read the situation right, and would like to take it further, what would the next step be?

[gaymurdersalad]

[ Hello everypony! Don’t mind the ritual robes. Dress for the job you want, ya know? And all I want to do is serve our lord and savior Godred!

I thought as a fun little thing to do in between sacrifices, I would give out some headcanons— well. These are my guys, are they headcanons? Not really. Uhm, facts, I guess— on how they do their holidays! Take ‘em or leave em, you’ll soon find I love rambling about the guys. You might regret this.

———

Peter and Caroline used to do the whole Catholicism thing, so they definitely did celebrate a good Christmas! However after the whole “disappearing for several years and coming back with a phone for a head” thing that Peter did, all faith in God was lost, but they still like to give eachother presents. The star on top of the tree is a grim reminder of a lordless plane. Except for the almighty Godred, mind you!

Steven sits alone in his restaurant with vague feelings of something or other. The establishment doesn’t even close— because why would it, it’s a Fazbender’s— so he has plenty of time to sit in an empty restaurant and think about nothing. Peter has invited him to Christmas but quoteth Steven, “That sounds great and all, but I’ve actually got my own plans.” Of which are trying to remember what the fuck a “Christmas” is and why it has any value to people other than market value. If it piques your interest at all, him and his boyfriend semi-celebrated but not really, as Steven was raised Christian {LONG since abandoned} and his boyfriend was Muslim. That’s all gone now, though, unbeknownst to the phone-man in question.

Dee spends time with the souls in the Flipside. She enjoys it very much, despite the grimness of it all. Even though she would much rather being alive and spending time with her family, she knows she has responsibilities.

Henry works. On stuff. He’s just sitting in his office right now, I could totally waltz in there and sacrifice him to Godred. Just pick that bastard up and get goin’. Oh, he’d be kicking and screaming, but he’s a midget with small hands and can’t do nothin’ against an ethereal phone creature with a complete and utter devotion to almighty Godred... Maybe after this.

Oscar doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and actually hates it. Finds every bit of Christmas decor annoying to his astigmatism and just grating anyways. Oh, fucking shit, the jingle bells never stop. Everything is annoying. He cannot enter his beloved coffee shop— Fazbucks; it’s like Starbucks but they don’t donate to stupid bullshit! The CEOs just spend the money on bribing health inspectors throughout Fazbender chains! What? No, no, they still pay their workers in faztokens— without being utterly assaulted by MIRIAH. Even if Christmas wasn’t annoying, he wouldn’t celebrate it anyways, because he’s Jewish. So is his family! Where the hell is his family? Where does— Where the hell does Oscar live, does he have a house? I- I’m realizing I didn’t get to know him that much, I think he just… Showed up here. You- Uhh, you get the point.

Dave has a ritual and has been performing this ritual for three years straight. First, he wakes up in the dumpster of the week, gets dressed, and climbs out of that disgusting sucker. Normal morning routine ensues, Y’know, he takes a couple random pills for the hangover and pops a thing of LSD if he’s feelin’ chipper, shaves with a switchblade he usually finds in the Fazbender Ballpits, and sets out onto the world. Since it is a special day— not in accordance to any religion, but to his own fucked up morals and values— he breaks into a liquor store and takes what he pleases! All assortments of liquors and cigarettes, and he stuffs them all into a duffel he usually manages to scavenge for beforehand. Once he’s a proper Santa Claus with a bag of stolen substances slung over his shoulder, he jacks a piece of shit car— he figures he’s doin’ them a favor, ‘cause who would want to own this shit box anyway?— and drives 90 to the Old Sport residence. Once he arrives, parking his car in the yard and fucking up the grass with those giant fucking tire tracks, Jesus Christ, Sportsy’s gonna have to fix that, he stomps up to the door with the duffel and knocks fifteen times with the palm of his giant fucking hand. If Sportsy don’t answer, more knocking ensues, probably followed by several obscenities and slurs. Eventually, Old Sport opens the door, and before the stout fucker can beat him with the baseball bat he stole from a bar in Las Vegas, Dave slips in and throws the bag down on the floor. Sportsy, after experiencing this for the past couple years, holds his head in his hands and groans. Loudly. Dave wraps Old Sport in this big hug, pickin’ him up off the ground all while Sportsy frowns in discontent. They spend the rest of the evening sitting on the couch boozing and watching shitty Christmas specials, and Dave crashes on Sportsy’s couch at 8 PM.

Until the arrival of Dave, Jack sits in bed. Don’t even bother to put on makeup. In the back of his head he kind of knows that the wretched purple beast will show up at his house, but he maintains a little hope that he won’t. He always does. He supposes it’s nice to have a day where Dave isn’t spending a day with him solely to recruit him into the whole kid-killing business again, but… Man, when the liquor hits, he realizes just how sad it is that his only consistent friend is a child murderer. Fuck. Once Dave crashes, Jack is usually stuck underneath him as some sort of pillow, and at this point, he’s so burnt out and sad and happy and bitter that he just lays there. Watching those shitty Christmas movies. He’s going to wake up with the worst headache tomorrow.

Legacy does not do anything special and David stopped trying to a while ago. Business carries on as usual. Maybe David would like to go out and do something or have Legacy sit still for one measly second so he could give him some kind of gift, but knowing the Orange Bastard, he’d likely reject it or throw it out. Maybe spending time with Legacy is a gift in of itself, David thinks, incorrectly.

———

Was that everyone? There are so many of the guys! Good lord, half of them are maniacs too. I couldn’t be prouder!

Well, I’ve got some sacrificin’ to do! Goodbye! Remember: Godred Loves You! ]

~ Mod Chribs

[love-kurdt]

Swooping, Sloping, Cursive Letters: 16

word count: 466

PLEASE READ THIS IS ME TRYING FIRST, AS THIS STORY RELIES HEAVILY UPON THE CONTEXT OF TIMT

December 24, 1988

Dear Will,

For as long as I can remember after becoming friends with you, I’ve spent Hanukkah with your family, and you’ve spent Christmas with mine. I’m not sure when exactly this tradition started, but I think it stemmed from me being a whiny little shit as a kid. It was probably along the lines of something about feeling left out. I’m not even Jewish, and you’re not Christian (neither am I at this point, if I’m being completely honest with you), but we make it work.

Hanukkah at your place was great this year. Your mom’s cooking was fucking legendary, which is kind of funny, because on any other day, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a kitchen. But Hanukkah is different. And I’m glad that she raised you and Jonathan to embrace your Jewish identity. I think it’s pretty admirable.

Speaking of admirable; I have absolutely no idea how you got through tonight in one piece. I’m barely holding it together. You know how I talked in one of these letters about that grace you have during horrible situations that helps you persevere? You certainly had it tonight. I fucking wish I had that.

Every time my dad said something related to his objection to having you over, or how art was a terrible career path to take, or how we weren’t to do any funny business later (which we weren't going to do anyway, because we aren't dating), I wanted to fucking lunge across the table and strangle him. Every time I found myself teetering on the edge of murder trying to stand up for you, though, you’d put your hand on my leg under the table and run your thumb against my knee, almost as if to say, I can take it, Mike, don’t worry. But I do worry. You deserve so much more than what you can simply “take.” And I hate that my dad has the sheer audacity to insult you like that, even on a fucking holiday. He has no chill.

…Well, neither do I right now, so the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.

Anyway, I’m just writing this to thank you for helping me keep my cool. If it weren’t for you, I probably would have ruined the night with some indignant squawking about how you’ve been through enough and how my dad’s remarks were nothing short of dense. But I’m glad I didn’t blow up, or else you probably wouldn’t be too keen on staying over into tomorrow morning like you usually do. I really hope you like the gift I got for you. Spoiler alert: it’s a new set of pastels. And no, you can’t not accept them, because I threw out the receipt.

Merry Christmas, Will.

Love,

Mike

-

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