#and why is he staring at it like that tho jesus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

millerscoffee · 8 months

Text

heat lightning

6.5k | sub!joel miller x f!reader

gif credit: @jdmorganz

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning: NO OUTBREAK. established relationship, no age gap – up to you for joel's age but he has creaky knees so..., sub!joel, bratty!joel??, mommy kink, rope kink, dom/sub dirty talk, joel whimperin' n whinin', gagging, choking, slapping, spitting, edging (m receiving), oral (f receiving - face riding), piv (unprotected), praise kink (good boy, etc.), pet names (pet, baby boy, honey, etc.), a touch of humiliation/degradation kink (spoiler: a moment of cock shaming – every body is a lovely body!), size kink (he still got that thang tho), we walk by breeding ave., sickly sweet aftercare, lingerie. dude if i missed it - it's probably in here! no use of y/n

A/N: thank u to the sweet anon (u know who u are) who requested this almost a month ago. i hope it was worth the wait! love youuuuu!!! ♡

Joel liked having his way. Shocking.

This concept drew you to him, not only because you enjoyed being told what to do (every now and then), but even more that you wanted to challenge why he needed things to be his way in the first place.

You’ve been with Joel long enough now to know the mix of events that made him who he was. Nights and days where he felt insecure for exposing all there was to him, but he was willing to fish it out of him to you.

Only to you.

Tonight wasn’t unlike a handful of nights the two of you shared since being together and unraveling Joel’s vulnerability. It was beautiful, and in moments of softness, it was easy to reflect on how far he’d come. But, right now? You’re a little preoccupied.

---

It started earlier tonight. Joel refused to wear contacts for the fourth time in a week, and forgot his glasses just as much.

And guess who had to remind him? You! Of course! Every. Single. Time.

To wear his glasses, or put his contacts in. But the week was busy at work – Tommy gone off again. Or at least, this was his excuse. More and more excuses poured throughout the week until it was a mere grunt at your suggestion.

Your knuckles blanching until you just gave up entirely. “Ah, fuck,” you hear from the kitchen, the view of Joel rubbing his eyes not long after the sound.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” words are sharp and you clench your teeth. It catches Joel off guard at first, his head shooting up to meet your cold stare. And before he can make an attempt to straighten you out, you stand up – rushing to the kitchen. “I tell you this at least twice a fucking week. ‘Joel, wear your glasses. Joel, have you put your contacts in today?’ you know why your eyes hurt so fucking much? Because you don’t listen to me, and I’m sick of it.”

“You know it’s been a rough week,” Joel’s tyrannical now, his jaw setting – ticking forward.

“Oh, I’m sorry – did I give you permission to speak?” you raise an eyebrow waiting for a reaction, but instead you witness the shift of his hips and the drop of his gaze.

He feels the energetic shift as much as you do, and seems into it. The hitch in his breath gave him away.

“No, ma’am.”

“Bedroom. Now. Swear to god, if you make me repeat myself.”

So he goes and you follow. And you bring a dining chair with you.

Placing it down, you go to the closet to grab some clothes before turning your heel to face a man whose cock shouldn’t be so fucking hard from getting your last nerve.

“I’m going to change, and you are going to sit on this chair. Naked. Do I need to repeat myself?”

Joel beseeches you silently with his dark stare and a steadfast shake of his head, “No, ma’am.”

You don’t respond because you don’t have to and usher yourself to the bathroom – door shuts behind you and you slip into something more dominating.

---

“Darlin’, it’s a little tight,” Joel rattles now, his strength to hold back waning. The rope that curled around the strong arches of his wrists tug harshly as it found tautness from behind the chair.

His wrists and ankles tied with knots that Joel taught you how to tie long ago.

The chair at the foot of the bed.

Feet planted firmly on the ground, you peer over him, changed into laced lingerie with leather accents. Red. Cinched at the waist, your tits bloom out from the cups — daring to spill but never do. You feel sexy, and you feel in control. And fuck, you look so good. Joel knows it, the way he sops you up just by his eyes.

He’s shorter than you like this, but his body still takes up so much space, and it’s intoxicating to observe Joel in such a submissive position in his sturdy frame.

“Is Darlin’ my name?” voice flat, you prop yourself up on the edge of the chair – tilting your head to scan over his body. You take your time with each part of him. Because his wrists are tied, yes, but you look down at the rest of him, completely stripped for you. His hips jolt involuntarily, pathetically really, all from your words and you really watch between his legs. The head of his cock pulsing with blush, weeping against his stomach and thigh as it arches. And he twitches at your gaze.

“Oh, he likes that,” you remark condescendingly, and on any other day you’d be eager to wrap your lips around him. To suck him until his toes curled and your name slipped through the air from his rough, but blissed out voice. But tonight was about taking the lead, teaching a lesson. Taking him how you wanted because you could. And maybe because you loved him and wanted him to experience – to just experience without the expectation of being in command.

“Now, tell me,” you start, teasing the tops of your fingernails grazing the length of his thigh slowly – humming in approval, his body shuddering, his grunts fill the air, “what’s my name, Joel?”

“M-mommy,” the word scorches his cheeks, causing him to bite into his bottom lip and his eyes squeeze shut, precum beading to the tip. His head hangs in unbearable arousal, chin lifting to catch your eyes. The soft brown of his eyes, full of desire and willingness to do anything for you. Anything… except doing what he’s told when he’s stubborn. Your core aches when you squeeze your thighs together for relief, but you don’t falter.

“Mommy!” a fake gasp, you lean over to pat him on the cheek before smacking the skin ten percent harder, “That’s right! Good boy!”

And that wrecks him, sends his hips flying off the seat as much as he can, but you’re quick to shove them down. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, Mommy’s not done with you yet,” your fingers curl under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.

“How can you make me feel good, pet? Let’s use our words,” you lean down enough for him to see your tits pushed together like this and the look on his face– god, you’d bottle it. His brows wilted upwards, lips parting, and they’re so wet, so inviting, you want to kiss them for hours. The right toy for you to use in pursuit of getting yourself off.

“I—I c’n use my mouth. I wanna. Wanna be good t’ya, mama,” and he’s almost begging. He’s so close, you can tell he’s trying. It’s just that, he’s distracted– wants to devour you whole without having to ask, not like this. He’s still not used to saying the things you so easily offer him on any other day.

“You wanna be good to me,” you repeat mockingly, tongue darting to one side of your cheek, “That’s too bad. We’re not doing that yet, you still need to learn your lesson. Gotta make sure you know who’s in charge, don’t we, darlin’?”

You don’t let him answer before you sit back at the edge of the bed, your legs spread as they relax against the mattress. You watch Joel, how his head won’t look at you directly – not even if he wants to. He feels too shy, too ashamed for not listening to you, and honestly you’re sick of it because you look fucking hot.

So you clap your hand at his chin lightly, “Miller. Right here.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and those deep eyes take their precious time to rake their gaze over you.

“Is that how you act when a gorgeous lady’s in front of you?”

Joel lifts his brows first, then his eyes, “No, baby– I’m sorr–”

“Not my name.”

You see Joel’s mandible flutter again in frustration now because yes, you’re grinding his gears, but the vulnerability makes him uncomfortable, and he grits out, “No, mommy. I’m. Sorry.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice Joel,” your arms cross over your chest, leaning forward to make eye contact, and though it makes your tits raise, your body language says it all: last chance.

That seems to make him reroute his stubbornnesses because he’s back to open expressions and spread thighs – thick as his cock that weeps pitifully against his abdomen and thigh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

If you were to admit it to yourself, you’re distracted. His cock looks so good, throbbing like that – bobbing with each twitch as his balls tighten along with it and he’s so perfectly thick your mouth waters, but it is not about making his ego feel good tonight. Not yet, anyway. He must understand this behaviour is unacceptable. Just when you think about caving, you’re reminded of how fucking obstinate he’s been and you get annoyed – dominant, all over again.

“Here’s how tonight's gonna go. I’m gonna touch myself, use your mouth, and if you’re good, I’ll ride your pathetic excuse of a cock. Sound good?” you flash a sardonic grin cutting him off when his mouth opens, “Good! Now shut the fuck up.”

It shouldn’t make him hard and it shouldn’t make slick gather between your legs, but of course it does because you’re both insatiable when it comes to each other. Fueling a fire that can’t be tamed anyway, you unfurl in front of him – one palm against the lush duvet while the other trails in front of you, through the lace of your panties. You squeeze your thighs together again, spreading your mess and there’s a wicked grin on your face because you know he knows just how it feels to have those thighs squeezing around his head. To make that messy pussy of yours glide over his features. And the damp fabric emits subtle sloshes from just how turned on you are by this. You love the opportunity to have the upperhand.

Joel, he looks rabid, eyes unable to move from your core while the sweetest sounds fall out of your mouth. Like a hypnotising trick from the circling of your clothed folds – a magician’s secret. His stare is so animalistic you almost want to egg him on like a dog: this what you want, boy? But you’ve got him right where you want him, and you don’t want to take him anywhere else.

“It feels good, Joel,” you confirm with no pornographic moans. Rather a solid melody to your tone. Grounded in your power. You want Joel to know you can make yourself feel good without him, despite it being very much because of him. “Better than you can make me feel.”

And Joel can’t take it anymore – he can’t stand it when you lie to him. He’s seen you with him. How you blossom under his touch until your thighs are shaking all on their own. Seen drool spill from the corners of your mouth as you take and take and take from him, slurred praises floating from your needy throat.

“That ain’t fuckin’ true,” he growls like a caged animal, hips squirming into the chair, and you stop pleasing yourself – wrist frozen as the pressure on your clit becomes lighter, eyes narrow.

“Did I let you fucking speak?” Question rhetorical, you slip your scanty panties off and wad them up before prying his mouth open and shoving them, crotch-side first, inside to mute any more rebukes. The taste of your sex coats his tongue and his moans are muffled, eyes roll back for a fleeting moment – as if he forgot what he was even saying to begin with. His wrists slightly turning colour from the resistance against the rope. Hog heaven, you can hear the southern phrase drawl from his lips without the words.

“And what? You think you can make me feel better than I can? You really think that?” Joel finally smartens up when he realises you’re naked from the waist down and can see the slick against the seams of your thighs while your legs are apart – how turned on you are by keeping him on a line, and god the air is thick. His eyelids droop to the sound of your voice, the scent and taste of you overcoming him as a piteous nod is given to you. Poor baby.

It should irk you, the fact that he believes he knows your body better than you do, but it rakes the coals instead. It’s in that he’s so eager to show you how he can get you there – makes you curious, your pussy tingles in anticipation, pulse rises.

“If I let you go, are you going to be compliant? Because if you think you’re in control, you’re wrong and I need to know you’ll be a good boy for me. Will you be a good boy for mommy if I tell you what to do?”

The strained pleas from the fabric and emphatic nods give you reason to follow through with your promise. And he looks like he means it, like you’ve worn him down to submit to you fully without restraint. You can tell he’s in pain from how hard he is. Like he’s being edged without even touching him. His hands must be numb, his body could tremble at the slightest touch.

It’s enough for you to waltz behind him. You loosen the rope, ghosting your hands over the other typically warm set and despite them being tingly – he can still feel you. His breath hitches, the slopes of his shoulders are so gorgeous from behind. The muscles of his back taut as they flex, their silent entreat for relief. “It’s okay,” you whisper, now that you can’t see him, you feel more inclined to be forgiving.

The arousal is a constant build between the two of you. When you let his wrists loose, he doesn’t move. Just rolls his knuckles into fists, bringing blood and oxygen back to the extremities. He’s good on his word, and makes that known when you untie his ankles. He’s giving it up to you – totally conceding, and moreover adores this side of you. He knows he’s the only one you could ever be this assertive with because the relationship you have creates room for it. Both of you feel safe. His teeth tighten around your panties when you come back around to him, and you cup your small hand, comparatively, to the side of Joel’s neck.

“You good little thing. Got mama so proud,” pushing his curls back, you pull the spit-soaked garment from between his teeth and he’s beaming, nudging his cheek against your touch hungrily. “Go lie on the bed, honey.”

His joints creak from age when he does, having sat there for what felt like an eternity but he does exactly as you say: nothing more, nothing less. Hums softly to himself at the feeling of being able to lie flat on his back because it feels so good, and in the brief moment it’s there without a role – your adoration for him, the gentle quirks that make him so delectable. He deserves to sit back like this, to let his brain just take rather than supply.

However impatient he may be in the process of submission.

“You are doing so well, Joel. I know you have a pristine mouth too, don’t you? Are you gonna show me your tongue?” Getting onto the bed, you walk on your knees as this newly obedient Joel sticks out his tongue flat for you to float over. Your throat dries at that, how perfect he can be for you like this. A smirk comes over your features, “Much better with your tongue out than running it all the time,” and you swear you see Joel’s teeth creep up in a similar smile, but you’re busy straddling his waist with your ass facing his chest to notice.

His strong nose bumps against your clit when you bracket his head. Sipping the air abrasively, your body seizes at the sensation. Clearly more sensitive than your confident words let on, but that’s just the thing – you are confident and extremely horny and you can admit it. So you give in, purring deliciously when you lower over his mouth until you’re sitting completely on his face.

“Love using this mouth for my cunt,” fingers tangle through the strands of his hair and you use it to roll your hips frantically, yet methodically, against the heat of his wet mouth. His tongue hits your folds succinctly, on purpose, and even though you haven’t allowed him to touch you, his movements are so precise it’s as if he’s rolling your hips for you.

“Fuck, you’re swimming in it now,” you groan, neck thrown back before leaning your neck over to the side to watch his eyes flutter shut – the slight shake of his achy jaw, the sweat at the top of his hairline. He’s putting in the work to take it, even when he feels like giving up.

The squelching of your juices has you in your own trance, and though you would wait for his cock to give into the prickling at the pit of your belly, you decide to go give in to what you want in the moment – to orgasm right here, right now. All over Joel’s face.

Pulling the top of your pubic bone, your clit exposes to the plush of lips beneath you. “Suck.” The instruction is simple compared to the stir of fireworks that he sets off inside you. Because he does what you say, and how you say it, instantly. Joel’s eyes roll back alongside his muffled, but satisfied moans that vibrate against the bundle of nerves he’s taking his time to satisfy. Wet suction sounds fill the room when the air breaks off, his tongue swirling right underneath the hood of you and you break out in a sweat from how impossibly good he is at this.

“Y-you’re so good for mommy,” you sound wrecked, Joel looks up at you when he catches just how gone you are. Loving to see you take what you want from him, using his mouth to pleasure yourself. You rock deeply, your hands knead over your lace-covered tits and when you look down at him again, he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Eating you like he worships you, and you’re certain he does.

But using him meant not warning him when you were close.

So it comes as no surprise, the influx of low, masculine, ached groans from beneath you when your body responds to its pleasure. Your fingernails dig into your fists as you shudder and moan above him, the lightning rising from your core to your limbs in a matter of seconds – and in waves. You lean forward, catching yourself at the headboard and let out a slight chuckle at the comedown. The two of you surfacing in between this power dynamic. “Shit.”

That’s short lived under your ruling, however, and you slide off of him – getting your bearings. Joel stays still, his mouth vivid pink to match his cheeks, beard and lips sheened with your slick. The look in his eye shows his constraint, his need for something and when you pluck your gaze down his body. His beautiful cock straining against his abdomen, a pool of precum greets you.

“This?” You raise both eyebrows, pointing between his legs, “This needs touchin’?”

“Please,” fuck, he sounds ruined – consumed with lust and need for anything you can give him. He’s really begging now, not the bullshit he tried to deliver you in the beginning.

“Okay, baby,” you coo, “You’re so good for me, gonna make you feel so good.” When you finally, finally acknowledge his cock, his abdomen jolts though you barely touch his sides. You laugh through your nose briefly, “That bad, darlin’?” His head sways ‘yes’ against the pillow before saying it, and you waste no more time in your pursuit to obliterate him now.

So you straddle him. Right at his waist, angling above where his twitching cock lies. You can feel the heat radiate off the both of you. Your core pulsing from your orgasm, wet from slick and spit. You have some wits about you now that you came, and it aids you in authorising the next step – the step that has every nerve at the edge of its seat for Joel.

Joel’s body. The taut skin, the hair down his arms and across the landscape of his chest down his middle. Your own body fills with anticipation when you anchor your hips further down until your folds are greeted by the underside of his length and it’s unhurried when you both shudder in response.

“Sh-shit, shit, darlin’–mama,” he inhales sharply, those words transitioning to whimpers when you glide your hips over his cock back and forth with intention – applying more pressure with each pass.

“Yeah, you like that?”

Joel’s tongue skates over his bottom lip as he nods frantically, and you still yourself.

“Nuh uh. Words, tell me. Need to hear you say it, Joel.”

“F-feels so good, honey. Feels like my kinda paradise.”

Or at least that’s what you are pretty sure you hear. It’s rushed from his feverish breaths, but he’s doing his best. Wants to make an impression that he is committed to giving in. It’s when his eyes slip shut do you lean your body over him, tilting his chin, you wrap one hand around his throat though it doesn’t quite reach around to completion.

“You beautiful man. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”

Joel blinks them open to see your hooded eyes above him, unable to hide just how in awe he is.

“Y’look gorgeous, mama,” and shit– you feel your cunt clench around the absence of him at that. At how candid and altruistic his words are in the moment.

“You’re one to talk,” you run the tops of your fingers against his beard, hips languid. “Stay right here. My good boy. M’gonna take this big fucking cock. That’s right, isn’t it? Make you know for certain who it belongs to.”

And he loves hearing you talk about him like this. Looks so serene as you sit upright, peeling the rest of your layers off until you’re both naked and he looks like he desperately wants to touch you, but you give him a stern look – not yet. Not until I take you myself.

Reaching behind, you press the head of his cock at your entrance and hiss at the instant stretch. Not working yourself up with his fingers shows when you envelop him like this, and you can feel him digging his heels into the bed from just how you feel around the head of him.

“M-Mommy!”

The sound of him whining is symphonic to your ears.

“Shhhh, you can take it.” The role reversal makes you shiver, your wet sex moving down a little more before you pull up, popping off of him completely and his hips stammer trying to follow you, but he soon realises the edge you’re bringing him to.

He’s greeted with your sinister smile.

“What, honey?” You lean over him, forcing his chin up, you deliver a slap to his cheek before sliding down his cock again – working him up and down, then off again.

His bottom lip trembles and puffs. He’s losing his cool, hands ghosting your hips because he knows better than to touch you like this. Not when he’s so close to getting what he wants. The heat, the fucking heat from them – you shake.

“P-p, mama, mmngh,” his whimpers put you in a daze. How he feels so good he can’t even form a proper sentence. Your free hand claws at his chest while the other at your front edges him – rocking against the underside of him again. Minutes feel like hours when you rile him up like this, and you know you look a mess too. Fucked out, nipples peaked and you catch his gaze on them – his hunger for you extends through the room leaving heat on your skin as it radiates, the energy bouncing off from this tantric experience. The eye contact is insane: Joel’s pupils dilated, eager against the constant spasm of his cock against your messy folds.

All humidity, sweat, and sex make their presence irrevocably known.

You’re slipping.

But you muster one last discipline, leaning down so your tits graze against his chest. You brush your nose against his, insisting his precum spreads against your entrance. He grunts, teeth together, hips grinding as best as he can without breeding you into your submission. And fuck, you’d almost allow it.

Almost.

“Should’ve worn your fucking glasses.” You whisper against his lips, your clit brushing against the coarse hairs of his lower abdomen, and it’s exactly then does he spill over his breaking point.

“I’ll wear them, I’ll wear them!” And, fuck, Joel sounds pained – he sounds sorry, and he sounds desperate. “Please! Please just let me come, mama. I wanna paint ya up so good, honey. P-please, mama! I’ll get fuckin’ lasik – please, just lemme in that perfect pussy!”

That’s the green light.

Placing him back inside, your hips grind on him shallowly. Both hands tighten around his throat, albeit a bit looser than the one fist he’d have around your neck – but it seems to do the trick and you buzz in satisfaction before a choked moan fills your lungs: the sound he’s been craving. Your body giving in, doing what it does. It’s nature, after all, giving into these feelings. “Fucking take this cunt. Fill mommy up, yeah? You wanna make me a real mama, baby? C’mon, let go for me. You can let go, you can move.”

It’s a lightswitch. It’s flipping a breaker, giving Joel such permission.

You yelp when he tosses you off of him. Onto your back, he’s on his knees within a blink – gripping your thighs, he pries you apart before his cock spears inside you with little remorse, and “Oh-my god – your cock!” you scream. It’s exactly what you need now. You nod through knitted brows, praises fill the space between you. You take his chin between your thumb and pointer, one arm around his shoulders you pry his lips apart to transfer spit right inside his mouth. Your tongue glides over his and he drinks straight from the source. You can feel his Adam's apple wobble as it swallows what you’re giving him underneath the pad of your thumb. “That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you mutter sloppily from the rutting of his deviant hips.

Gravity’s against you when you spit in his mouth again, getting some of it on your chin and nose, but fuck, you don’t care. You want it filthy like this with your head half off the bed, his fingers plucking your nipples as it ripples pleasure down your center. “I’m doin’ okay, mama? This whatcha need?” This sly fucker. “S-s’perfect!” The requirement of reassurance fastens you in the leadership role you assumed in the beginning, and you’re so fucking thrilled Joel’s your partner. How he can deliver you mindblowing thrusts, yet still look at you through his lashes like he’s the softest motherfucker on the planet. A gleam of pride in his eyes and at the corner of his lips when he hears your juices be tapped in a fast tempo by his heavy balls. Like giving you pleasure is the pearl he longs to hold for dear life itself in his capable hands.

Of course, he circles your clit for good measure. Of course he would. Little shit. It works like a charm.

He knows your body, said it himself. How it operates, how to take you there. And you’re panting, hips lift to be greeted by his thrusts all the way to the base of your stomach – achieving the spongy spot only Joel can reach.

You feel it happen like a coiling, a buildup of thin air and then all at once: immense pleasure. It snaps, your body convulsing around his cock, core fluttering as your moans get higher, and you think he’d slow down, but it makes him work harder. You try to keep your eyes on him, but it’s just no use, he’s too good at his job. “F-fuckin’, mmngh,” you can’t get out much else, but you’re soaking his cock – what else could possibly be said? Your tits bounce to his thrusts and you can tell this is it for him. He’s been so proficient at keeping it together all this time. Your eyes pop open then, lips wet, you tug for him to come closer. You don’t fucking care that his sweat sticks to your shoulder when he buries his forehead against your neck.

Joel keeps his whimpers close to your ear. His moans of your name, his passion for this feeling – all of it, right against you. Like a secret, like a prayer and you’re the divine goddess in every moment of reverence.

“Can’t last,” he drawls, a coherent sentence flows through him for a moment and you nod, mouth brushing against the red of his neck. “Give it to me, Joel.” Lips dance at his pulsepoint as the contact bounces from his thrusts, and you can hear his heart thud from outside his body. It floods you, the sawing of his cock inside, the swelling sensation against your walls. Tugging his hair, you pull him back just enough to see his faded eyes, “Give me every drop, baby boy. Come for mommy.”

His lips attempt to make contact with yours, but really all he can do is breathe heavily into your mouth and it’s dizzying, being each other’s oxygen. “S-s… so p-perf–,” he tries, he really tries in making the words connect, but even his core feels shaky from his forearms on either side of your head. You snake your hands around his throat once more, and that’s fucking it.

Joel’s sounds are a mix of the low grunts you know, tailending with particular whimpers that leave you moaning back to him like a call to each other. Holy fuck, you’ve never heard him make that sound before. And he’s good on his promise – coating your inside sticky with his substance, your own vibrational tone is low in your throat as you hum in approval. Until he rides it out. Until his pleasure turns sensitive and his hips come to an end.

“Oh, baby,” you praise, delicate hands leaving his throat, you pet his back – warm and masculine and rippled with muscles that he attained from his work. He’s out of breath, and you both laugh at it, pressing tender kisses to his nose and lips.

“Might fuckin’ die at this rate.”

“Well, at least we had a good run.”

It feels empty when Joel pulls out of you, his lanky body shakes the bed when he gracefully thwacks onto the mattress beside you.

“Mmmng.”

A flawless response. Mmmng, indeed.

You stretch your arms overhead, facilitating a yawn in the process.

And you don’t ignore the way it feels to have his cum spill out of you. Hot and sticky and where it’s meant to be.

“Stay there,” you whisper, rolling onto your side, “You did so good. I’m so proud of you, baby.” You even speak differently now – tender and light, peppering kisses all over his tired face in satisfaction. Slipping up to your feet, you go to the adjoined bathroom and run the bath. Putting a couple of drops of your favourite essential oil to make the sensual experience last in the afterglow. You peek your head out from the bathroom door when it’s ready and give him a gentle look of compassion. “It’s ready.”

Joel grunts when he propels all of his upper body strength to sit up in one go. You can’t get enough of him. The way he looks – sleepy and fucked, arms thick and shoulders broad. You have both earned this bath, even if it’s crowded. He sinks in, and you get in front of him, and honestly you both close your eyes for a long while. Exhausted, used. He wraps his arms around the front of your shoulders, and it’s regulatory to your nervous system.

“I really am sorry,” he finally gruffs, wide palms cater to your shoulders as you melt and sink into the bathwater with him. “This week’s been… it don’t matter. You tell me ‘bout my eyes all the time, and I never listen. I will, I promise. I didn’t mean t’make your life harder.”

You frown at the last bit, turning in the water so your chest is against his. Drops spill out the tub when you do.

“You never make my life harder, Joel.”

“Seems like it,” and you can tell he’s not saying it to play the victim. He’s vulnerable and feels safe enough to share this shame with you. “Seems like I end up fuckin’ somethin’ up.”

No. You won’t be having any of that.

Taking his cheeks between your hands, you shake your head in tandem with your words. “Not even close, do you understand?” Sternly, you keep his eyes poured into yours. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean it. You make everyday brighter. Even when you’re a royal pain in my ass.”

You both join in with laughter before you rest your warmed cheek to the hairs on his chest. “I swear.”

Joel’s throat vibrates to the tune of your last words, and fingers comb through your hair, leaving you both to flutter your eyes shut in the all-too-small bathtub.

“Okay, I believe you. But only ‘cuz I’m a pain in your ass.”

You take in his warmth, so much as sniffing at his words, and it feels good to be connected like this after those moments of taking matters into your own hands. It feels good for both of you to be unarmed to each other without consequence.

When it's time for you to get out, you dry off before holding out a towel to wrap around him and you lean up, pressing your lips to his – both naked and comfortable. Basking in the aftermath – the scene you two created in the bedroom you transition into. Your eyes scan over the bed: the unkept version of sheets, pillows haphazardly thrown together and you individually slip your clothes on. It feels nice to have a soft fabric cloak over your skin, his t-shirt fitting easily from the worn material. Joel takes your hand in one of his, the dining chair in the other. You look back at the room before flipping the light off. At least for a moment, you’re both pretty tired and will work around the mess soon.

Then there's the kitchen. Where it started. But you don’t feel the same aggravation creep up as it did before. Instead, Joel wraps his arms protectively around you when you rise to your tiptoes to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard. It feels like slipping into a warm pool, and you never want to leave. He is more enchanting than the tub could ever be.

“Hot liquid for my man?”

“Y’could just say tea, I ain’t gonna gag, you know?”

You snicker, turning the kettle on and closing your eyes as his chin tucks at the crease of your neck, not so sure he means it. Coffee? Yes. A blend of chamomile and lavender? You weren’t so sure. But he doesn't turn his nose up when you press the teabag to him, so you sneak a kiss and you plop one bag in each cup.

“I dunno, you might gag,” a knowing smirk grows at the side of your cheek that Joel’s at and you mercifully knock temples, as if your brain waves could send each other the memories you have from tonight. Everything primal and raw, all for the both of you.

“No more gaggin’ tonight,” there’s a laugh in Joel’s words and you scratch his beard idly as you pour your hot drinks when it’s time. “That’s alright, baby boy. Mama can handle a little bit of gagging if it means you’re taking.”

“You better watch it,” smile behind his voice, his nose nudges the edge of your jaw and a shudder draws out a small purr from deep in your chest – especially because you know there’s not an ounce of a menacing tone behind the threat.

“I’m not doing anything,” the grin transfers to your face and you turn to face him, arms wrapping around his shoulders because you can and he pulls you up until your feet leave the ground. It’s a stretch that feels good, your heart’s content.

“Yeah, you’re just so good. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be bad unlike us common folk.”

And that makes your cheeks rush with blood because you know it’s only a matter of time before the tables turn. Before you’re caught doing something Joel has told you thousands of times to do or don’t, and he has you in some precarious position to drive you back to the version of your best self.

Still, it’s funny, and you nose against the column of his neck – all sweat still mixed with the bathwater and something so innately, masculinely, Joel Miller. “Not too good, just clever. I get away with a lot more than you think, old man.”

“Easy.” His tone shifts all too easily into a warning, his hips pinning you to the edge of the countertop. Your eyes widen before you press your index finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Relax,” you pet his shoulders, before leaning up to kiss his eyelids, “I like that you’re an old, senile man I can swindle.”

“Goddamn, you’re at record time in attempting to prove just how misbehaved y’really are.”

Finishing the tea, you hand his mug off with a nonchalant shrug.

“I learn from the best, I guess.”

You wait a beat.

“So… lasik, huh?”

Joel practically chokes on his beverage. “Uhhh…,”

“Great! I’ll book the appointment tomorrow!”

You won’t (probably), but the look on his face is priceless.

“Yeah, yeah.” That makes Joel smile eventually, his rough hand cupping the side of your face before planting a dichotomously tender kiss to your forehead, and you are steadfast to reciprocate the affection.

The only thing that matters, anyway.

No matter all the hardships, the restless nights. It’s this. It’s delivering Joel to his knees as he worships you, then securing him with a warm cup of liquids in the form of tea, bath, the undulating nature of your arms in their energetic vibrations when they find his frame.

You would take care of him. You would catch him.

Like how rivers bend and rush to oceans:

Everything leads back to him.

taglist: @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @sinfulrock @jasminedragoon @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @scarletthefierce @pedritoferg - comment to be added, and please let me know if i missed you!

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ch3rriewine · 7 months

Text

Photo Booth Kissin' {P.P.}

summary: Peter's an awkward loverboy, but he's your awkard loverboy.

warnings: none i think just fluff :3, TASM!Peter Parker x reader hehe, no use of y/n, reader is kinda like super girly w the bows and sparkles idk

a/n: I HAVENT WRITTEN IN MONTHS SORRY here tho!

Peter’s life was boring—peaceful, but boring. Don’t get him wrong; being Spiderman is cool and all, but Peter Parker’s life could use some work. The most exciting thing that has happened to him recently was the time he got two yolks in one egg. Riveting stuff, right?

During another one of his literature classes that he doesn’t know why he took, he spots you. With a bow in your hair and a knit sweater falling over your figure, your head propped on your manicured hand while scribbling notes with the other. You sit in front of him and if Peter squints, he can see the small doodles littering the pages. Before he knows it, the professor announces that the lecture is done for the day. Peter panics; he wants to talk to you before you disappear and turn out to be a dream, but what would he even say? Doesn’t matter anymore since he chases after you to the door.

“Hey,” he says, looking a tad flushed after tripping over someone's water bottle.

“Oh, hi” you respond, your eyes a little widened at the sudden interaction.

“I, uh, I’m Peter” he say, sticks out his hand for you to shake. You take it and tell him your name. He repeats it in his head about a hundred times.

“I just, uhm, wanted to ask about…” he trails off, trying to remember if there were any assignments given. “The essay he said we had to do, yeah. When is it due again?” he hopes to any higher being that there was an essay due soon.

“Ah, yeah, it’s due next Monday” you reply, giving him a tight-lipped smile, ready to go back to your dorm.

“Cool, uhm, thanks! See you around, hopefully” with that, he bolts, leaving you confused and flushed. Hopefully

The cute boy in your class wants to see you around.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Two days later, Peter sees you again. It’s in the same class, and you’re as pretty as ever. He psyches himself up to sit next to you.

You look up from your laptop when he asks you if he can sit next to you. You nod, of course, and smile. He looks nervous, with fingers tapping on the table and cheeks a little red. It’s cute.

“Have you started on that essay?” you ask, trying to start conversation since it looks like he won’t.

“Huh? What essay? We have an essay?” he turns to face you, eyes wide.

“Yeah, the one you asked me about?” you laugh a little.

“Oh, no, I didn’t” his shoulders slump back down, and you smile at him.

“I didn’t either; I had other work to finish” he stares at you a little; it’s flattering, really. How shy he is around you. He barely knows you, but he’s convinced himself that you’re the greatest thing ever. He also may have looked up your instagram and fallen even harder as he looked at all your posts. Peter now knows what you ate at Thanksgiving 3 years ago.

“Same, I’m in STEM so you could imagine” he says, resting his head onto the table. Sleep deprivation a thing he is well acquainted with, unfortunately.

“STEM, wow, you must be smart then. Why’re you taking a classic lit class then?” Sure, you might’ve slipped in a compliment; it's not a crime to flirt a little. It takes Peter a few seconds to respond as he processes what you said, you think he’s smart.

“Uh, I was going through a phase with classic lit at the time, and I’ve been lazy to drop it. And, uh, I’m not that smart—pretty average actually. Like the most moderate person ever” He’s rambling and kind of lying. He’s doing really well in his other classes.

“Yeah? I think you’re pretty smart if you’re in STEM. Not everyday a guy is both pretty and smart.” His cheeks turn even redder, if possible, and he makes a sort of out of breath sound. “If you need any help with this class, I’d be happy to give you my notes on the book”

Jesus, you’re gonna kill the poor boy.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

From then on, you sit beside him and throw in some flirty comments while he struggles to reciprocate. It feels too good to be true, how you seem interested in him and how you eagerly talk to him after lectures, even giving hm your number to talk about “class”. He’s waiting for the day you ghost him.

“Hey, would you maybe want to, like, hang out? Like on a date or something? Or just as friends! Actually, yeah, just hang out as friends; forget I said date sorry,“ he flounders, waiting for the rejection. Oh God, he’s just messed up the whole friendship and you’re gonna think that he’s weird and a creep and-

“I’d love to go on a date, Peter,” you smile “I was waiting for you to ask.”

“Oh, great, is Saturday at 3 okay? I’ll meet you outside your building and we could walk to that arcade?” He asks, eyes hopeful.

“Saturday at 3 is great. I love arcades, but you have to help me with the claw machines” For someone so smart and handsome, he doesn’t let himself think people like him.

“See you Saturday, Peter” you tiptoe to kiss his cheek, leaving sticky residue from your sparkly gloss and walk to your next class. He stands in place, a little starstruck and a lot flustered. He leaves the lipgloss there.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Saturday finally comes, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. You’ve switched outfits countless times, your hair is out of place, and your makeup doesn’t seem to flatter you. You’ve settled on a pretty blue dress with tights to protect you from the small chill. Two little bows clipped into your hair and knit cardigan falling over your shoulders—makeup finally looking presentable enough with maybe a little too much glitter on your eyes, but whatever. Your phone chimes as you’re applying pink sparkly gloss, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.

You throw your phone and lip gloss in your purse and bolt out the door. You spot him outside your building, as promised. He looks wonderful. Brown sweater and worn-in denim jeans—you can’t believe he’s so shy around you when he looks like that. He finally spots you, and wow, he thinks.

“Hey," he scolds himself for being so casual when he should be whisking you away to Italy, or something. He could’ve at least gotten you flowers.

“Hi, you look great,” you say in front of him, and seeing you up close is making him fall even harder, if possible.

“You look, wow, you’re just, wow” he can’t even believe you’re into him.

“Cmon, I wanna win some plushies,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. He grips your hand harder and laces your fingers.

The walk is calm and the air is starting to get cool. You talk about class and a show you started. Peter listens intently, making mental notes about what you like and don’t like. Your hands stay intwined, and his thumb traces patterns on the back of your hand. He’s gotten more comfortable and less panicky in your presence, so you get to see his personality shine through. He’s incredibly funny. You can’t stop laughing on your way there, and he can’t stop thinking of more things to make you laugh.

The arcade is dark, with flashing lights from every game. Peter goes to buy some tokens, refusing your offer to pay half. Grabbing Peter’s hand and making a beeline for the claw machines, everyone knows they’re rigged, but you don’t care. You eagerly take the tokens and attempt to win the Kuromi plushie. After the 5th? 6th attempt? When the claw has dropped the plushie, you give up.

“Why do they do this to people! It’s false hope!” you whine to Peter as he laughs at your pout.

“Lemme try,” he nudges you over and puts in a token.

You watch with eyebrows furrowed as he wins it on his first attempt.

“What the hell, Peter?” you crouch to pull the plushie from the machine.

“What? Do you not like it?” He faces you, examining the stuffed, is she a rabbit? What animal even is Kuromi?

“I love her; just, how did you win it?” You look up at him incredulously. He must have some weird power that makes him win every claw machine.

“Oh, I don’t know; just position it right?” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in the process. You want to smooth them out with your fingers.

“Thank you!” you’re genuinely really excited over a cheap stuffed toy, not because you really wanted it, but because Peter won it for you. You wrap your arms around his neck in thanks. Peter freezes. He fees like a teenager at how he’s reacting to a hug of all things. He snaps back and hugs you back. You pull away to kiss his cheek. This is the second time you’ve kissed his cheek, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get used to it.

“Lets go play games, pretty boy,” pulling away and leaving Peter to gather his brain and follow along.

You watch as he plays Pac-Man; its silly, but you love his face when he’s focused. Brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. He really is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. And he’s infatuated with you! Of all people! You swear half the girls in the class have a crush on him, but he gets nervous around you. You play some air-hockey, which you won (he let you win), and he won you some more plushies and some candy at the infamous claw machines.

When the games get old, the two of you leave the building. The sun is setting at this point, and you’re dreading leaving him.

“Oh, look! There’s a photo booth!” you point, excitedly tugging on his arm. “We should take some pictures.” you drag him into the booth, both of your thighs squished together and his legs at an awkward angle. He feeds the machine a few bucks, and the screen starts to count down.

You put on a sickly sweet smile, scrunching your eyes while Peter smiles big with pearly white teeth on display. The second photo you lean into Peter and he wraps his arm around you, pulling your body close to his. The third photo, you go for it. You grab his face and kiss him. His hands stay in the air as the glitter on your lips transfers to his. You taste like vanilla. You pull away, a little anxious that he didn’t want it. Those thoughts get pushed away when he grabs the sides of your face and kisses you until you can’t think. His hands are warm and big covering your cheeks as his lips move against yours. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck once more and deepen the kiss. Your lips move together in tandem as he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, the movement comforting.

The fourth photo is blurry, and you walk out with all your lipgloss on Peter’s lips.

#tasm peter parker #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm peter x reader #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter imagine #tasm fanfiction #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x y/n #peter parker

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

ok so i just went thru the entirety of ur eddie munson masterlist and i have NO idea if youre taking requests rn or not BUT i had the funniest idea when reading the "showering with eddie" blurb. the first line is literally about how he sounds like he's in a porno even tho ur only washing his hair. i cant get the image of steve n robin in the living room hearing that and being so grossed out. n then when r and eddie come out theyre all like "gross guys" but theyre both just confused n akshal

sorry this is wayy too long n idk where i was going with this but n knee ways. hope you have/had a good day!!

Eddie's hair is thick, and it takes hours to dry. You're going over it with a blowdrier now, but moisture still clings to his curls, laying them heavy across his back and shoulders.

"Ow!" He groans as one of the brush spokes yanks at a knot in the strands, "Easy, babe. You won't get to pull my hair if there's none left."

"You would look awful bald," You pinch at his earlobe in retaliation to his jibe, "You need that hair to hide your neck tat."

"You said you liked the neck tat," Eddie grumbles, arms crossed over his chest as you resume an age old argument: Neck Tat - Good, or Bad?

"I'm teasing," You croon, smoothing his wispy hairs up and over his forehead, back into the mass of hair on his scalp. You kiss the newly clear skin there, no strands to tickle your lips.

"Yeah right. You probably complained to Steve and Robin about it." Eddie decides, pitching up his voice, "Oh, Robin, my boyfriend's neck tattoo is so ugly, that's why I've got my lips all over it all day!"

"Stop!" You squeal, clamping your hands over his mouth. You're expecting him to lick your palm, so when he does, you don't move it.

"Don't embarrass me in front of our friends," You beg, and you don't let him up until he nods.

He stands, and you're tense for a moment. Then he races for the door, "Steve! Robin!", and you regret ever letting him go.

"Hey!" You chase after him, launching yourself onto his back and covering his mouth again, "You traitor!"

"Don't!" Robin gasps, shielding her face in her hands while Steve uses her shoulder, "Whatever you're gonna say, don't."

"Jesus," Eddie pries your hands away from his mouth, hoisting you higher on his back, "You're sitting your asses on my couch in my trailer and you're gonna forbid us from speaking? Has anyone ever told you you're a shitty friend, Buckley?"

"Uh," Steve scoffs, interjecting with wide, terrified eyes, "Has anyone ever told you you're shitty friends for having shower sex while we sit on your couch?"

You're lucky your ankles don't give when Eddie drops you off of his back. He's standing limp, brow furrowed, "What?"

"You two were- ugh," Robin shudders, "We could hear you! Jesus, and I thought porn was exaggerating."

"We didn't have sex!" You insist, the blush on your cheeks invading your voice, "I was just washing Eddie's hair."

"He was moaning," Steve's nose wrinkles, "What are you Munson, a dog? You make noise when someone pets you?"

"I bet he kicked his leg a bunch," Robin juts hers out and kicks back against the couch, a steady, thumping rhythm, "Who's a good boy?"

"I am," Eddie runs with the teasing, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff and a puff. He keeps his head high, staring loftily down his nose at Steve and Robin, "For your information, we were discussing how well I'm doing in school."

"Maybe she'll give you a treat," Steve doesn't consider the implications of his words until Eddie's grinning deviously, reaching for your ass, "Wait, no!"

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one-shot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson dialogue #eddie munson fluff

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worldlxvlys · 4 months

Note

FOR THE DWB W MATT PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE DO A FIC WHERE HE COMES OVER N THE GUY IS STILL THERE I WANNA SEE WHAT WOULD HAPPEN🙏🏻🙏🏻 YOU DONT HAVE TO THO ID JUST LOVE TO SEE IT👁️👁️

lose your shit

dwb! matt x reader

warnings: mentions of sex, violence, mentions of blood, cursing

based on these texts, it won’t really make sense if you don’t read them.

a/n: the guy’s name is alex, i hope you like this <333

shit shit shit shit.

this is not good. i look over to the man laying in my bed, he was in a dead sleep.

matt doesn’t live that far away, maybe 10 minutes tops. however, he could have left before he even sent that text.

fuck.

i began to shake alex awake. “you gotta wake up, dude”

after a few seconds, he stirred and opened his eyes. “what’s wrong?” he asked, letting out a yawn.

“nothing. you just really need to fucking go”

“alright damn, but what’s the rush?”

“please just hurry up, i don’t have time for this” i said, pulling him off the bed.

“damn, was the sex that bad?” i didn’t even answer, just looked him up and down.

“alright, jeez” i collected his clothes from the floor and handed them to him.

he took the hint, beginning to get dressed.

when he was done he just stood there.

“was there something else you needed?” i asked trying to figure out why he wouldn’t leave.

“can i at least brush my teeth?”

“does this look like a fucking hotel to you? take your shit, and get out. now.” i answered, starting to get annoyed.

he just stared at me, mouth open.

“you do have a tooth brush and running water at your house, correct?”

“well, yeah. but-“

“ok that is amazing, lovely, the quicker you get out of my house, the quicker you can take care of your dental hygiene” i said nudging him out of my room.

i pushed him all the way to my door. maybe there is hope for this man after all.

when i opened the door, there stood matt.

fucking hell.

that has to be the worst timing i’ve ever had in my entire life.

his eyes immediately snapped toward alex. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“i could ask you the same thing, matty-boy”

they know each other.

the two men stared at each other, never breaking the intense glare.

“oh great! you two know each other! well, alex was just about to head home so, y’all can catch up later” i said, trying to get him to walk away.

“actually, i think i’m gonna stay” he said, looking matt up and down.

well, shit.

this was like something out of a god damn movie. and while it didn’t surprise me that matt was acting this way, i wasn’t expecting this from alex.

alex did not seem like the type of guy to start a fight, he seemed more like the type to run away from one. he simply wasn’t built for it, at least, that’s what i thought.

matt clenched his jaw before grabbing alex by his shirt, pulling him outside and pushing him against my house.

“jesus christ, matt” i said in shock.

“what ya gonna do matty? gonna hit me?” matt did just that, swinging at alex’s face.

“you need to stay the fuck away from her. got it?”

“no can do, matty pooh. i can’t lie, she’s a good fuck”

matt didn’t like his comment, as he pulled his fist back to punch alex again.

alex, however, was quicker this time. he caught matt’s fist with one hand and swung at him with the other.

yeah, i was definitely wrong about alex.

“hey fuckers! i don’t know if you’ve noticed but my house is white. it’d be lovely if you didn’t get blood on it !” i yelled, making matt turn his head towards me.

alex took advantage of matt’s distraction to land another blow to matt’s face.

that shit looked like it hurt.

i then pulled matt away, placing myself between the two.

“you two need to get a fucking grip” i turned to alex. “walk away before i call the cops on your ass”

i turned to matt, “you’ve made your point, let him go”

matt gave him one last glare before gesturing alex to go. with that, alex walked off “your face isn’t the only place i left marks ” he mumbled.

matt started to walk after him, but i placed my hand on his chest to stop him.

i tilted my head at him, looking into his eyes. “it’s fine. just let him go” he looked at me, eyes softening, and nodded.

once i heard alex’s car door shut and him drive away, i pulled matt inside “come on”.

i brought him to my bathroom, pulling out my first aid kit.

“did he actually mark you up?” he asked, as i grabbed a wash cloth for his face.

“no, matt. he was just trying to get under your skin” i said as i ran water over the cloth and brought it to his face.

i began to clean his cuts, making him grimace. “i know, i know. sorry”

my tongue poked out a little past my lips, as i continued to clean his cuts.

he stared down at my lips the whole time, not saying a word.

“all done.” i said as i finished up. i started to reach over him to grab a bandage. “lemme just grab a-“ he suddenly grabbed my arm halting my movements as he studied my face.

my face felt hot under his gaze, as i tried not to show how nervous he made me. without another word, he grabbed my face, pulling me in for a kiss.

he kissed me with passion, like he was pouring all of his emotions into it. it wasn’t hungry or lust-driven. it said all the things that we could never say to each other’s faces.

he pulled away, pressing his forehead to mine. “what was that for?” i asked, eyes still closed.

“i need you to know that i care about you” my eye opened at this, staring into mine.

“i’m not using you for sex. i could never do that, baby. and i’m so sorry i ever made you feel that way. you are the most important thing to me. i can’t lose you, and i couldn’t live with myself if i let anything happen to you.”

he pecked my nose.

“i know that you’re capable of making your own decisions, and i’m not trying to take that away from you. but i know that guy and he’s not the type of person you want to be around. i can’t just watch him ruin you.” he moves a piece of hair out of my face.

“so i’m sorry that i just showed up here. i’m sorry i lost my shit. i’m sorry about the blood on your house” we both chuckled.

“but i can’t help it when it comes to you, you drive me crazy”

“hmm i don’t know i kinda like it when you lose your shit, it’s hot” i said as our noses touched.

he pushed my hips against my sink.

“good” he said as he went in for another kiss.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

hope you liked :)

masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @chrissturnioloswifey @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @sosmatt @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @soursturniolo @rac00ns-are-c00l4

#💙#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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dangerehrenn · 4 months

Note

I hope ur good and love your writing it's so good :)

quick question tho, how do you think the boys would react to pierced nipples on their partner????

ohhh they would go crazy

the boys finding out you have nipple piercings

in this: johnny, chris, bam

suggestive content

im gonna do this with the same scenario, and different reactions

it’s a regular day, filming new overly dangerous content with the guys, and someone has the genius idea for you to do a stunt into the water.

(like steveos stunt where he vaulted into the water from the bridge or whatever it was lol).

your boyfriend has been given the task of explaining the stunt to you, and as he’s explaining, you take your hoodie off in preparation. only to realise, shit. your shirt came off with your hoodie.

as your relationship with your boyfriend is relatively new, he had no idea you had nipple piercings…

well. he does now.

johnny:

he immediately stumbles over his words as you slowly realise you’ve just flashed your boyfriend

he clears his throat, then that signature knoxville smirk covers his face

“well. i didn’t know about those” he says cheekily, pointing at your nipple piercings that youre desperately trying to cover up

he’ll tell you to move your hands so he can get a better look

which earns him a slap on the arm for being so cheeky

“i like em baby. why cover them up?” he says, chuckling

he tries to steal a few more glances, then he’ll kiss you and carry on explaining the stunt to you

for the rest of the shoot, he seems very distracted, always lost in his thoughts

you catch his eye as he smirks to himself, and he blushes slightly before smiling again.

you know exactly what he was thinking about

chris:

oh boy

now he’s had a glimpse of them, he has to see them again

now, he’s a gentleman

so he’ll help you cover up

but he quickly ushers you away from everyone else and somewhere private

“since when?” he says, giggling

you play dumb, asking him what he’s talking about

which prompts him to pretend to grab his own boobs

“your piercings, babe” he says, smirking

he asks you the regular questions, did it hurt, is it sensitive, what happens if someone has a magnet

all that stuff

for the rest of the day, he’s distracted - staring constantly

“babe, do you think i’d suit them?”

bam:

he’s a little shit

so he steals your shirt and hoodie

“move your hands and i’ll give you your shirt back” he says, smirking

if you’re adamant you’re not gonna show him, he gives you your shirt back with a sheepish apology

he disappears for a minute, then comes back in time to see you do the stunt (take what you want from this ;) )

he drops the subject for the rest of the shoot, but you can tell he’s thinking about them

afterwards when you’re relaxing, you can tell he’s still thinking about them

so flash the man and let him be happy

“jesus christ are you tryin’ to kill me?” he smirks

or just tell him he can ask the questions he has

he’s like chris, asking the usual questions

and of course

“can i touch them?” he asks with his cheeky smile

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zqcky01 · 4 days

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So, I read your Pebble x reader thing and it gave me the idea for this request.

Stone x reader, and they're like hanging out, on a date, idk. Point is, trying to hang out alone together but Pebble is being a little shit and ruining it.

Only if you want to tho, ofc!

Date Night! + Pebble!

Stone x Reader

a/n: pebble can ruin my dates

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You and Stone shared an ice cream that you just stole. You giggled as you gently wiped off ice cream from Stone’s lips. “How silly…” You teased. Stone titled his head to the side, before he smirked. “You look so—“ “Can I have a bite?”

You and Stone looked over, seeing Pebble staring at your ice cream. “Jesus Christ…” You sighed, rubbing your head, shaking your head. “No, you can’t. Go harass someone else.” Stone muttered, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Turning you both away from Pebble. “He’s a stalking.” “I mean technically he is you—“ Stone cuts you off by shoving ice cream into your mouth. You huffed, muttering under your breath. “Careful—I might just shove something in your mouth—“ Stone was also cut off, by Pebble who was munching on the ice cream. The two of them made eye contact. “Why me…” Stone groaned as he grabbed your hand and pulled you away.

You and Stone ran off. He tugged you along the sidewalk, holding your hand tightly. “Why is he following us anyways?” You asked, leaning closer to him, titling your head to the side. “I don’t know. He’s annoying.” Stone grumbled while rolling his eyes. “But he’s you?” “Shut up!”

Pebble suddenly appeared above you two. “You’re basically talking crap about yourself.” Pebble said, smirking as he licked a lollipop. “I hate myself already.” Stone grumbled as he shoved Pebble’s face away. Then tugging you along. You laughed. “That’s kinda of funny…” You giggled. “See! Even your little partner thinks so too.” Pebble said, winking over to you. “You could flirt with anyone—literally anyone. But you choose them?!” Stone groaned as he pointed over to you.

“Hey what’s wrong with me?” You asked, huffing. You crossed your arms over your chest. “Technically aren’t we both dating them?” “No!”

Stone grumbled as he pulled you away. You smiled sheepishly while following him.

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Your back was pinned against an alleyway wall, Stone pressing against you. The two of you weren’t do anything—that would be considered has inappropriate. The two of you were just simply staring at each other deeply. Speaking a few words, then going back to silent.

Stone leaned his face closer to yours, his breath gently hitting the tip of your nose. Your gaze soften at him, your eyes flickering down to his lips. You both began to lean in close to each other.

“Want some candy?” Pebble said, popping up in between of you and Stone. The both of you froze. “Pebble!!”

Pebble was lying on the floor with bruises and bumps. Stone and you stared down at him, before smiling. “Wanna get some food?” “Sure.”

#x you #ramshackle x you #ramshackle x reader #oneshot #stone x reader ramshackle #stone x reader #x reader #fluff #silly #ramshackle stone #pebble ramshackle

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eddies-house · 7 months

Text

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Six - Sugar

W/C: 4.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

A crybaby and the town grump walk into a bar...

A/N: idk why but this chapter was giving me so much trouble and i've been really doubting my writing and second guessing. It's more of a filler chapter but still important to the story. I'm super excited for what's to come tho!!

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Three Weeks Later

“Bambi, go home already. Your shift ended–” Eddie pauses to check his watch. “-jesus, like an hour ago. Why are you still here?”

The floors were pristine, mopped to perfection, chairs stacked on top of the tables, and rags started in the washer. Every glass found home on their corresponding shelves, all dried and perfectly polished for the following shift, not one imperfection among the twinkling surfaces. The place was spotless and there you were, standing on top of the bar in order to reach the top of the light fixtures which, judging by the amount of dust on them, went neglected for some time now. Your apron was long discarded on one of the barstools and sweat dripped from your brow, the epitome of hard work if he’d ever seen it. The Bourbon hadn’t been this clean in years.

“I’m almost done, I swear.” You reply quietly, clearly far more engaged in your cleaning frenzy than any conversation he was trying to coax you into.

“No, you’re done.” Eddie marches around the bar, revealing himself just in your peripheral. “Get outta here.” There wasn’t an ounce of venom behind his words, however, he was without a doubt becoming increasingly annoyed.

You chance a glance down at him only to find his standard scowl etched onto his face. Except, it wasn’t as mean spirited as you were used to and it hadn’t been for quite some time. It was cute; the way his lip would slightly jut out and how his smile lines were so prominent, eyes drooping in irritation. Endearing irritation that you grew accustomed to.

“I will.” You state, feather duster swiping through a satisfying amount of dust. “When I finish.”

“No, get down.”

Your first instinct is to obey without question. Listen to authority. But in the previous weeks, you’d found it easier to let loose. Sure, Eddie was always somewhat crabby but it never intimidated you and whenever he found himself particularly pissed off, he’d banish himself to the back office which aided in releasing any tension you’d built up throughout the week. So, it wasn’t that difficult to at least attempt some friendly banter. Especially if you could get him to crack a smile. It was a win in your books when he tried so hard to withhold it from you or even better, turned around completely to shield his broken composure from you.

“Don’t you have–what did you call it– ‘a shit ton of paperwork’ to do?” You joke.

“Ha. Ha. I’m serious, get down.” He mocks, glaring up at you, a stupid little tug pulling at the corners of his mouth. Barely noticeable, but you take note of it.

“‘M not gonna fall, if that’s what you're worried about.” You mumble, shaking your head.

“Judging by how many times you nearly eat shit throughout the week, I’m pretty worried.”

Pretty worried.

Saliva caught in the back of your throat, you try to play it off like dust that had gotten trapped in your airways, clearing your throat. Only, your body had just reacted far too quickly to his words, resulting in the failure of a simple bodily function.

“I do not…” You crouch down, poking the end of the feather duster at his chest. “...fall that often.” You pout.

“Yeah?” A tiny smile pulls at his lips. There it is. “That’s why I said ‘nearly’.”

If you could bottle up the look he was giving you, you would selfishly keep it all for yourself to stare at on bad days. Such mischief and amusement lingered in his gaze. Sparks lighting up the dark and cloudy haze he usually exhibited. Like fireworks against a colorless sky, beautiful hues popping left and right but after all, everything is always temporary.

“I don’t ‘nearly’ fall that often either.” You whine.

“Just get off my bar and go home.” Eddie demands, voice warm and buttery despite his intent to kick you out.

Staring at him expectantly, he relays the same expression to you with raised brows. In response, you cock your head to the side, luring the word out of him. He doesn’t quite catch on, eyes narrowing while you wait. A smirk appears on your lips as you remain perched on top of the bar, feather duster forgotten next to you. His eyes grow a few sizes as if to urge you to speak up. And then he gets it.

“Please.” It drips from his tongue like warm caramel.

His eyes relax, creases between his brows ceasing and lids becoming heavy. Another look you would mentally take a snapshot of just to hang it on the walls of your cluttered brain. You’d be sure to clear a spot just for it.

“Gladly.” You offer the same smooth tone, hopping off the bar only to lose your balance along the way.

And before you can face plant into the hard wood planks, two large hands stabilize you, holding your waist firmly until he is sure you aren't going to collapse, but not yet letting go. If you were to set aside your cowardly tendencies, you would look up and feel his breath against your face. And you’re sure you could probably count the faint freckles on his nose that you’d only seen briefly when almost colliding into him during a rush. You only remain glued to the floor, both your eyes and feet.

“Careful, Bambi.” He scolds softly.

“‘M sorry.” You murmur.

“No need to be sorry.” You timidly glance up at him. “Just–just be more careful.” He pleads.

You were good and ready for him to yell at you, fully prepared to recoil as he raises his voice but it never comes. And it hadn’t since that one time with the plates but you were like a skittish animal and long before you had even known him, any conflict had you in a corner every time, eyes full of tears and lip trembling. You could only hope you didn’t look as pathetic right now.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He begins to soothe, a certain nervousness in his voice. Obviously you did look just as pathetic if not more.

His hands had left your waist to graze over your shoulders hesitantly, concern evident in his tone while he consoled you. He shouldn’t have to console you for fuck’s sake. Why were you on the verge of tears over your clumsiness?

“Sorry, sorry. ‘M fine, I swear.” You attempt to suck back the tears, head tilted toward the ceiling, lip tucked in between your teeth anxiously. “J-just go do your paperwork. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

Just when you think–no hope that he walks away, those large hands are gently grabbing at your wrists as you use your fingers to push the tears back into the corners of your eyes. A soft touch that for some reason, only made you want to cry more.

“Stop apologizing.” Eddie says, attempting to catch your gaze, finding it difficult as you begin to stare at the floor, hiding huge watery globs under your eyelashes.

“Just–let me get my things–” You begin to voice shakily, vision blurred with tears that you resented.

“Sit down.” He demands calmly, concern carved into his features from what you can make out through blurred vision.

“No, no, it’s okay–”

“Right here, sit.”

Eddie directs you to a barstool, the distorted world around you becoming progressively more overwhelming by the second. And all because you almost fell in front of your boss and he had to catch you. It wasn’t your intention, appearing as the stupid girl who happened to be a gigantic cry baby, emotions too sensitive to the horrors of the real world. Though, that was the reality, wasn’t it?

“Sorry.” You whisper, a few rogue tears escaping after the good fight you put up.

At this, he releases a heavy sigh. You can’t help but feel childish and small, your confidence devastatingly lower than before as you try to regulate your shaky breathing and wobbly lip. You just needed a minute, one minute to ride out the wave of anxiety. Eddie lets your umpteenth apology slide, slowly slipping into the stool next to you.

“I’m–uh–I’m gonna go home.” Your voice is an octave too high for his liking.

“Not like this you’re not.”

You remain on the stool, embarrassed, your cheeks feeling hot with stained tears. This was hell if anyone ever asked you. Slowly but surely revealing just how big of a wimp you were. Sure, you’d shed a few tears when he screamed at you over the plates but he hadn’t even done anything this time. You reacted purely on instinct and it was humbling.

“Let’s uh, let’s try this…” Eddie starts, running a ringed hand through his bangs. He slides a napkin in front of you before reaching for your apron on the back of his stool, stealing a pen and setting it on the napkin. “W-write down, uh, write down your feelings?” He says, so unsure even he couldn’t take himself seriously.

With a sniffle, you try to hide your confusion as you stare at the bland brown napkin. Eddie groans and for a moment you think it’s because you’re not playing along but quickly dismisses the thought when he reaches for another napkin and steals a second pen from your apron.

“Um, it sounds–it sounds stupid. It kinda is stupid. But, um, you just write what you’re feeling? A-and it’s supposed to…shit I dunno. It’s supposed to help clear your head I guess?” He explains.

You wait for him to laugh, wait for him to mock your tear stained face and absolute lack of emotional control. You wait for the ‘why are you crying’ in the most condescending tone and the lecture as to why you had no reason to cry. It never comes. Instead, as you sneak a glimpse at him from the corner of your teary eye, and he starts writing.

“So, right now, um…” He clears his throat. “Right now I’m feeling, uh, concerned?”

You can tell he’s having trouble coming up with words and that this was difficult for him…feelings were difficult for him. Something you could heavily relate to.

“Or, uh, you c-can just write…whatever…” He trails off, clicking the pen against the counter repeatedly.

Rather than answering, you clumsily pick up the blue pen, dropping it once with a trembling hand before fully grasping it. Then you begin writing as he instructed. If he made fun of you for what you were writing down, so be it. You’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

You expected him to chime in by now, scoffing at what you had written down. But when you glanced over, he was doodling on his napkin, something that appeared to be a dragon. Minding his own business. Awkwardly, you set the pen back on the counter, causing him to peek over at you.

“It helped.” You mumble. “A little.”

“Good.” He replies, tapping his pen against the counter. “So, uh my therapist usually has me share once I write everything down–or at least share the main points. You don’t–you don’t have to but that’s just…that’s what we do.”

Eddie expects you to crumple up the napkin and throw it out. Then you would leave and think to yourself how ridiculous he is. He didn’t know how to help people–hell, he didn’t even know how to help himself most of the time. What he doesn’t expect is for you to shyly slide the napkin in front of him. Averting his eyes, he’s unsure if he actually has permission to read but when you nod your head ever so slightly, he still has trouble looking down at what you had scribbled out. It felt like he was peeking into your brain, something he felt he wasn’t worthy of.

Humiliated

Stupid

Exhausted

Anxious

Small

Burden

Crybaby

Lonely

So many words for such a small increment of time that you had been scrawling away on that napkin. So many words that held such heaviness.

“Wow.” Is all that he says upon his first glance over.

Anxiously, you suck in a breath, attempting to snatch the napkin back in regret only to fail as Eddie slides it out of your reach.

“It’s stupid, I-I’m gonna go…” You begin, hopping off of your stool.

“It’s not stupid–”

Then you were gone, a gust of wind practically slapping him in the face. He couldn’t find it in himself to complain, only troubled by the inner workings of your mind. It was all too familiar and he was beginning to feel as if he wasn’t the only one cursed with a diseased mind. Selfishly, he found comfort in that.

–

There’s only one thing worse than a shitty car. Two shitty cars. Specifically a shitty car and a shitty truck. Both unreliable, both sputtering every time Eddie put the key in the ignition. Grandpa Roy’s ‘Ol Reliable four-door sedan wasn’t living up to its name and was on the decline by the looks of it. It had been for some time, though he was alway able to find a temporary fix and keep it running. Today he had no such luck.

The truck, Sugar, was arguably in much better shape. She was well-loved, red paint chipping after years of use and a cracked rear window. The engine had its moments but she was still better off than ‘Ol Reliable.

“C’mon, Sugar. Don’t be like that.” Eddie mutters, turning the key in the ignition a few times more, only to be met with failure. “Fuck.” He whispers, hopping out from the driver’s side to prop the hood open, large hands splayed out along the sides as he prepares for battle.

With a sigh, he ties his hair back and discards his leather jacket on the ground in exasperation, even going as far as to give it a small kick away from his work space. A wooden work bench was strategically placed on the porch under the awning, leaving no issue for when winter came around so that he had easy access to his tools even in the most dreadful of snows. Snow hadn’t kissed the ground quite yet but the further into October it got, the more crisp the air became, a subtle announcement for what was to come.

A deep, resentful groan leaves Eddie’s chest as he trudged up the steps to the porch, lips all perfectly pouted while he reluctantly pulls each of his large rings off only to drop them in a cup he’d taken from a diner years ago when he made the move to Knife’s Edge. An already greased up rag was snatched from the worktop and tucked snugly into his back pocket.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

He counts to himself under his breath as he collects the necessary tools. It wasn’t like he had to be at the bar yet, though he would’ve liked to stop by the store to stock up on cigarettes and see if he could find any of those cocktail cherries on sale. He wanted to save where he could. Every cent mattered. Then he was more than likely going to sulk in self pity while trying to figure out how to summon money from the sky. Maybe indulge in a beer in his office. He couldn’t afford to comp beers for himself like that but he could dream. After that maybe he’d have a good cry before the chaos ensued again.

Those plans went out the window when Sugar decided to test his patience. Perhaps he should be grateful to his unfaithful truck for attempting to lure him out of the isolation he planned to encase himself in. It was one thing to isolate yourself at home, it was another to trap yourself at your place of work hours before it actually opened and beat yourself up over every little thing and question where it all went wrong.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit.” He reiterates to himself, tossing a wrench in his hand as he makes his way back to Sugar. “Go easy on me.” He begs.

The pumpkins you had been angling perfectly on your porch were suddenly so miserably uninteresting; how could they not be when such an erotic site was placed right in front of your prying eyes? Regretfully, your wet dream came to life. Except, you played no part in it and Eddie paid no mind to you. Not that he ever would. And even if he did, you’d made it clear that you were a nutcase.

You still couldn’t tear your eyes away from the way his arms flexed under his short sleeves and how he grunted while tugging at something under the hood of his truck. Drool could have been dripping from your chin and you wouldn’t notice, too hypnotized by his every movement. He had opted to wear some black converse today rather than his standard black combat boots. It was cute, you couldn’t lie, the small change made you giddy. And the way his shirt was riding up as he stretched himself over the engine felt like a tease. A peek at what you had once gotten a glance of while wasted but didn’t get to fully appreciate as your sober self.

God, you could recall the blurry image of him momentarily pulling his puke stained shirt off cautiously, revealing his lean figure. It was practically pixelated in your mind. As you reminisce on what your drunk self had taken for granted, reality feels just as distorted when Eddie’s eyes land on yours. Huge doe eyes, almost cartoon-like catching your attention as if a moth to a flame. You want to look away, you beg of yourself to look away but your inner voice is muffled; almost as though you were under an enchantment.

And like a siren call, his voice reaches you. You fear that you may be all too willing to drown just to hear it again.

“Will you hold this for me?” He shouts, almost desperately. Almost.

Your eyes widen, hands still resting atop a perfectly orange pumpkin while you sit pretty on your porch step. An Autumn dream. Suddenly, Eddie wishes he would’ve kept to himself rather than requesting your assistance. Had he thought it through, he would’ve opted to magically grow another hand. Instead, he stands with ruddy cheeks and syrupy eyes, glazed with adoration that he was frantically attempting to wipe from his vision, shoving the feelings that were oozing out of him back into his stupid sweaty skin.

“Um…” You reply in surprise, already crossing the border between properties, a shy stutter to your walk. “Well I don’t really know how to…” You trail off, suspecting that he could figure out the rest of your thoughts on his own.

Oh, how he regrets calling you over. His clammy hand clutches the wrench, providing no aid in his attempt to calm his nerves.

“You don’t…you don’t have to, uh…” He appears as if he’s battling his own thoughts, gaze casted toward the ground as his eyes dart left and right. “Can you just hold this?” He finally gets out, pointing to a part of the engine. “Sugar won’t start and I swear I can have her running again but it’d be a hell lot easier if you could just hold this real quick.”

“Sugar?”

“Sugar.” He confirms. “Oh!” Realization hits him. “Yeah, Sugar. My truck.”

“Okay…” You whisper, unsure.

You could almost forget the mortifying incident from the early hours of 3:00 AM as you took in his wet chocolate coated eyes, the light Fall breeze seeming to affect him. His lashes clumped together like art and his nose was tinted the perfect shade of rose, those faint freckles dotted along the bridge like little constellations.

“Just, right here.” He instructs, turning his attention back to Sugar.

Following his lead, you adjust your hand where it's needed, an uncomfortable, greasy residue coating your fingers as he works. From this angle, the afternoon sun casts a golden glow over his profile, flyaway curls highlighted in the light like a halo and nose endearingly round at the tip with lips tucked into his teeth as he concentrates. And then, his tongue pokes out, an adoring sight that only makes you yearn to reach out and graze your fingertips over the stubble threatening to emerge from his cheek.

“Thought you’d name it something more…tough.”

Your meek voice earns a glance over his shoulder, brows furrowed in that cute way that everyone always recognized as harsh and cold-hearted.

“What?” The way his eyes crinkle at the corners paired with his confused expression only give you more reason to let your stare linger a little bit longer, a bold move on your part.

“Um, Sugar–”

“Oh, Sugar.”

Simultaneously, you refer to his truck, interrupting each other while his elbow grazes your arm as he tightens a bolt.

“Uh, well…she’s, uh, the only girl in my life.” He jokes, quietly chuckling. “And, she’s not exactly brand new so I’ve gotta treat ‘er nice.”

“And…she can hear you?” You question, attempting to hide your oncoming grin.

This time, he only glares at you over his shoulder. There’s a comfort in the way his eyes seem to swallow you whole.

“Okay, okay, ha, ha. I know, she’s a truck–”

“And you keep calling it a ‘she’.”

Eddie pulls back, stepping away from the engine, prompting you to do the same as you stare up at him, a smidge afraid that you might have actually offended him. A few rebellious curls frame his face, creating the vision of a princely man who in reality, was nothing of the sort. Not in the sense that he wasn’t gentlemanly, only in the sense that he didn’t care what others thought.

“What? You never heard of people calling their car a ‘she’ before?” He asks, offense barely evident in his tone. More than anything, he appears to be amused by your observation.

“No, I have. Just didn’t think you seemed like one of them.” You remark.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Again his eyebrows crinkle in the cutest fashion, lip curling ever so slightly as he brings a hand to his hip. You begin to think that no one has ever looked so good covered in grease and you’d never been attracted to the smell of oil but you could make an exception if it meant you’d get to see his features this close. Eddie was a pretty guy. And the more his colors showed, the more entranced you became.

“I dunno, nevermind.” You attempt to divert the conversation.

“No, no, you have to tell me. Please enlighten me.” He crosses his arms, a smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“No, forget it!.” You giggle.

Eddie can feel his shoulders relaxing at the sound. Can feel his tension release even if just the slightest. His eyes relax, a lazy gaze focused on you. Everything suddenly feels so…calm. As if his life wasn’t falling apart. You were like some kind of drug that made him forget how shitty things were and if it only lasted a few seconds at a time, he would gladly invest in as much as he could until he overdosed. Which to be fair, he didn’t think was possible.

“No, what do you mean? Say it with your chest, I dare you.” He nods at you, eyes showcasing that same spark you’d notice every now and then. The spark only seemed to get bigger and bigger. One day you’d hoped to see a fire ignite, a full explosion of his personality.

Biting your lip, you look at him sheepishly, doubting yourself. But something about his gaze eggs you on.

“You just…you’re all…big and bad.” You mumble, eyes finding themselves glued to the ground.

“Big and bad?” Eddie repeats.

It’s enough to have you backtracking, pathetically trying to erase your words. Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, like a goldfish.

“See, it was stupid! I was being stupid. Just forget–”

“Why do you keep doing that?” He asks, genuine curiosity blended in his tone along with a dash of concern.

“Doing what?”

Your puzzled expression only makes his chest ache. Leaves crunch under your feet as you fidget, visually nervous. He hates that he always ends up making you uncomfortable, never able to get a grip though maybe he can blame his highschool-self. He never talked to girls and maybe if he had, he’d be having better luck right now. Who’s he kidding, maybe if he just wasn’t even himself he’d be making a lot more progress.

“Calling yourself stupid.” He mentions quietly.

No one has ever confronted your self-deprecating commentary, only ever remained silent as if to agree with you or they’d simply shift the topic. Never has someone questioned your reasoning.

“Oh…well I uh, I didn’t think I did it that often.” You begin to stutter, clearly taken back. He wishes he could rewind back to when you were bantering back and forth about his truck. He probably would’ve found another way to fuck up the conversation, even if he could go back and give himself another chance.

“But if this is because last night I wrote–” You start again, only for him to keep running his big mouth.

“A bunch of bullshit?” He states. Like it's a fact.

Your wide eyes aren’t a good sign.

“What?”

“Yeah. Bullshit.” He sounds so sure of himself.

“Oh.”

You physically seem as if you're deflating, your body closing in on itself, shoulders slumping while you take a step back. It was the opposite of what he wanted. But he could always count on himself to ruin a good thing.

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like–I didn’t mean–fuckin’ christ.” Eddie runs his clean hand down his face. “I didn’t mean it was bullshit. I meant that…I guess I meant that you shouldn’t feel like that?”

It’s quiet. Eddie knows he deserves a slap across the face, if anything. But you just continue staring at the ground, lost in thought. Moments pass and he’s starting to feel he should dismiss himself and hide forever. Forget fixing Sugar and just become a hermit.

“Why?” You whisper.

He doesn’t offer an answer, only shrugs slowly. He just kept putting nails in his own coffin.

“Don’t you…don’t you think I’m those things? Like…like there’s something wrong with me?”

Eddie steps closer, not enough to push your boundaries but still enough for you to notice. He tugs his lip in between his teeth, pulling at it anxiously while he thinks. And with his arms still crossed, one finger taps at his elbow in threes. You follow the action.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

“No.” He says simply, to which your head snaps up.

Cola colored irises are awaiting you, welcoming you in a way. A softer expression falls over his face, his cherub-like features becoming enhanced.

“I don’t think you’re those things.” Eddie says confidently. “I think you’re just right.”

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #st fic #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson angst #smoke signals #bartender!eddie #bartender!eddie munson

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anxiteyandsleep · 1 month

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I'm so sorry if I made you flustered about the smut question- didn't mean to! 🫢🫣😆

Okay so I'm gonna try and request this: 🙏

Could I please request Thranduil x Male reader who's this tall and buffed tiefling (big horns, long strong tail) who looks scary asf but is actually a total sweetheart? He only looks intimidating bc he's always wearing his armor, covers his face with a cloth/a mask, has dark makeup around his eyes and basically looks like a fricking demon?

He wears a cloth/a mask around his mouth bc he has a big open scar on his cheek (naaah nothing too graphic he just can do this trick with food where when you're facing his healthy side he sticks a carrot into the opening (scar) on the other side and chews without even opening his lips- totally normal- he did it in front of Legolas once and that poor child didn't sleep for a week). He's not ashamed of it, he just doesn't like the stares.

Even tho I'm as old as the first LOTR movie I only just now became a fan and I saw that Thranduil has an injury on his face as well (but hidden) so that got me thinking...

Maybe reader and Thranduil are a couple (reader was treated badly for being a barbarian tiefling -> not by Thranduil <- but proved himself when he saved him) and he then made reader his personal guard, became friends and then lovers.

Thranduil is curious about reader hiding his face but never pushes him to uncover himself (Like why are you hidding yourself from me hmm? Why don't you kiss me? Your other facial features are gorgeous asf, for a tiefling barbarian who rips goblins in half with his bare hands you could even compete with some elves I know-).

One day Thranduil has some issues with his own injury which reader sees and comes to his aid, Thranduil is embarrassed and nearly breaks down, tears fill his eyes bc his love saw his hideous face and is afraid he will leave him (god I'm so bad at romance bro) but reader just chuckles, takes the cloth/mask from his face and shows Thranduil his own injury.

Now they both have scars! They know each other struggles! And they love each other like never before! Happy ending- No but really, angst with fluffy comfort for our two boys and mainly for the elf himself, he needs the love.

Maybe even emotional way back to their shared bedroom by sunset all lovely dovely bc why dafuq not- just Thranduil giggling kicking his feet and twirling his hair as he's princess carried-

Jesus...I got way too into this. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Sorry for it being so long, I honestly don't know how to write short requests...also sorry for any mistakes, english is my second language.

Add something, remove something, it's up to you. You don't even have to write it if you hate it or you're not comfy with it. 😘😘

This is adorable ahhh and dw you didn't make me embarrassed or anything! I may have missed some details, this was written over the course of multiple days with very little sleep😭

I included my head canon that Thranduil is blind in his one eye from the dragon fire, as well as that when low on energy he can't keep the disguise up.

Slight TW for blood, scars and such???

It has been almost a year since you and Thranduil had started dating, you were his personal guard and beloved boyfriend, he adored you so much. He never knew why you hid your face but he didn't pry, especially considering he hides his face in a way too.

Thranduil had always been impressed by you, a strong tiefling with a kind soul, much like a gentle giant. Sure you were rather... Gruesome in battle, using your bare hands to fight and always returning covered in blood and gore. It was truly terrifying but Thranduil loved it, especially after you had saved him from a spider attack.

Today, however, Thranduil was hiding away from his beloved barbarian, tucked away in his room with nothing but a small candle dimly lighting the room. He had overworked himself again, his head was aching and he had no energy left to maintain his disguise, the burnt skin and muscle visible, a sight he despised.

When you heard that Thranduil was taking the day off and locked himself in his room, you grew worried. He's never done that before, usually on his days off he spends them with you, taking a walk through the garden or getting some much needed sleep. So of course you immediately went to check on him, making your way to your shared bedroom.

"Thranduil? Are you alright? I heard the guards say you weren't feeling well and I-" you fell silent as you entered the bedroom, squinting as you adjusted to the dim light but you knew exactly what you saw. You never knew Thranduil had such a scar, it covered the left half of his face and his eye was completely white.

Thranduil had to turn his head completely to actually see you, quickly attempting to cover up the scar but alas, he couldn't manage to use his magic in such a state. He never wanted you to see this side or him, he wanted to keep this horrid scar hidden from you.

"(Name)... What... What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on patrol?" He managed to get out, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his usual tone but his voice still sounded shaky. Perhaps if he didn't bring attention to the scar, you would just ignore it as well

"I just got back, my love..." You replied, slowly walking closer to Thranduil, head tilted slightly in curiosity as you examined the scar. When you reached the edge of the bed, you knelt down before him, resting your chin on his legs. "is that from the dragon you faced?"

Thranduil sighed softly, closing his eyes as he couldn't bare to look at you, afraid he'd see disgust in your eyes. "yes...I managed to survive but..." He vaguely gestured to the scar, shaking his head slightly. Thranduil finally opened his eyes again when he felt your strong hands holding his, the touch was so gentle and caring, he just had to see you.

The way you were looking at him surprised him, your eyes were full so of love and admiration, it made his heart swell.

"We kinda match" you hum in a soft whisper, reaching up to remove the mask you always wore and revealing your own scar. You weren't ashamed of it, you mostly hid it for everyone's comfort as the sight of your open cheek often made people uneasy and you hated the looks they'd give you.

it was now Thranduil's turn to stare in awe, one of his delicate hands reaching up to gently trace around the scar, his fingers soft and gentle as always. "hm I suppose we do, my love" he replied softly his hand trailing up to gently trace over your horns, following the pattern and ridges of them.

"forgive me for keeping this from you... I... I do not like people seeing me in such a state but I should've told you" Thranduil apologized, moving his hands back to gently cup your face, being careful to not disturb the scar

You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning into his touch while your tail wagged slightly. "there's no need to apologize, I kept a secret from you too"

Thranduil felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, the stress slowly melting away as he held you in his hands. "Well now that we both have told the truth, how about we rest?" He whispered sweetly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, one you eagerly returned.

Without breaking the kiss, you got off your knees, cradling the back of Thranduils neck with one of your hands. You kicked off your boots, accidentally sending one flying across the room but you didn't care. "a nap sounds good, yeah" you muttered against his lips as you carefully push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to continue the kiss.

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk. "My love, this is not napping ~" he didn't really mind as you continued to pamper him with kisses, his delicate hands reaching up to gently tangle themselves in your hair.

"mm we'll nap after, then"

#the hobbit #thranduil x male reader #thranduil #lord of the rings #lotr elves

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dellalyra · 11 months

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satoru with little megumi and tsumiki is so cute!! i also can't stop thinking about how funny the reader and Satoru would be juggling trying to have "that conversation" (sex) with the two of them, i swear in my head this scenario was very funny

A/N: OMG this was so fun to write, I had such a giggle writing it THANK U SM also thank u all sm for ur requests, expect them posted throughout the week!!! Ily all

CW: SEX, sex talk, sexual content, mom and dad are cringe and try to talk to the kids about the birds and the bees, talks of sexuality and bodies etc, mdni, I’m bi so I asked my amab gay pal for help writing some parts so I hope I did okay!!!

Family Formations - Birds and Bees.

“SATORU” A yell sounds as you come crashing through your bedroom drawer.

“Y/N!” The white-haired man currently lounging on the bed replies.

Then you start rambling so damn fast that even he can’t keep up with the speed of your words.

“Princess. You’re gonna need to start that again. Maybe throw in some breathing this time round.” He smirks.

“Satoru. Tsumiki - she’s gotten her period. I’ve explained it to her but ‘Toru - we’ve never given them THE TALK. The birds and the bees.” You scramble to sit on the bed with him.

“Baby, they know what birds and bees are,” Satoru says, completely confused as to why you think they need a nature lecture.

“No, ‘Toru. THE TALK. The horizontal tango, matrimonial polka, a bit of how’s yer father, squat thrusts in the cucumber patch, creaming the twinkly.” You stare so seriously at him, his hands clasped in yours.

He just blinks at you.

“Y/N, are you okay? Are you like… malfunctioning?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

“Jesus ‘Toru! Sex!” You say, shaking his shoulder.

His eyes light up.

“Hell yeah, just lock the door.” He says as he begins to unbutton his jeans.

“No! Well, yes! But later! Satoru – we’ve never spoken to the kids about sex, that kind of talk! They’re 12 and 13! They’re gonna start hearing things in school, and they’ll have questions about their bodies – I don’t want them to have an unhealthy relationship with sex! Or their bodies! We’ve spoken to them about the basics, they both know about periods, what boobs are, how to keep yourself clean, what touch is good and what is inappropriate, and that they can say no to someone wanting affection. We’ve done all the basics, but what about like – the sexual parts, like they know what sex is, we’ve talked to them about the physical side of things, like what goes where –” You were just babbling again, you and Satoru were only 24 – how the fuck do you parent teenagers?

“Oh my god, I’ve never explained wet dreams! He’s gonna think he’s dying!” Satoru has realised that this is an issue.

Maybe in 10 years, you’ll realise how badly you’re both overreacting.

But probably not.

“Tsumiki knows there are 2 separate holes – I taught her that when her first period came. Megumi knows what a period is, we’ve never hidden any bodily functions from them – they know the logistics of everything. Wait, what else do we tell them?” You were so close to ripping out your hair.

“Condoms!” Satoru exclaims, and points at you.

“Condoms!” You agree.

“Do we have any? We need a banana – or maybe a cucumber?” He begins searching the bedside tables.

“Satoru we’ve never once used a condom, I’ve an IUD! Oh god, we’re such bad role models.”

This frenzy goes on for another hour before you both have a basket of stuff, and you call the kids into the living room. You already know that you might have to pin Megumi down, so he listens. You both decided that there were no questions off limits, 12 and 13 were tricky ages, and you both decided you wanted them to go into the world armed with healthy, positive information instead of keeping things secret and them finding out stuff from friends or porn.

“Is everything okay?” Tsumiki smiles, as she takes a spot on the cosy sofa.

“I was reading – what do you both need?” Grumbles Megumi – those teenage hormones reminding you why you’re here.

“So! We wanna talk to you guys about, drumroll, please… BOINKING!” Satoru says, with jazz hands for panache.

“What the hell is boinking?” Megumi asks, already disgusted.

“Exactly why we’re here! Your mom and I want you both to know all about the human body and the delightful pleasures it can bring. Your bodies are growing and changing, and soon enough you’re going to start feeling some funny things!” Satoru has sat on the opposite loveseat, with you beside him.

“Oh. My. God.” Tsumiki’s mouth drops open.

“What?” Megumi asks, suspiciously.

“Oh no. Why? Why me? Why today?” She laments.

“Can someone tell me what’s happening?” The young boy grumbles.

“They’re giving us the talk.”

“Oh, please God no.”

“Yes!” Satoru smiles, slapping his knee.

“Guys – I know how much you two are gonna hate this. I hated it when my mom did it too, but this is us keeping you two safe okay? Plus, wouldn’t you rather have all the facts, Megumi?” You knew that appealing to Tsumiki’s emotions and Megumi’s practicality would at least make them sit for a while.

“We’re not getting out of this, are we?”

“Make it quick.”

“Okay! So you guys know what sex is – two people expressing emotions, physically. If between a man and a woman, it can create a baby. But there are loads of types of sex, and it doesn’t have to be between a guy and a girl.” You start.

“Yeah! Like your mom and I are both bisexual, so that means we’ve both – too personal, point taken” Satoru was cut off by both of them glaring.

“So if a man and a woman are having sex…” You begin the explanations of what goes where, the changes that will happen once they start to get older, the science behind things, the fun stuff – masturbation is okay – and healthy! Then that sex can be lots of different things, never feel rushed to do anything with anyone, a quick (and very painful for the kids, possibly scarring) demonstration from you of how to put on a condom (thankfully, you had bananas), different forms of contraception and safety.

All in all, you and Satoru thought it went great

By the end of everything you could think of, Megumi had a pillow on his face and Tsumiki’s eyes seemed glazed over. That means it sank in.

“Okay! So if you guys have questions, never get scared to ask us! Believe us, we’ve probably done way worse!” Satoru says.

“That’s very true! And if you guys don’t wanna ask out loud you can write us a note, maybe?”

“Oh! Important! Megumi – you don’t just gotta ask me, you can ask mom too because believe me she knows her way around a male –” You slap your hand over his mouth. His big, idiotic mouth.

“That’s true though, just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t answer your questions, and the same goes for you Tsumiki with dad, okay?” You softly smile at them, you’re aware that pretty much everything you and your fiancé do is utterly chaotic - it’s in both your natures, but you hope that maybe – them both knowing that you guys are also absolute messes will make them feel better about coming to you. Because no matter what, you’re their mom and dad.

“Do you guys have any questions?” You ask.

“No holes barred! Ask away!” Satoru chimes in.

“I do. Ehm… can you get pregnant from a toilet seat?” Tsumiki asks.

“No – you can’t. It’s gotta get right up there.” You reply.

Tsumiki giggles at this and proceeds to ask a ton more –very clever, questions, ranging from who grows hair where to do boys have a clitoris.

Tsumiki then excuses herself to the bathroom, and you glance at a squirming Megumi.

“Nothing off limits, ‘Gumi. Promise.” Satoru smiles at him.

“Um… if a guy does… that… with anyone guy – how do they know who, oh my god I hate my life, howdotheyknowwhoputsthepenisinandhowhasitinthem.” He couldn’t have spoken faster. Physically.

You take a second to try and decipher his words.

“Well, that’s an individual thing! It depends on the couple, it alternates sometimes, and sometimes there’s one person who prefers each type of feeling. The best thing to do is just ask and communicate and read the situation.” You speak.

“It’s different for every couple kiddo – and that’s what makes it all fun because what you will have with each person is gonna be unique. Just talk shit out, and see what the vibes are like. Explore different things too.” Satoru says, leaning back on the loveseat, this is a side of Satoru you absolutely cherish – you love all of him, but this vulnerable, soft, honest side is reserved for those he loves the most.

Tsumiki comes into the room. Her face was white as a sheet.

“You okay, ‘Miki?” You ask.

“The sound. The banging sound I heard, when we were on vacation. That wasn’t the pipes hitting the wall, was it?” She asks as if asking if the ghost in her room was real.

You couldn’t help but laugh, because no – it wasn’t. Your rooms in your cottage were all soundproofed, the hotel in Okinawa, not so much.

“So you see Tsumiki – when a mommy and daddy love each other veryyyyyy –” Satoru says with a huge evil grin on his face and you laugh yourself into knots beside him.

“No! Shut up!” They both run like the wind down the hall.

“Parents boink too, Tsumiki! It means we love each other so much we just –”

“STOP PLEASE STOP!” You hear coming from the kid’s rooms. That was them locked away for the night.

Maybe the teenage years will be kinda fun, if you get to keep messing with them. The title of embarrassingly in love parents fits you guys after all.

“So you know earlier… I said ‘later’?” You turn to your fiancé, resting your hand on his thigh.

“Yeah, princess?” He smirks, tilting your chin up with a long index finger.

“It’s later.” You giggle, grabbing his hand and running down the hall with him to your – thankfully – soundproofed room.

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #dad!gojo #family formations

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bat-stuff · 1 year

Text

Oddly specific Headcanons I have for Jon Kent

Jon is aged up to between 15-17, roughly in this area

Being a retired farm boy Jon has this midwestern/southern accent that only really appears when he's upset

For example, when he's really emotional about something he'll start slurring his words into "yall" or some other southern slang

Personally I headcanon he would call Lois "mama" instead of "mom" no matter what age he is

I have a hunch that he doesn't like to sweat. He doesn't mind getting dirty with farm work or any other type of down-in-the-mud thing, but the moment he starts to sweat a little too much he'll speed up whatever he's doing and will just be a little disgusted with the sticky feeling

This also goes along with him being a very clean boy

He gets annoyed fairly easily (Damian's kind of rubbed off on him) by rude/mean people

He doesn't tolerate bullies even a little bit

He has a tendency to throw/slam things when he's angry (sometimes people, we've all seen the panels where he throws Damian into walls)

That being said, he has great control of his super-strength, but he relieves tension by physical force

Lois offers him up to neighborhood girls to walk them home from school or some event

It's like "Here, have my son. Let him walk you home, dear. "

That being said, Jon is very much a Mama’s boy and if he thinks Lois wouldn't like someone he's probably not going to be associated with them

Wears jeans religiously and definitely hates sweatpants

Loves sweatshirts and big coats and shirts but loathes sweatpants

He feels naked and it just makes him uncomfy

He hates tight t-shirts and tanktops, he'd rather die than wear them

Somehow still tolerates his suit tho, he says it's "who I have to be for the people"

Because of Colin, has a bad habit of cussing at minor inconveniences

"Jesus christ goddammit, why is the toaster cord melted? Kon, this is the second time this week, man. Pull yourself the fuck together"

But when there's an actual situation that is deserving of colorful language he uses the most creative replacements

"Klarion took Damian hostage? That KFC finger licker is going to get blended!" Or something like this

If Damian uses a word he doesn't understand he'll just stare at him like a deer in headlights

Jon and Dami have this like twin telepathy ability to always know what the other wants and it pisses Colin and Billy off so much

They just look at each other and are like "yeah I know what you mean, I think that's going to be the best approach to the situation"

He gives me DECA vibes honestly. Or he'd be in speech and do Entertainment or Persuasive.

Definitely is in journalism for his parents' sake, even if it makes him die a little inside everytime someone asks him if he wants to be a journalist

Probably wants to go into biology or heath sciences

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bonebabbles · 6 months

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God the new ultimate guide sucks

It's not JUST the awful art, either. The art's just worth mentioning because even if the book's info had been terrible or contained nothing new, really cute art can make it still worth having.

But, no, it's even full of recycled lines we've been hearing for years like "Bramblestar Can Match Squirrelflight's Fire Not Contain It," and that's when it DOES get everything right. These entries leave out major, important details (making them bad summaries) and are sometimes even straight-up incorrect.

SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Leafpool is said to have watched Brambleclaw kill Hawkfrost to save Firestar-- but for one, no, she was not there because Ashfur was still leading her and Squilf towards the scene. For two, no, Brambleclaw did not kill Hawkfrost just to save Firestar, it was self-defense. Hawkfrost had him pinned and was going to kill him.

They're REAL cute about Leafpool's death, too, neglecting to mention WHY the Sisters needed to be saved at all and just saying Leafpool's "generosity" lead to her death in that cave-in.

I'm not even going to get into everything on Bramble's entry jesus christ.

Sagewhisker's entry is ESPECIALLY fucken' dandy, framing Yellowfang's Secret like she was simply waiting patiently for Yellow to realize her 'destiny' and not actively shoving it on her at every opportunity.

Leopardstar's entry states that romantic interest in Tigerstar was part of her motivation. "Perhaps she'd hoped he would be her mate" please speak to a woman irl for once in your life.

Gray Wing's entry forgot that the reason he "blamed himself" for Bright Stream's death is because he was literally staring at his big strong brother too much and tripped on a root in front of him. It IS his fault she died.

Clear Sky/Skystar's entry is just obscene. "He regretted abandoning his son and after a fire, he encouraged him to live with him" instead of "saw his teenage child was useful now and bullied and belittled the kid and his uncle into letting Thunder come with him." "Retaining his fierceness towards his cats and outsiders which caused his son to leave" instead of "murdering, brutalizing, and abusing everyone around him caused Thunder to leave." I'll just say this tho; "Fierce" is an interesting way to spell "Cruel."

It's interesting that they don't point out that a major part of Jagged Peak's arc was proving he was "Just As Good" as every other cat in spite of his disability, thanks to his introduced-and-pregnant-in-the-same-book wife becoming his life coach, only earning Clear Sky's respect after being allowed to physically lead a patrol in Blazing Star. Instead they frame him finding his place through taking care of kits, which... was something he seemed to resent in the actual series, considering how the books suddenly treat Gray Wing's protective treatment of him as a terrible thing in Blazing Star because he "didn't give him a chance". But at the same time I actually strongly dislike Jagged Peak and his messy, frustrating character arc so I'm not really UPSET with it. Just... noting it. I suppose this is the official direction they're taking away from it?

Shadowstar's entry is barely even 3 paragraphs yikes.

SHORT STORY THOUGHTS

And if you're wondering if the 4 brand new stories they smooshed into the end in a desperate attempt to make the rush job worth buying are good? No. Of course not. They're all slop.

Story 1: Firestar and Graystripe

First one's a marginally cute story about Graystripe and Firestar which is setting up the framing device linking the mini-tales together. They both remember this situation where Firestar fell into a ditch wrong. The punchline is that Thunderstar remembers it perfectly and they're both like, "WOW! Too bad Thunderstar's memory sucks!"

It's not terrible, but it does feel a bit pointless. But, hey, if you want more Firestar and Graystripe in the series that tosses them fanservice at every turn, who am I to judge?

Story 2: Dovewing and Ivypool

The next one is the Dovewing/Ivypool reconciliation passage everyone's talking about. It's... fine, but immensely dissatisfying to me.

Dovewing is apparently having problems adjusting to her Clan, grapples a little bit with the fact she has no friends but is going to be finding meaning in helping tigerHeartstar "bring the new ShadowClan into existence." She ultimately decides that she needs to talk to her sister, and begs for reassurance that Ivypool believes in her, feeling that her support can help her get through this difficult time in her life.

I think its biggest problem is that Dovewing was not the right choice for the POV here.

Dove was never the one responsible for the rift in their relationship. Ivypool is. Ivypool is the one who was jealous, willing to sabotage anything that would put Dovewing closer to Tigerheart, and continues to be generally aggressive towards her. So when Dovewing is reaching out to Ivypool in hopes of them reconciling, it feels wrong because Ivypool is the one that should be reaching out to Dovewing. SHE is the one who has some things to apologize for, and to show how much she loves and misses her.

It's even kind of frustrating, because Dovewing can never catch a break. She has to have these problems to force her to reach out, Ivypool even ends up suggesting that she leave and come home and take her kids with her, but in the end even a LITTLE bit of assurance from her aggressive sister helps.

I feel super bad for Dovewing, man. She deserves better than this cheap writing. What was the point of such an unsatisfying, rushed reconciliation, shoved into a crummy field guide, when we KNOW from the newest book that they're just going to use tension between them as part of the drama anyway?

shouldn't have even been written, imo. Even ends off with, "They'll always have each other :)" which is so... cliche. It's TIRED. Are any of you really happy with just getting a retconned platitude in a good-for-nothing field guide, instead of seeing complicated, INTERESTING feelings in a main book?

Story 3: Alderheart and Twigbranch

A tale of Cherryfall getting sick during TBC and Alderheart sneaks back into the territory to treat her. Also Crowfeather has a scene where he yells at him. Charming.

Twigbranch comes up with a diversion while Alderheart does his work, which is cute. It's a fine story.

Story 4: Clear Sky

Trash. Three dogs spawn in the middle of a gathering so that Skystar can have an uwu big boy sendoff saving his grandkit. Then he goes to StarClan and throws a fit because they can't give him ANOTHER life, becoming so upset that he attacks the nearest woman. Naturally, Shadowstar brushes it off because it's not the first time Clear Sky has pummeled her in the midst of an adult tantrum and this book series thinks violence is fine if their favorite sadboy does it.

Then Gray Wing brings him to the magic mirror pool where you can see the living, to confirm that Star Flower is ok and that makes him feel better.

Then it launches into Firestar saying "ouuuugh yum I LOVE the taste of his butthole. Clear Sky is so misunderstood, He Just Loved Too Much."

to which Graystripe responds, "Yes, he was a good and amazing person and his farts smells SO good, and can you believe that some people think StarClan punished his Clan for his arrogance? As if he ever did anything wrong, ever?"

Firestar, indignant, refutes it with, "Ugh!! StarClan would NEVER be interesting, we don't punish living cats we just float around and make vague, frustrating prophecies that do nothing but pad the word count. Why cant ppl understand that, gosh."

who wrote this? Gray Wing??

#The amount of passive voice Clear Sky has to be surrounded with in order to look like a redeemable character is dizzying #I feel like I'm reading a headline about cops who blew up an orphanage every time I read anything official about him #oh wait im sorry. A ''high-pressure accident which occurred at a government institution with 3 officers present'' lmaooooo #ultimate field guide #bone babble #im actually REALLY glad actually they havent been making these #This was garbage #There were a few good things in this but overall? Absolute slop. I wouldn't even feed this to a pig.#I think this is actually down there with Cats of the Clans (with Rock) for worst field guide #This is abysmal #You would be better with the wiki summaries and the 4 stories are mid at best #What a shame that they re-pivoted so hard from Riverstar's SE which I was JUST praising for tossing out that shitty ''redemption arc''#Nope. We're right back to square one.#How much do you guys wanna bet it's ONE writer who's OBSESSED with Clear Sky and every time he writes anything he does this #I'm not sure who wrote this one but let's see if my hunch is right lmao

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