#cutter sterns

[dirkdangerous]

they are ACTUALLY ex-girlfriends ??5?5 season 2 of monsters at work you are so peak and will always be famous

[deltaqueen184]

monsters at work season 2 night

[yuri-cosmos]

one thing that should be talked about more in maw spaces is the end tags bc those are so fun to listen to. like what do you mean people who skip the credits dont know about

tylers mom being less funny than his dad

duncan going crazy (not duncan crazy i mean no circulation crazy) after the creep show

the fact that theres a full version of it scare you babe (and on spotify)

Chet sending himself affirming voicemails

Jennifer coolidge telling chauncey to pretend to be a dying child for monetary value

the crepees coach whos name i can never remember pushing his bookie down 2 flights of stairs, breaking both his legs and hospitalising him bc he didnt wanna pay his debt, and then surviving 2 heart attacks in 1 day

Cutter losing her 5th leg and her 7th stepmother leaving when she was 6

Crumminghams wife leaving him over the sweets

Needleman and Smitty (😒) are there too ig (i like needleman but smitty is actually my worst enemy “thats what i tell the police” GO TO PRISON ???)

the obligatory roz ending

and thats only in season 2, season 1 had all that plus the comedy class scenes

[capturingdisney]

Monsters at Work Episode 1.02 - Meet Mift

[coco--rock]

HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY MIFT 🎉

[monstertroll]

Some doodles of one of my OCs, Erik Finnson, interacting with some members of MIFT! This kinda shows his dynamic with these three:

-Fritz: Yea he's a tad bothered by the guy, but Erik respects his supervisor. He's a tad kooky and honestly, Erik's old man wasn't the best as it is so he's not the most mad about Fritz acting as a father-figure to him.

-Duncan: Guys, we know Duncan's a gremlin in the show. Erik wouldn't stand for his shenanigans and definitely snap at him the most. Not shown: Erik's the only other monster Roto likes lol

-Cutter: If you wanted the lesbian aunt gay and uncle duo that sip wine coffee and talk sh*t on their breaks about their coworkers, here you go. That's Erik and Cutter and they bully Duncan a lot [/jking]

[shotmrmiller]

living in some dingy apartment building because it is all you can afford on your income unless you want to eat danimals yogurt and saltine crackers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. the stern landlady lives on the first floor, and some neighbors blast music on weekday nights (even if they didn't, the walls are paper-thin. you know more about the cambrian period than you'd like to, thanks to room 105) but it's a modest roof over your head and while the darkened grout lines in the bathroom are permanent, at least there's hot water.

until there isn't. and the landlady has mysteriously gone on vacation for the next two months.

what used to be a cathartic cleansing has now become your torment. every other day is hair wash day which means you're bent over the cold, porcelain edge of your tub, back screaming in protest and pain shooting up your bruised knees even though you've sacrificed one of your very nice pillows to avoid exactly that.

and showering is torture. the icy cold water feels like a thousand tiny claws scraping over your tender scalp, sinking into your trembling shoulders. you don't wait for your body to acclimate, just hastily scrub yourself as clean as you can and hop out, your chattering teeth and shaky breaths echoing through the tiny bathroom.

it's like this for a week and a half, a whole 10 days of suffering with showers so cold it feels like shards of ice biting into your goosepimpled skin when it stops. warmth bleeds into the stream of frostbitten water. finally, it soothes instead of stings. your coiled, tense muscles gradually slacken with relief, with unadulterated bliss. steam rises, the tips of your fingers and toes tingle as if thawing. gratitude wells in the corner of your eyes.

if you had any money you could afford to give, you would to your savior, but every dollar you own is earmarked for the bare essentials. so, with your thick, warm bathrobe cinched around your waist, you pen down a little heartfelt note to stick to the bulletin board downstairs before heading out for work.

thank you, whoever you are, for fixing the boiler. i could kiss you <3

when morning comes, you use one of the dull, golden tacks that previously held a lost pet flyer (sorry, bilbo the hamster, but it's been a year) and pin your note up.

only to come home and find it gone, a torn corner all that remains. maybe it's karma for your callousness towards someone's pet. (justice for bilbo.) you shrug it off, giddily skipping up the steps to wash off the day's stress with hot water.

but before you even hang your keys on the wall, there's a pounding on your door, hard enough to rattle it in its frame. and the masked man you see through the peephole isn't familiar. against your better judgment, you clear your throat before cracking open the door. "yes?"

the piece of paper he's holding in his dinner plate-sized hands seems incredibly small— and it's your note.

"i fixed the water." oh. "'m 'ere for wha' 'm owed." owed?

"i'm not— um. the kiss. it's just a figure of speech." the thick muscle of his bicep coils as he crosses his arms over his barrel chest. he's a very large man, as broad as your door.

if you slammed it closed on him, he'd probably leave it hanging by its hinges. that's not worth a measly kiss.

"okay. but on the cheek since i never specified where so it's dealer's choice."

he huffs out an amused breath but complies, hooking his thumb under the edge to pull up his balaclava just enough to expose his stubbled cheek. he's got a couple of scars; thin, slightly raised. run along the sharp edge of his jaw and disappear beneath the fabric.

he leans close, enough to hear his steady, slow exhales. he smells of dirt. salt. something smoky, tangy-- like on new years, minutes after the clock strikes 12.

your hands cradle his face as you rise to your tippy-toes, wetting your lips and crane your neck-- but he snaps his head to the side,

and takes the kiss he was owed.

(he takes a screwdriver to the ac unit next. wire cutters to the fuse box. nails to your tires. anything that'll inevitably lead you back to him. you tried paying him with dinner but the only thing he was interested in eating was your cunt.)

[carolmunson]

alive with the glory of love

(older!rockstar!eddie x older!actress!wife!)

a valentine's slice of life with our favorite rockstar almost thirty years into our marriage. the year is 2023 and we're still stella rink and we're still famous as hell. aged like fine wine. a decades long career and a decades long marriage with two twins in their late twenties. this is semi from the twins perspective. we know what our life was looking like before, let's see what it looks like now. :) eddie manip by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple cw: 18+ minors dni, allusions to smut/wearing lingerie, but overall this is a short little something. reader and eddie are both 57, so, sorry if you don't want to be fifty seven. but if i have to be in my 'early twenties' every time i read a fic, you can be older for like, seven and a half minutes.

The phone eases into focus, Violet’s giggle sounds as she presses record, leaning on her elbows at the kitchen island. The room is a sun drenched, black and white tiled vision — still partially stuck in the 90s, remnants of your old life, despite the ongoing renovations. Despite the teasing from your adult children. Some stuff just never lost its charm – plus, the kids were calling it ‘a 90s vibe’ and you were both pretty sure that was cool. 

“Morning, happy Valentine’s Day,” Violet says sleepily, Van trudging in behind her. They both take lazy seats on the bar stools across from the chef stove that their father is delicately working over. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey,” Eddie calls over his shoulder, daintily pouring pink batter into a cookie cutter mold on a hot pan. The kitchen and dining room are filled to the brim with flowers and balloons. Eddie’s been up for hours getting everything set up for you, some things never change. Some things never get old. 

“What’re you doing?” Van asks. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m making mommy—” He turns around with a furrowed brow, deepening his forehead creases before he realizes they’re recording him. He sighs before turning back to his task, “Guys, again with the phone?” 

“C’mon dad, they love you!” Violet begs, putting her phone down and shoving it in her sweatshirt pocket, “Van show him the comments on the last one.” 

“They think you’re hilarious, they want you to have your own account,” Van encourages, he opens his own phone to bring over to his dad. He grew up to be a spitting image of the two of you, as if they pasted Eddie’s face on his and gave him all your other features. The color of your eyes, the texture of your hair. Your bright, enrapturing smile. A perfect fifty-fifty. 

Van scrolls slowly through the endless comments, Eddie squinting down at them, “Van, I don’t have my glasses.” 

Eddie peers down lower, “What does that mean? ‘I know it’s big’? What’s big?” “New…choker…just…dropped? I didn’t make chokers for merch,” he shrugs, waving him away to pay attention to the stove. “Ew,” Violet laughs, “Stop making him read these out loud, that’s so gross.” 

“You should still make your own,” Van says, sitting back down, “It’d do way better than the one for Corroded.” 

“Have your mom do it,” Ed shrugs off, “She knows how to do all that internet shit.” 

“That Howard Stern clip is going viral again,” Violet says devilishly, “The girlies are obsessed with you.” 

“I don’t care about the girlies, Vi,” Eddie blushes, flipping one of the pancakes on the pan, “I care about your mom.” 

“I just wanna show them what you guys do for your favorite holiday,” Violet whines, “They’ll love it.” 

“They’re gonna call him a simp,” Van teases, a look of realization washing over his face,  “Wait, you’re such a simp for mom, actually.”  

They both laugh, Eddie doesn’t know what ‘a simp’ is so he laughs too.

“That’s a good word for like, a DND character type — you should see about that in your campaigns,” Ed continues while he plates a pancake on an ever growing stack of pink and red. 

“Ohmygod Dad, no, that’s not—“ Van laughs silently into his hands. 

“Stop making fun of him, he’s old,” Violet pleads between giggles, taking her phone out again, “Dad, seriously can you just tell us what you’re doing? Why do you love Valentine’s Day?”

“Is this for your TikTok thing?” he asks, pulling his dark curls up in a ponytail with a black silk scrunchie, bangs he can’t quite part with falling in waves over his brow. ‘My Pilates teacher was telling me they’ll be safer on your hair,’ you’d said — and he’s never been one to say no to you. Every time the kids came home they’d take their phones out and make Tiktok’s of the two of you, sometimes you’d make a solo one for Violet or Van’s page if you felt like it. But with Twitter and Instagram, you didn’t want to overload your assistant with some other form of social media – but it looked like the two of you were really popular. Especially Eddie. 

Violet educated you about ‘fancams’ which were just clips to music. There were a lot of the two of you together, or you solo from your movies and shows in the 90s. Progressions of you then and now and how you’re still ‘so hot’ and ‘unproblematic’. Eddie’s almost always started with the clip of him at Howard Stern, jaw ticking while he tried to keep his composure: ‘Excuse the fuck out of me, what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth?’ The comments were always flooded with a mess of young people losing their shit: ‘god i’ve seen what you’ve done for others’ ‘stopppp he’s obsessed with her’ ‘@vidawn i hope your mom can fight’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn i’m five years younger than u but i would be a great step dad’ ‘when is someone gonna fight howard stern FOR ME?’ ‘@vannywayne @vidawn they’re thirsting over your dad again’ ‘i’m banging on the walls of my enclosure’ 'ewwww we hate cheaters' ‘i NEED to fuck him’ ‘@vannywayne you look EXACTLY the same’ ‘are they looking for a third?’ 'idgi he looks dirty' ‘they are notttttt making them like him anymore’ ‘not him being old enough to be my father i’m sick’

“Obviously,” she snaps back, rolling his eyes when he starts touching himself up for the camera. 

“Should I do a couple of push ups so I look buff or…?” he teases. Violet and Van make a face that puts any face you’ve given him to shame. It’s the only regret he has about having kids with you – all that attitude had to go somewhere. 

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’m ready for my close up, Vi.” 

“You’re so cheesy, dad. Just be normal for like, five seconds,” Violet huffs, taking out her phone again, “You’re ready?” 

“M’ready,” he smiles. “Okay, so, what’re you doing?” Violet asks again. 

“I am making pancakes,” he starts, pouring red better into the cookie cutter mold on the pan this time, “In a heart shape, for your mom.” 

“How long have you been doing this?” she asks, a smile spreading across her face. It matches her dads. There was no mistaking that Violet was Eddie Munson’s daughter. 

“Since we got together, so – the first one was in 1990,” he muttered, flipping the pancake, “I do it every year ‘cause she loves it. They’re strawberry, but they’re pink and red ‘cause I put food coloring in them.” 

“Is Valentine’s Day her favorite holiday?” 

Eddie grins, “No, her favorite holiday is the fourth of July. Not ‘cause she’s got a boner for America or anything. She just likes fireworks and when I use the grill.” “Is it your favorite holiday?” Van asks this time. Eddie nods, a bright blush pushing up on his face. 

“How come?” Violet and Van ask at the same time. Eddie turns the burner off, placing the heaping plate of heart shaped pancakes on the center of the island. He opens the wine cooler on the opposite wall, pulling out a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the top cabinet.

“‘Cause I get to spoil your mom all day,” he smiles, “She deserves it.” 

“You spoil her every day,” Van teases, “I can’t think of a more doted on woman on earth than mom.” 

“She’s very special,” he shrugs. 

“And you do this every year?” Violet asks, zooming in on the pancakes. 

“Every year for the past thirty four years, well, minus ninety-two,” he frowns a little, “We had some time apart that year.” 

“Still had my chef make them for me though.” 

Your voice cuts in from the large arch way connecting to the dining room and Violet pans quickly over to get you in frame. 

“Hi mom,” Vi says, “Is this your favorite holiday?” 

“No,” you shake your head and laugh, the same laugh he fell in love with, “It’s the fourth of July. C’mon Vi, how long have I been your mom? Do you even know me?” “You’re supposed to be in bed, honey,” Eddie frowns, “You’re ruining the surprise.” 

“The surprise that’s older than my kids? How could I forget,” you grin, rounding the island and greeting your husband with a gentle kiss, “Happy Valentine’s day.” 

“Happy Valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs into a second chaste peck, “You’re supposed to let me bring them up to you.” 

“My kids are home, I don’t wanna spend all day in bed,” you pout. He pouts back dramatically, tugging on your arm to pull you flush against his chest. 

“I thought you loved spending all day in bed with me,” he pushes some of your hair back before resting a palm on your cheek, moving in to kiss you deeply. The scruff on his chin scratches around your mouth but you never care because he still kisses you, he kisses you every day. He’d kiss you all day if you let him. You had too many girlfriends whose ex-husbands were on their third wife and every year they’re more surprised that Eddie is still on his first.

“Okay, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Van says, Violet stops recording. Their faces sour.  

“Yeah we don’t want a January ‘94 repeat or anything,” Vi jokes. The twins high five at their own mean reference to your horrific sex tape debacle, but you and Eddie toss them a playful glare. 

“Hey, she might be your mother, but she’s my wife,” Eddie warns, hand sneaking down to rest on the small of your back to pull you close to him, “Don’t mess with her.” 

“Yeah,” you tease, crossing your arms, “You saw what he did to Howie’s studio. I just gotta say the word.” 

“So scary,” Violet rolls her eyes, leaving the kitchen with her twin in tow, “We’re taking the Jeep to get Jamba Juice, do you want anything?” 

“My usual,” you answer while Eddie goes to the fridge to get grapefruit juice out of the fridge, “And get daddy’s usual too. Do you want his card? Where’s your card, hun?”

“Wherever you last left it,” he responds, gracefully pouring grapefruit mimosas for the both of you. 

“It’s in my purse,” you call out. 

“Which one?!” Violet calls back, both of them waiting by the door. 

“The pink Kelly!” 

“Got it! Do you want anything else?” Van calls out. 

“Just uh,” Eddie giggles to himself, tossing you a once over, “Take your time!” 

“Gross!” they yell back in unison. Eddie waits for the door to close to pull you back into him, he watches you at first. Brown eyes cascading over the slope of your nose, your cheeks, the crinkles at the edge of your eyes, your smile lines. He looks at you like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time. He looks different, but the same. Dark curls smattered and entwined in silver, a nose ring, a never ending scratch of overgrown stubble. Deep lines on his forehead that exaggerate his already animated features. Lips still full and warm, hands still big and covered in rings. He’s kept his body real tight for fifty-seven, still throwing himself in the gym daily. ‘If I’m gonna be addicted to something now it might as well be like, my cardiovascular health, babe.’ His crows feet make him somehow more attractive, his smile got better with age. He still makes your heart race when he catches your eye from across the room. “You wearing that little red thing I like?” he purrs in your ear. The tie to your robe sliding between his inked fingers.

“Maybe,” your finger trails over a tattoo on his bicep, “Maybe, I got something new for you to see. Maybe it’s black, maybe it’s strappy. Maybe it’s that thing you saw when we went shopping last week.” 

“Christ,” he huffs, pressing a kiss to your cheek before stepping back over to the counter, “Do you ever stop getting hotter? Eat your breakfast before I bend you over this bar stool.” 

“Let’s bring it upstairs like you wanted,” you smile, following him closely to press your hips up against him, “We can get a little messy.” 

“Yeah?” he growls, pushing part of your robe away to see a peek of black lace and strappy leather, “Fucking god, Stell.” 

“C’mon,” you whisper breathily, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, “They’ll be home soon.” 

Some things have changed, some things remain the same. He still fucks you like a rockstar.

[honeyedmiller]

Forbidden Fruit | Joel Miller

pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

warnings: dbf!Joel, age gap (reader is 26, Joel is in his late 40s), no-outbreak!Joel, smut with literally barely any plot (f oral receiving, fingering, squirting, m oral receiving, grinding, [sorta] unprotected piv), pet names, cursing, no use of y/n. 18+! minors do not interact!

word count: 5.8k

synopsis: you return back home from college after graduating with your Master’s degree, and Joel Miller is surprised to see how much you’ve really grown up.

ik the coming back from college trope is so overdone for dbf but I’m sorry I can’t help it. this was also not revised. sorry for any mistakes.

Joel Miller.

Brooding. Stern. Not much of a talker. Joel Miller was more of an observer. And boy, did Joel Miller notice how much you’ve grown.

Joel was your dad’s best buddy. You know, the one where they’d throw barbecues together, invite each other over to watch their favorite sports teams, go on fishing trips together, the works. They’ve been best friends since your dad first moved into the neighborhood. You were twelve then, and Joel loved that his daughter, Sarah, had someone around her age (you were five years older) to accompany her.

Since both of your mothers weren’t in the picture, you and Sarah bonded over that aspect of your lives. She was a sweet kid, and when Joel asked you to babysit her from time-to-time, you had no problem doing that for him.

That was years ago, though, and you’d gone off to college once again to pursue your Master’s degree. Your dad was so proud of you. Good grades, driven, responsible, good head on your shoulders—except the only irrational, illogical thought that kept crossing your mind:

Wanting Joel Miller.

You yearned for the middle-aged man. But who could blame you? He was tall, broad, strong, and not to mention, insanely handsome. Not in the typical silver fox type way, no. He was ruggedly handsome, with a seemingly permanent frown when he was around you, dark brown eyes that could get you to confess your sins, tan skin that glistened deliciously in the sun, a strong nose that was carved out by the Greek gods, dark and thick curls, greying patches of stubble, and a Southern drawl that could drop you to your knees in an instant.

Your yearning for him had always been on the back burner, but you’d always thought of him to be a handsome man. Someone nice to steal glances at here and there, and snicker to your friends about how crushing on someone forbidden as him was truly exhilarating.

Something changed between you two the last time you came home, though. You’d just graduated with your Bachelor’s degree, coming back home for the summer before applying for your Master’s that same year in the fall. All the burning gazes he’d offer your way went unnoticed at first, until you caught him staring one time and he didn’t even bother to look away. He kept his needy eyes locked on you, running over your body fully before snapping his eyes back up to yours. Then it went from looks, to subtle touches. His large hand on your lower back, yours wrapped around his bulging biceps, his brushing against the outside of your thighs, knees touching, so on and so forth.

Needless to say, you spent that summer with your hand between your legs countless times, whispering his name like a sinful confession when you came.

Your stomach twisted when your dad pulled up to your neighborhood. You gazed at all of the cookie-cutter houses, eyes peeled for a certain Miller brother as your house came into view. He wasn't outside, which caused a twinge of disappointment. You nearly rolled your eyes at yourself, because what the fuck. He's your dad's best friend, for god sake.

“So I was thinkin’,” Your dad starts, pulling his truck into the driveway of your house. “Do you want to have a party for graduating with your Master’s?” Your dad’s smile is sincere as he looks at you, and you offer him a small nod.

“Sure.” You say. You’re not big on parties since you did plenty of that in college, so you kind of wanted to settle down now and chill out. You were twenty six after all, and these days, you were much more into small kickbacks or get-togethers rather than parties. But, to your dad, a ‘party’ just meant a neighborhood barbecue mixed in with a pool day.

It was sweet that he wanted to celebrate you and your hard work, and you knew he loved to do stuff like this for you… so why the hell not?

“Perfect!” He slapped his hands against the steering wheel. “I’ll call Joel up and tell him we’re throwin’ a barbecue.”

Your cheeks flushed pink at the mention of his name, but your dad didn’t notice one bit. You clambered out of the passenger seat, helping him get your bags from the bed of his truck.

“‘Matter a’fact, I think Miller is home right now. Go ‘head and get settled in, I’ll go get Joel.” Your dad said, and you nodded. You couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the thought of finally seeing the man who’s been occupying your mind after two years.

You’ve definitely changed a lot within those two years, mentally and physically. You felt as if you were a bit more mature, your mind sharp and witty. You definitely had more of a ‘grown woman’ presence to you, especially in the way you dressed and carried yourself. Physically, you learned how to perfect your makeup in a sense that could literally lure anyone to you, and you’ve been working out a ton. It was noticeable, especially how plump your backside now was.

After you lugged your bags upstairs, you decided you needed a shower. You’d been on a plane all morning, so you just wanted to wash it all away. It didn’t take long for you to rinse off and wash your hair before you started rummaging through your bag to pick out something to wear. You ended up choosing a cream colored ribbed halter top with Levi jeans that made your ass look fantastic.

You knew the way you were dressing was intentional, so you might as well at least try to impress Joel just a smidge. You slicked your hair back into a neat bun, putting in your small gold chunky earrings once more and slipping on the gold bracelet your mom gave you. That was the one thing she left that you cherished, even if she wasn’t in your life anymore.

You gave yourself a once-over in your full body mirror before slightly nodding once to yourself, making your way out of the bedroom. You heard to deep chuckles coming from downstairs, and you’d recognize both from anywhere. Joel was over.

You made it to the bottom of the staircase before your dad perked up at the sight of you.

“Hey pumpkin! Hope you feel refreshed now.” He smiles, and you huff a laugh at the nickname.

“I do. Thanks dad.”

“Well well well, if it isn’t Miss Master’s Degree.” Joel chimed in, and you shifted your gaze to his. Fuck, he looked good. His hair was slightly longer and styled messily sideways, but it suited him. He wore his usual attire—plain gray shirt with dark blue jeans and his boots. He held a beer in his hand, and the neck was pointed right at you.

“Hey, Mr. Miller.” You toss him a tight-lipped smile, and he waves his hand at you.

“C’mon kid, you know it’s Joel. Being called Mr. Miller makes me feel kinda old.” He jokes, and you quirk your brow.

“Who’s to say you aren’t already?” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. That allowed your breasts to look more voluminous, and it caught Joel’s attention for a couple of milliseconds. To an outsider, it would’ve looked totally innocent. But you knew better.

“You wound me, darlin’.” He held a hand over his chest, pretending to look hurt. You crack a small smile, wondering when the hell he got so friendly toward you. Usually, he’d have a frown on his face when he talked to you and grunts for words to match.

“So, is the party this weekend okay?” Your dad asks, moving his gaze back to you.

You nod in agreement. “It’s perfect.”

-

Saturday rolled around quickly, and now you were getting ready for your party. Guests would be here within the hour or so, so you sat at your vanity in your room in your plush robe after have just taken a shower. You styled your hair to a pretty blowout, and now you were working on your makeup. You were just about to apply your lip liner when your dad knocked on your door.

“Kiddo? I’m gonna run to the store to get some last minute stuff. Joel’s here if you need anything.” He says through the door. How convenient.

“Okay!” You shout back, and continue to line your lips. You heard the front door shut loudly, and a minute later, heavy footsteps came up the stairs. They stopped outside of your room, and you quirked your brow expecting Joel to just knock already.

“You can come in, Joel.” You said, shaking your head a bit. Your room door opened slowly to reveal the beautiful man, and you eyed him through your vanity mirror.

“Sorry, didn’t know if I’d be disturbin’ ya.” He shrugs, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. You clenched your legs together at the sight.

“Well, you’re not.” You shrug back, continuing to finish lining your lips.

“Well don’t you look pretty.” He says, shuffling further into your room. He’s by the end of your bed now, hand on his hip with an extended knee propped out.

“Thanks. So do you.” You tease, and his breath catches. You smirk slightly, opening a tube of your favorite nude lipstick before applying that.

“Y’know, you oughta be real proud of yourself, gettin’ your Master’s n’ whatnot.” He starts, and you halt your movements to look at him through the mirror again. You turn your body in your chair to fully face him, and his eyes roam over the loosely tied robe that clings to your body. The fact that you might not have anything underneath drives him fucking wild.

You see him eyeing you, so you stand up and saunter just before him. You stare up at him, head cocked to the side.

“Means I’m twenty thousand dollars smarter.” You say, and his gaze locks on yours. The tension is nearly unbearable, and fuck do you wish he’d just make the first move. Maybe it’s his morals that have him screaming ‘don’t do it’ in his head, and honestly, you have to give it to him. You’re his best friends daughter; someone who should be completely off-limits. Not to be messed with. Forbidden fruit, if you will.

“‘N what does that twenty thousand dollar smarter brain tell you now?” He leans down more so your faces are only inches apart.

“Tells me that you might have an attraction to me. You know, with the way you look at me, imagining me under you while you take care of me. While I say your name like a—”

“Fuck, darlin’, you don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into.” He snaps, and truthfully, he doesn’t either. This is dangerous territory, but you’re a grown woman and you could decide for yourself what you wanted and didn’t want.

“You know, Joel,” You purr. “You can say all you want that you don’t want this, but I see the way your eyes burn holes in my body. It’d be crazy to say yes and give in to what we both want, but it’d be even crazier if you lied and said you didn’t want it.”

You’re challenging him, and he didn’t like it. He was so used to being the one in control, and now that you had him wrapped around your finger, he was losing what little he had left.

“How much time do you think we’ll have?” He asks, looking up at the ceiling. He can’t believe he’s about to give into the temptress that you are, but like you said, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it.

“Dad left ‘bout ten minutes ago. I’d say another thirty or so.” You shrug, and he tips your chin up so your gaze meets his. Your arousal was so strong that you felt the wetness stick to the apex of your inner thighs. It made you want to squirm.

“You sure this is somethin’ you want? Don’t think you can handle it, darlin’. Since you’re so used to those college boys.” He spits the last word, and you hum.

“Show me how a real man’s supposed to fuck me then, Joel.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Aht aht, not so fast now. Gotta warm you up first. Take off your robe and go lay down.” He instructs, and you couldn’t believe this was happening. You’d been dying to get his hands on you. You tried your hardest to keep your composure, so you simply stepped back from him and slowly untied your robe. You let it drop to the floor and pool around your feet. You looked back up at him as you made your way to your bed, laying your head on your silk pillowcase.

“What a fuckin’ sight you are, baby. You belong in a museum.” He admires your body from above, and usually, you’d feel confident in bed with other boys looking at your body. But this was no boy. This was a real man, and Joel Miller at that. The fucking neighborhood dilf that everyone wanted to sink their claws in, but he never let them.

He knelt down on your bed between your legs, spreading your thighs further apart so your glistening heat was in perfect view of his line of sight.

He smacked his tongue against his teeth three times as his hands trailed up further to the apex of your thighs.

“Already this wet n’ needy n’ I haven’t even touched ya. How ‘bout that, hm?” Joel may’ve lost control in the teasing beforehand, but in bed, he gained it all back. Now you were the one wrapped around his finger, needy for him. You know he wanted to you to beg, but you didn’t give him that satisfaction. Not yet, at least.

He moved his thumbs up to your puffy lips, spreading them apart to get the most intimate view of your pussy. You looked down at him admiring you, and it sent a shiver down your spine. No one’s ever looked at you like that—taken their time to admire what they were about to have. Joel was slow, careful, like he cherished you and your body. Like it was sacred.

He tilted his head to the side as his eyes snapped back up to yours, like he was waiting for you to beg him. Again, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of something you both wanted, so you tilted your head right back.

“Not gonna use your manners or anything?” He scoffs, and you huff a laugh.

“I have a vibrator in my nightstand that can do the job just fine, Mr. Miller.” You tease, and oh, he doesn’t like that.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat, y’know that?” He shakes his head and you toss a saccharine smile his way. You’ve got him riled up, and you just needed to tip him over the edge.

“I didn’t, Mr. Miller.” Was all you said before he smacked your pussy lightly once. The action made you moan and clench around nothing.

“No you didn’t my fuckin’ ass.” He spits onto your pussy, before delving himself into your folds. You toss your head back and let out a breathy moan, his tongue already completely coated in your slick. The muscle glides over your folds easily, finds its way to your clit, and traces tight circles around it.

“Fuck, oh my god.” You whine, gripping onto your bed sheets.

“Taste fuckin’ delicious, baby.” Joel moaned against you, continuing his relentless torture with his tongue. He moved his tongue from your clit down to your entrance, licking around once before entering you. His rough hands moved up from your thighs to your breasts, fingers teasing and pulling your sensitive peaks. Your started to squirm against him, and he smacked your breast softly.

“Stay. Still.” He warns, and you moan. This man and his tongue is going to be the absolute death of you. Then, his tongue slips out of you and dares to go down even further—a place no one has been before. You choke on a gasp as his tongue circles your hole, licking over it a few times slowly before gliding all the way back up to your clit. He brings one of his hands down from your breasts to your pussy, and he separates his mouth for a second before coating his ring and middle finger with your slick before sliding them into you.

The stretch of his two fingers was so much more than your own could offer, and it felt fucking good. He looked down at you for a split second, eyes half-lidded and burning with desire. His irises were nearly black, as he watched you with your brows threaded together and jaw slack, enjoying the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you languidly.

“That’s it, princess.” He encouraged, before moving his mouth back onto your clit. He sucked on it softly, generous enough to give you just the right amount of pressure that you needed. His expert fingers and tongue moved in such perfect sync that you felt yourself getting close already. Joel didn’t let up, keeping his pace steady for you. He felt you clench around his fingers, and he moaned against you in encouragement.

Within seconds, the heat in your core flooded your body head to toe in release, moaning out Joel’s name ceremoniously. He removed his mouth from you but kept his fingers in you, moving them slowly. He maneuvered himself so he was hovering over you, grabbing your jaw to prop it open.

“Open your mouth.” He said, and you immediately obeyed. He spit directly into your mouth, tasting his own saliva mixed with your arousal. Heat flooded your core again as the faint feeling of his fingers started to move faster.

“Fuck, Joel–” You gasped as he sped his movements up, a dark look taking over his eyes. A sickly sweet smirk made its way onto his lips as you felt a pressure build in you again, but it felt different this time. This time, it was one like you needed to pee.

“Joel, stop, I feel like I need t–” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before that strange sensation built up so rapidly that clear liquid gushed from your core. You moaned loudly, the sensation making your whole body tingle.

Joel chuckled darkly. “Well look at that. The princess can squirt.” Before, you would’ve wanted to wipe the sickly satisfaction that was strewn on his face, but after him making you cum the way you did, you couldn’t say shit.

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of the orgasm, ragged breath and all. Joel started to unbuckle his belt, tugging at his pants until they were around his ankles. The confinement of his cock in his underwear was nearly painful, and he couldn’t wait to see your lips wrapped around him.

“Y’gonna watch me please myself or ya gonna help me with this… situation? Unless you don’t wanna ruin your lipstick, princess.” He gestures down to his bulge, and you nearly roll your eyes.

“Lipstick’s re-applicable, Mr. Miller.” You maneuver your weak body down to the floor and on your knees in front of him.

“What’d I tell you about calling me that?” He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger harshly, jerking your head up to meet his gaze. He looks sexy like this, all riled up while he waits for you to make him feel good.

“Oh c’mon, Joel, you’re still the neighborhood dilf regardless if I call you that or not.” You laugh, moving your hands up to tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“Christ woman, you really test my patience y’know that?” He scoffs with a lopsided grin, shaking his head. His mind was swirling with thoughts of how grown up you were now; how mature you’ve really gotten. He was a nasty man taking what he wanted from you and you were a nasty woman for letting him. The secrecy made it all the better, and truth be told, Joel hasn’t done anything this exhilarating in a very long while.

You both came to a silent mutual agreeance that this was nothing more than a casual fling; something you both could fulfill your needs with. Which, honestly, was perfect for you. You weren’t looking for anything and you’d be damned if that thing was with your father’s best friend. This was to get the mutual pining out of the way, and for Joel to show you how a real man should fuck you.

You tugged his boxers down, freeing his painfully hard erection. Joel wasn’t small by any means—he had girth and an impressive length. He’s by far the biggest you’ve ever had, but that wasn’t stopping you from showing him how you could handle him.

His tip was dark pink and leaking pre cum, waiting to be cleaned up by your tongue. You looked up at him as he cocked an eyebrow at you, silently challenging you to go ahead and take it all.

You close your eyes for a split second before opening them again, taking his heavy cock into your hand and giving the silky flesh a few tugs. A low grown emerges from his chest, eyes closing in pure ecstasy. You decided to play nice and not tease him too much, so you leaned forward and gave his tip a few kitten licks to gather the pre cum on your tongue.

Joel inhaled a sharp breath as you licked down his whole shaft on each side, coming back up to kiss the tip. You used one hand to steady his length before putting him slowly in your mouth, inch by inch before your nose was met with the coarse curly hairs at the base of his cock. His tip hit the back of your throat, but you swallowed around him as best as you could before you had the urge to gag.

“Good god, woman— fuck.” He hissed, jaw going slack and eyes pressing closed in pleasure. You hummed against him as you raised your head back up, going back down again at a slow pace at first. You eventually found a steady rhythm, making sure to pay some mind to his balls too. He was a panting mess above you, trying so hard to keep it together but barely managing. He kept repeating your name over and over, so much so that it almost sounded like a whine. The arousal between your legs pooled up again, fast. Hearing a grown man whine for you and what you were doing for him made your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. You’d never considered yourself a dom, but things like this really fucking turned you on.

You licked up the side of one particular protruding vein on his cock up to the slit of his tip, and he lost it.

“‘M’not gonna fuckin’ last if y’keep doin’ that.” He sighs, gripping your comforter.

“That’s the whole point.” You said, doing that move a few more times before he stilled, hips bucking up into your mouth as he spilled his cum down your throat. You swallowed every last bit of it, moving your mouth off of him with a ‘pop’. You stood up using his knees to elevate yourself, naked and no longer self conscious of being in such a state in front of him.

“We should probably cut it off here. People will be arriving soon.” You say, stepping back to pick up your robe and tie it around yourself again. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and truthfully, you looked much better than you thought you would. You just needed to fix some slightly runny eye makeup and your lipstick.

“Yeah,” Joel nods as he stands up, tucking himself back into his boxers and pulling his pants back up. He re-buckled his belt, straightening himself out before turning to you. You met his gaze through the mirror, and with dark eyes and a smug smile, he steps up behind you before putting his hands on your hips. He leans down so his mouth is level with your ear, and whispers so softly to you that it sends violent chills down your spine. “I’ll ruin every single man for you once I’m buried in that pretty cunt. That’s a promise.”

He walks away without saying another word, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded.

-

The party was in full swing, neighbors that you hadn’t seen in years at the function. It was nice to see and catch up with everyone, but you couldn’t ignore the heavy ache in your core. Joel’s words kept replaying in your head, and you’ve had half a mind to just drag him upstairs and have him fuck you then and there. But, life wasn’t always fair.

You spent all afternoon telling the whole neighborhood what you majored in, what kind of jobs you were looking for, moving plans, so on and so forth. You lived in a small community just outside of the city, so everyone was in everyone’s business here.

Joel kept mostly to himself for the whole party, except for the same burning gaze he always gave you when no one was watching, and the occasional touch on your lower back that would make you go rigid. He was especially fixated on your legs, which he couldn’t help but imagine being wrapped around his waist as he fucked you senseless.

Today, you wore shorts that showed off the plump curve of your ass, and a loose white linen short sleeve button down with the first couple of buttons undone. Your hot pink bikini top was peaking out from it which gave the simple outfit a small pop of color. You’d purposefully lean over to talk to people who were sitting, or bend down at the waist to get drinks from the cooler because you knew he was watching.

You kept your cool though, because that’s all you really could do at that point. You had to pretend that the older Miller brother’s face definitely wasn’t buried between your legs hours prior, or that he definitely didn’t make you squirt for the first time, or that you definitely didn’t have your lips wrapped around his cock.

By the time the party dwindled down, it was nearly midnight. You were escorting the last of the guests out with a genuine ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before heading back to the backyard where your dad and Joel remained.

Your dad was hammered, which in all honesty, was pretty funny. He’d rarely ever get drunk like this so you know he was going to sleep good tonight.

“Hey dad, why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest. Joel and I will clean up what’s left out here.” You suggest, putting a hand on your dad’s back.

He mumbled something incoherent before smiling down at you. “Okay sweetie. You’re right. I’m gonna… gonna… yeah. Do what you said.” He nods and you stifle a laugh as he drags his feet to the glass sliding door.

“Let me help you old man.” Joel chuckles as he helps your drunken father upstairs and safely into his bedroom. You clean up the small amount of trash left, thankful that your neighbors are decent people and throw away their own messes. You find the weather around you to be still and warm—perfect for the jacuzzi. You strip yourself of your shoes, shirt and shorts, leaving you in nothing but your skimpy bikini. The bottoms were nearly swallowed by your ass, so you’re kind of grateful that your dad went upstairs to sleep off his fun day.

You settled yourself in, groaning softly as the warm water settled your bones. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the concrete, enjoying the peace and quiet.

That is, until the sliding glass door opened and closed again. You didn’t open your eyes, but the sound of heavy footsteps neared you. The back porch light was turned off, so the backyard was completely submerged in darkness before the jacuzzi lights turned on. A pretty, soft purple glow shone throughout the space, the jet suddenly coming on as well. Bubbles started to form, and that’s when you opened your eyes. You were surprised to see Joel stripping down to his boxers, two beers in hand.

He climbed in next to you, handing you an uncapped beer. He didn’t say a word as he settled, clinking the neck of your beer bottle with his own. You both took a swig, and you set the beer bottle down before you dissociated while looking at the purple bubbles.

“Did you have a good party?” He asked, setting his beer bottle down too.

“I did.” You nod, looking at him. Just like that, the tension was back. You were sure the arousal was a sticky mess on your bikini bottoms had you not climbed into the jacuzzi. Even the soft flesh between your thighs was drenched. The heavy ache was low in your belly, and you really wanted Joel to get rid of it.

“Please tell me you want me right now as much as I want you.” You say, and Joel was taken aback by your bluntness. Might as well just say it straight up, right? No point in beating around the bush now. Hunger flashed through his eyes, and he swallowed thickly.

“Yeah, I do.” His voice was merely a whisper above the loud bubbles.

“Good.” Was all you said before you moved your hand down to his boxers, palming his semi-hard cock through the soaked material.

“I love when a woman knows what she wants. It’s sexy.” Joel admits, and you toss him a smug smile.

“That’s because I want to see how a real man should be fucking me, Joel.” You said, and he pokes his tongue out to lick his lips.

He swiftly grabs you, pulling you on top of him. His cock was now fully hard, and at the right angle, your clit caught onto it through the fabric of your bikini bottom. A low moan escaped you, tossing your head back. Joel’s heavy hands settled on your hips below the water, moving down to your ass to securely rest there. He gave it a squeeze before rutting you forward, grinding your aching core on his cock. You both sighed in pleasure as you continued to do so.

Your eyes snapped open as you looked at him, showing him you wanted him in you sooner rather than later. His eyes flickered from your gaze to your lips, which he’d been wanting to kiss but he didn’t know if that was crossing a boundary. You made the initial move and moved forward, pressing your lips to his.

Joel was surprisingly gentle with the kiss, threading his fingers through your hair. You kept grinding your hips into him, earning a throaty moan from him.

“Joel,” You pulled apart from his lips quickly. “I need you. Fuck, I need your cock so bad.” You beg, finally breaking. He smirked at you and you stood on your knees so he could pull his boxers down, freeing his erection once more. You just pulled your bikini bottom to the side, teasing his tip with your slit before he stopped you,

“Wait,” He said, and you halted your movements. “Are you on the pill?” It was nice that he was checking, because any dumb college boy you’ve hooked up with would’ve just been okay with buying you a plan B in the morning. Luckily you were smarter than they were, and thought about contraceptives way in advance.

“I have an IUD.” You say. He nods and lets you continue your teasing, before he pulled you down for another kiss. This time, you lined him up with your entrance before sliding down on him slowly, both of you swallowing each other’s moans. You were lucky the jets and bubbles were loud, or else anyone could’ve easily heard you both.

You went all the way until he was buried to the hilt, and you gripped this thick locks in pleasure. The stretch was fucking delicious, and you immediately began to move. You took the pain with the pleasure, the mix of both adding to the fuel of the fire that was your arousal.

You rocked your hips back and forth, and Joel was nearly choking on his own breath. “Fuck, baby, you’re so goddamn tight.” He hissed, tossing his head back. You used that as opportunity to kiss his neck, pulling more moans from him. He steadied your hips as he pulled you up and nearly off of him, before slamming you down on his cock again. You had to cover your mouth from nearly screaming out loud at the sensation. He continued this pattern, fucking up into you quickly as he captured your mouth with his. He swallowed your moans, one arm braced around your lower back as the other one held your neck securely.

The friction from the quick movements was enough to make you cum without warning, and your body trembled against his as he kept fucking up into you.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, Joel. Fuck you’re so big.”

“Yeah baby? Gonna ruin this little pussy. It’s mine.”

Fuck, that was dangerous territory, but his dirty talk spurred you both on as another orgasm was building up in your core again. Joel felt you fluttering around him, and he breathlessly chuckled. He nipped the flesh above your bikini top on your breasts, sure to leave a mark there for the following few days.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, fuckin’ your dad’s best friend like this. Wonder what he’d say if he saw us both right now.” Joel groaned, chasing after his own orgasm.

“He’d–he’d k-kill us b-oth.” You stuttered as Joel’s cock hit a spot inside of you that had you fucking seeing stars.

“That’s it, there you go baby,” Joel felt as you clamped down on him, urging you on. “Cum with me.” Was all he said before your second orgasm ripped through you, his seconds later.

“Good girl.” Was all he said before you lifted yourself off of him a minute later, the loss of his heavy cock in you something devastating. You were heaving messes, the Texas night heat getting to you both.

Your dad really would kill you both if he ever found out about this. Well, more like he’d kill Joel, and you’d be banished from the family forever.

This whole ‘forbidden fruit’ thing was truly the most exhilarating thing you’ve ever done in your life, but surely with Joel it was just a one time thing…

Right?

[littlexscarletxwitch]

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝘆

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, this was based on a true story, not the flo part but the baby fever part lol, establish relationship, baby talk, flo self doubting, r babbling but like in a cute type of way (?), also billie's mention :)

warning(s): idk is wanting to have kids a warning (lol), baby talk (?), grammatical error, unedited

word count: 1.3k

note: You wanna know what's crazy? I'm not sure if I want to be a mother, but like the baby fever sometimes kicks in, specially since I have two little brothers and I'm like a second mother to them (they actually have told me so). But I don't know... Anyway, I'm not native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you all enjoy! Lots of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

You remembered when all those new feelings had started: you were sitting across from her, getting lost in her forest green eyes, you didn't feel someone nudging your leg until that said someone screamed out at you. 

"Jesus, you scared me," you smiled at the little toddler as you heard Florence's chuckle. 

The little girl, who seemed to be only two years old, babbled some incomprehensible words at you. She only got cutter as you watched her face shift into a stern look. It appeared as she was trying to tell you something quite important. 

"Oh, yeah, it's fine. Don't worry about it," you played along, accepting what you thought was an apology. 

"Are you lost, little missy?" Florence said, getting her attention. 

The toddler just looked at her and broke into laughter, which caused Florence to smile at her. 

"What's so funny about me, huh? she playfully asked her, and the two year old just laughed even harder. 

"I think it's your voice," you chucked. 

"My voice is not funny," she pretended to be hurt, her hand clutching her chest.

"Well, it is to her," you couldn't hold your own laughter anymore as the tiny human kept on laughing.

“Oh, my God. She’s laughing at my voice.”

“Oh, thank goddess. You scared me to death, Charlie,” a young blonde woman said, getting closer to your table, and bringing the little girl to her chest once she was close enough. “I’m so sorry, she’s just learned how to walk and she likes it,” the woman joked. 

“It’s okay, no problem, we were just chatting,” Florence reassured her with a smile.

As if wanting to be part of the conversation Charlie bubbled out some words.

“She’s so cute,” you scrunched your nose at her, making her laugh. 

“Okay, say goodbye, Charlie,” Charlie’s mum moved her little hand around, waving at the two of you, as Charlie mumbled what you thought was a goodbye. 

“Bye, Charlie,” the both of you said, smiling at the two year old. 

[...]

Ever since that night you hadn’t stopped thinking about Charlie. Well, not Charlie actually, that would be creepy, but the idea of kids. Florence looked so happy the few seconds she shared with Charlie, you felt like your heart could jump out of your chest just by thinking of that night.

You had never thought about kids before that, sure, sometimes, but it was more like a second thought, like something far away from your reach, unlikely to ever happen. And after that night it became your only thought. 

You found yourself watching TikToks about babies doing baby stuff, or maybe when taking a walk your eyes would linger on those couples pushing a trolley. Sometimes you would even look online for baby clothes and every time you couldn't help but to think it was the cutest thing ever. It also didn’t help the fact that your hormones would kick in and they would intensify all these feelings up to a hundred.

Florence, of course, didn’t notice how much you wanted a baby until you started to show her every baby picture you could find, every video you had watched, every kid you pointed out when the two of you went out on dates. So she started counting all the times you brought up that subject, by the third week she had lost count. 

Now, there you were, lying on the couch, with your phone on your hand, scrolling down TikTok, watching videos of babies. She found it cute, fun even, because you wouldn't dare to actually spill the words out, too scared of what she would say. 

“Y/n, baby, is everything okay?” she broke the silence, taking a seat next to you.

“Yeah, I’m just on those days,” you mumbled.

Which was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth. You had craved a baby before, during and long after your period. It didn’t matter, it was a thought that would cross your mind all the time, nonstop. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to get you something?”

You nodded, “It’s just the hormones. You know how it is, the moodswing,” you chuckled.

“Are you watching those baby videos again?” she raised a brow at you, there was a tint of smug in her tone.

“Yeah…” you frowned. “Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just that you are always watching those,” she teased, wanting for you to finally come clean.

“I am?” you asked, pretending to be unaware of that fact. 

“Yes, missy,” she smiled at you. 

‘Missy’, it only reminded you of Charlie and it made the whole thing even worse. 

You huffed, “I guess I didn’t notice.”

“Y/n, is there something you want to talk about?”

“What’s there to talk about?” she could tell you were frustrated.

“Well, I’m not sure but—.”

“What's there to talk about, huh?” there was not a trace of anger in your words, it felt more like sadness.  “That I would like a mini you running around the house, chasing after Billie?” the dog raised her head, thinking you had called out to her. “Because yes I would love that.”

“Y/n, I—,” her smug attitude dropped to the floor as she realised that there was no turning back now. 

“I can’t stop thinking about Charlie, how soft and careful you were with her. You were on cloud nine, Flo, I could tell,” you sniffed, battling the tears. “And I want that… I want that for you and me, for us.”

“I understand, honey. I can see how much you want that,” she caressed your cheek. “But I’m not—.”

“No, please don’t say ‘but’. I can take a ‘maybe’, just not a ‘but’,” you eyes were filled with tears and Florence felt like her heart was going to break any second now. She hated to be the reason why you were crying.

“No, no, no, it’s not that I don’t want that. I do, I just don't want to be that kind of parent who’s always working, I don’t want to miss their first steps, their first words, I want to be there for them every step of the way,” she breathed out, as if she had been holding back for weeks. 

Which she actually had. Ever since she added two plus two and realised you actually wanted a baby, all these self doubt and anxiety and worry got a hold on her.

“Flo, please, I know we can make it work. I won’t let that happen, I promise. You are not getting out of this whole motherhood thing,” you joked, making her chuckled. “Besides, you had Charlie giggling and all happy, I think you got this.”

“Charlie was with us for like three minutes at most,” Florence, playfully, rolled her eyes at you.

“Okay, you are right. But I know in my heart that you are going to be a great momma,” you grabbed her hands, taking them to your lips to kiss them. 

“Y/n…”

“I get it, Flor. It’s scary, we are talking about an actual human being—.”

“Y/n…”

“But if anyone can do this, then it’s us—.”

“Y/n…”

“We could watch some films, or maybe read some books. I bet my mum still has that book about being a first time mother—”.

“Y/n…”

“We can even take some classes, they teach you everything nowadays and—”.

“Y/n!” this time Florence shook your shoulders trying to get your attention. 

“Will you at least think about it? I know it’s a big decision and—”.

“Will you please let me talk?” she said with a tint of amusement.

“Right, sorry,” you smiled. 

“You had me at ‘You are not getting out of this whole motherhood thing’,” she smiled back.

“Does that mean…?” you left the question in the air, waiting for her to say it.

“Yeah, let’s make a baby. Shall we?” she asked, a grin formed on her face before she pecked your lips.

“Oh, my god!” you couldn't hold back your smile anymore. “Yes! Yes, we shall,” you threw yourself at her, leaving kisses all over her face. 

“Okay, then let’s get down to business,” she said in between chuckles. 

“Oh, you mean right now?”

“I thought you… I mean… if you don’t want to then—,” she was about to get up from the couch. 

“No!,” you yelled, making her laugh. “Come back here, you twat.”

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[dirkdangerous]

so .. what is the cutter and sunny ship name ?

[deltaqueen184]

cutter

[yuri-cosmos]

THATS MY WIFE 🙏🙏🙏

[elizais]

nail polish rendezvous

dazai x fem!reader, cw: quick suicide joke, dazai is a nail biter, reader is implied to get her nails done professionally divider by v6que, not proofread

"would you stop that, please?" you whined, trying to watch tv with your boyfriend on the couch yet he kept on bringing his hand up to his mouth. you had tried to hold his hands, wrap his arms around you.. so many different attempts to get him to stop doing it subconsciously yet something was occupying his mind that was resulting to him biting his nails. it was just irking you today.

"hm?" osamu hummed, looking down to where your head rested in his lap. you were looking up at him now and not the film you had insisted on watching. he was snapped out of his trance now and the hand that was just by his mouth went to find your cheek, poking and squeezing it to tease you.

"stop biting your nailssss," you dragged out the 's', groaning playfully. were you genuinely mad? of course not, but it was frustrating. osamu watched you sit up and rest your head on his shoulder, he took one of your hands and raised it to eye level. "love, my nails won't be as pretty as yours anyways! don't worry." he whispered, joking around.

you lowered your hand and raised his. his cuticles were tatty, nails themselves scuffed and uneven. "lets do your nails up then" you giggled, pulling him off of the couch as he hastily turned off the tv as you whisked him away to your shared bedroom.

you pulled out a tatty gift box filled with an array of polishes. you both sat on the floor cross legged as you opened up the box and pushed it towards him to look through. as you stood up, osamu looked up at you. "where are you going?" he pondered, "to open a window, nail polish fumes are awful." you swiftly responded. "so, no suicide from the smell?" he deadpanned, half-joking. you shook your head and sat back down across from him.

"what colour did you pick?" you asked, pulling out some nail cutters and other little tools to clean up his nails. "mmm i don't know yetttt" he whined. "can we have the same colour?" he asked, referencing the colour you are currently sporting on your own nails. "of course, 'samu." you smiled softly as you began to cut off the uneven parts of his nails and push back his cuticles.

he was thoroughly enjoying all the affection, almost giggling like a school girl as you held his hand in placing tightly to keep it still when he tried to pull away just to be difficult.

carefully applying the close-enough shade to your own nails, he laughed as he flinched at the coldness on the surrounding skin as he purposefully caused you to mess up slightly. "osamu." you tried your best to muster up a stern voice. as you finished, he instantly went to try and grab his phone, "no!" you quickly called out from across the room where you were putting away the box of nail polish.

"i swear to god, osamu dazai, if you smudge those nails i will never buy you crab again!" you exclaimed, an empty threat yet he pulled his hands into his lap so quickly it was almost comical.

"leave them for 3 minutes." you added, zero faith he could ever sit still for that long.

[krirebr]

Congrats again on your well deserved milestone, lovely! 🥳❤️

If it sparks the muse, I would LOVE a drabble of WAM!Steve and Cole. I was so intrigued by their first part and how you wrote their dynamic and how Steve was a low key motherhen. I’d love to see more of him teaching Cole how to vampire!! Thank you! 🙏🏻

Thank you, Siri!! I so appreciate your support. 💜💜

Oh, the muse sparked hard. I wrote this one in a blink. Their dynamic is so fun for me. I hope you enjoy!

This is a few years after Steve takes Cole in.

And Gentle Persuasion

Characters: Dark!Steve Rogers, Soft!Dark Cole Turner

Warnings: blood, death, mind control, talk of humans as food, vampire stuff

We're All Monsters

“Cole.”

Cole looked up from where he was kneeling over the dead body. Steve was leaning against the door to the small cell, looking exasperated. Cole grimaced. “I don’t know how this happened,” he said.

Steve sighed and crouched down in front of him. “Yes, you do,” he said. “Tell me what happened this time.”

Cole stroked a finger down the now-dead young man’s cheek. “I just– I told him I loved him and wanted us to be together, you know? I wanted him to be mine. And he freaked out and I was just trying to calm him down, and maybe feed on him just a little, to show him how good it could be, but I was upset too. That he was being so unreasonable. And I guess I lost control.” He gestured to the blood that covered him and the floor of the cell.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. When he opened his eyes again, he fixed Cole with a stern look. “So,” he said, “the same thing as last time. Why didn’t you just compel him to agree to it?”

Cole looked down, embarrassed. “I wanted it to be real.”

“Honey, we’ve talked about this. You’re still trying to hang onto your humanity, but it’s gone. You aren’t human anymore, you’re something so much better. You need to start acting like it, finally embrace it. Humans, they’re just animals. They’re food. Pets at the very most. They are here to serve us. We want something from them, we take it. Any vampire who treats them as equals has lost touch with what we are. Do you understand?”

Cole nodded. He did. Or he was trying to. Steve had been over it with him so many times. Cutter, too. Everyone here, really. But. He’d just– he’d always wanted to find the one when he’d been human and he never had. He thought maybe now that he was something more, that power was thrumming through his veins and Steve had taught him how to harness it, that he’d finally be able to find someone. But he still hadn’t. Maybe Steve was right, maybe he was looking in the wrong place.

Steve placed a gentle hand on Cole’s cheek, pulling him from his thoughts. “You know I’m only this upset because you keep doing this to menu items. We won’t have anything left to serve at the bar at this rate.”

Cole leaned into Steve’s hand. “I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Steve said and stood up. “Come on, I’ll have someone come clean this up.”

Cole stood up too and started to leave the cell, not looking back at the body. “Cutter’s gonna be pissed.”

Steve smiled, “Cutter’s always pissed. You leave her to me.” Cole took a few steps into the hallway before Steve stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, if it’s just a feed and a fuck you need, you come to me and I’ll get it for you. You know I’ll always take care of you.”

Cole gave him a bashful grin back. “Yeah, I know,” he said and thought for the millionth time how lucky he was that Steve had been the one to find him.

Kris's 700 Celebration

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[aparticularbandit]

Making Cookies

Summary: Peeta tells Katniss he needs to talk, but they end up baking instead.

Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mallark

Rating: T.

AO3

“We should talk.”

Peeta’s stern, more stern than normal, but it’s better than the stilted formality that’s grown between us ever since the games.

But I don’t want to talk to Peeta.  I don’t know how to talk to Peeta anymore, if I ever did to begin with.  It doesn’t seem fair to keep up the ruse he’d created, and there’s no way to return to what we’d been before.  We hadn’t been anything before.  Just the boy with the bread and the girl he’d saved, a tentative past connection that meant everything and nothing.

But it isn’t just Peeta.  It’s impossible to return to anything the way it was before the games.  Other than Haymitch, he’s the only one who understands that.

Maybe that’s what makes this so hard.

I give him a silent nod.  It isn’t as though much else fills my days, and it isn’t though I have any excuse not to meet with him, other than simply not wanting to do so.  My eyes shift about me, taking in the empty houses around us, my own barely used with my mother and Prim, and Haymitch’s.  Sometimes, I envy his loneliness.  I do not envy his nightmares; I have my own.

“When?”

~

Peeta’s house smells strongly of bread.  It’s the same way he smells, but stronger; in the Capitol, during the games, that smell was gone, replaced with their fancy oils and powders then with dirt and blood.  By the end, he smelled like one of the rabbits Gale traps in the woods.  They have more time to be afraid.

Even now, away from the bakery, Peeta’s house smells like bread.  He bakes the way I hunt, to keep his mind off of everything else.  But no matter how much we try to go back, we can’t.  There will always be a difference between us and everyone else.  A different kind of surviving.  The scent is even stronger inside the house, overwhelming flour mixed with the sweeter scent of sugar and the sharp alcoholic tang of yeast.

I find him waiting for me in the kitchen, apron tied about his waist, flour decorating his hair like snow that doesn’t melt. “You wanted to talk?”

“Mm.  Hold on.  I’m almost done.”  Peeta pushes his hair back with one hand, leaving a trail of flour behind.  Then he sets his newest loaf on a tray, sticks it into the oven where it will be seared with fire, and leaves it be.  He offers me a smile.  “Needed a break.”

“I know.”  I sit on the stool across from him.  “You’ve got flour���”

“Everywhere.  I know.”  Peeta chuckles.  It’s a real laugh, even though it isn’t much, and the smile he wears when he makes it feels normal.  Like the way he’s supposed to be.  He lifts his apron and rubs his face with it.  “Better?”

Now there’s just as much flour on his face as there is on the counter.  “No,” I say.  “Worse.”

“Huh.”  Peeta looks confused.  He stares at his apron.  “That was supposed to help.”  He sighs and looks up at me.  “Well, I guess we’re just going to have to make you match.”

I barely get my mouth open before Peeta throws a spray of flour at me.  It coats my face, thick like the powder they force me to wear in the Capitol, and my mouth drops open as a little cloud puffs around me.  I reach over and push him.  “Hey!”

Peeta stands back, out of the way, and he smiles like he does when he’s happy, not the fake sort of thing he wears when we need to pretend for our safety.  “Now you don’t have an excuse.”

“An excuse?”

“Everything’s been so tense lately,” Peeta says, placing his hands flat on the flour-covered counter.  His smile fades as he looks down at them.  “You can’t teach me how to hunt, but I thought….”  He glances up and searches my eyes.  “I thought I could teach you to bake.  Something simple.”  He pulls a few shaped cutters from a nearby tray.  “Like cookies?”

I don’t want to stay here.  I don’t want to learn how to bake from Peeta, almost as much as I don’t want to teach him how to hunt.  Our lives are already so hopelessly entangled that this only makes everything more confusing.  It would be easier to not, easier to go back to my house and wash everything off.

But Prim will ask.  I can ignore my mother, but I can’t ignore Prim.

So I scowl and nod.  “Fine.”  I nod at the shapes.  “But only if we make one that looks like Haymitch.”

Peeta pulls out another cutter, one that looks like a wine bottle.  I don’t ask why he has one that shape or who would ever want a bottle-shaped cookie.  He offers me a smile. “Drinks and all.”

I don’t smile.  “Drinks and all.”

~

Peeta convinces me to make another batch while we wait for the first one to cook, and while we wait for the first batch to cool enough to decorate – I tell him I won’t be good at it, but he won’t let me leave the decorations up to him – he slices the freshly cooled loaf of bread, slathers it with butter, and hands it to me.  I try to tell him I’m not hungry, but he won’t listen.  Despite this, I take the slice and take a bite.

The bread melts in my mouth.  It’s sweet from the butter, a luxury that we have more than enough of now but that still feels like a luxury.  I scarf the rest of the slice down but don’t ask for another.  He smiles, assuring me that he’ll send the rest home with me.  Peeta gives us fresh bread and cookies every day, but it’s still – it’s another luxury.  One we don’t deserve.

It’s while decorating the body-shaped cookies that it happens.

My attempts at recreating Effie with her bright pink hair look nothing like her, just a puff of pink covering the whole of what should be her head.  I scowl at her and grab for another one of Peeta’s intricate decorating tools.  I want to scrape away all of the icing I’ve already laid, but that would be a waste.  Even something as simple as this, I can’t waste food.

I glance over at the cookie Peeta is decorating and stop.

The cookie, burnt a little from something beyond our control, has a much darker color than the other golden cookies we’ve been decorating.  This one, Peeta’s decorated to be a girl instead of a boy, and she looks the spitting image of Rue.

My breath catches in my throat.  “Peeta?”

Peeta doesn’t look up.  He stares at the cookie, continuing to decorate it – continuing to recreate her – as though it’s the only thing in the world.  “I won’t eat her,” he says.

I hadn’t even thought about that.  Eating Rue – biting off her legs, her arms, her head – the idea of it makes me sick to my stomach in a way that eating a fake Haymitch didn’t.  I remember her in those last moments, after she was dead, after I’d surrounded her with flowers, after I sang for her, for an audience I didn’t see and didn’t care about – and still don’t care about, although their investment saved the both of us together – and I stumble backwards.  “What are you doing?”

When Peeta finishes, he holds the cookie gentle in his hands.  “This is the only way I can save them.”

It’s a horrible explanation, and it doesn’t make any sense.  “You aren’t saving anyone—“

But Peeta lifts the carefully decorated Rue cookie.  He takes her to the freezer and sets her inside, where other cookies decorated like each of the other tributes – even Cato, who’d attacked him, who’d been left with us at the last; even Marvel, who’d killed Rue and who I’d—

“You made all of them,” I say, trying not to feel sick.  “All of them.”

“This is the only way I can save them,” Peeta repeats.  He sets Rue inside with the rest of them and then shuts the freezer door.  “I know it’s a waste, but—”

I wrap my arms around him the way I need someone to hold me during my nightmares.  “It’s not a waste.”  I stare at the closed freezer.  “It’s an honor.”

I don’t tell him that I saw myself in the freezer, too, or that I’d noticed how there wasn’t a cookie of him.

~

While Peeta is visiting with his family later, I sneak into his house.  It isn’t hard.  He doesn’t lock his door.  I don’t think I would either, if my mother and Prim didn’t live in my house.  Whatever I have can be stolen; it’ll just be replaced later, and I don’t need any of it, don’t want any of it.

Streaks of flour coat my face like claw marks.

I open the freezer and gently place another tribute inside.  The Peeta I’ve made isn’t beautiful, like the cookies he’s decorated.  It’s misshapen, and one of its legs has a lump in it.  I’m not good at baking.  Prim won’t even eat the other cookies I’ve made.

But this one wasn’t about baking.  It was about this, setting a Peeta to be protected, to be saved, with all of the others he’s made.

~

A few days later, Peeta meets my eyes and gives me a nod.  That’s how I’ve known he’s seen it.

For once, in all of this, I feel warm.