#except by the time I was like. putting the curl cream in after getting out of the shower my hair had already half dried bc of the heat

[exopelagic]

I finally understand the humidity -- hair thing oh my god what is this

[juletheghoul]

Grown

AN: I am sort of going through a writing bender? A manic episode? I don't know, I just know that if I don't get it down I will lose my mind. I have been wanting to write an age-gap fic for Joel (aside from LMF) for a while but I couldn't really find the format or the idea that I could sink my teeth into. There are SO MANY good ones out there, I even had a whole other thing started but it got too intense, and making it sexual wouldn't have been true to that version of Joel, so here is what I came up with. (I kept Tess out of this story) Big thank you to @foli-vora for letting me exorcise this demon, and to @frannyzooey for putting up with my endless messages and voice notes through discord, love y'all! (this is unbeta'd and barely proofread, any and all mistakes are mine)

Joel Miller x F!reader (sex worker) (Joel calls you ‘Pretty’)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), fingering, cream pie, one lonely little lick of his cock👅, come play sort of? dirty talk, age gap (legal), feelings of guilt, talk of sex work, some of it traumatic (no details, no violence)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist 

He was a risk, calculated but definitely worth it up close. He fidgeted, flexing and unflexing his hands as you moved around the tiny studio apartment. Your home, and ‘office’. You’d searched long and hard, and paid a hefty price for the soft lamps, the newish linens for your bed, the homey touches.

He shifted his weight as you put the quilt down, separating the outside world from the privacy of your sheets. Easier to clean up after too. 

“Boots off, please.” You gesture to the place by the door, and he nodded with a frown. 

“Sorry.” He groaned as he brought his foot up and for a moment you saw his age, through the pleasant features. 

“No problem, how do you want me?” You stand at the foot of the bed, naked under the well-worn, but cherished robe and for a moment he gawps. You don’t laugh, men don’t like it when you laugh. “On my back?” 

“Wait- how old are you again?” He pads over, tall and broad, obscuring the light source when he walks past it. 

“Old enough.” You smile, “come, why don’t you sit here with me?” You hold out your hand to him, and after a tense glance, he takes it and sits where you gesture. His grip is firm, but soft, years of hard work rooted in the calluses that meet your significantly softer palm. It isn’t a turn off though, he’s a man, men work hard. The real ones do, or did anyway.

“How long do I have? S’there anyone else…?” He trails off, his voice cutting off and you smile, placating. 

“You have as long as you need, tonight's all yours.” You sit beside him, and put your hand tentatively on his arm, channeling every single ounce of calm you have and pouring it into him. He’s warm and alive beside you, heat radiating off him under the soft pass of your thumb against the skin peeking out under the denim sleeve, you let the soft light, the light patter of rain outside your window work on him. He surveys the area, learning the layout of your space and you don’t interfere, you follow his gaze and try to see it all from his point of view. 

It's small, but comfortable. It’s exceedingly clean, you’d spent hours and hours making sure, back breaking hours on your hands and knees scrubbing and washing and it had paid off, no matter how sore you’d been after. There’s a little table, with two chairs, a big lumpy chair near the window, where you spent most of your time not working curled up with one of your precious books. He noticed the tiny chest of drawers, the top of it clear except for a half-full glass of water. He saw the baseball bat leaning against the wall tucked just behind it. 

“Can I get a little closer?” You scoot a little, pressing your thigh to his, turning to hold his restless arm between your breasts, your fingers intertwining with his while he got accustomed to your own warmth. Those big, callused, hard-working hands wrapped up in yours. Invitingly warm.

Some people needed a little push, sometimes they were nervous on how to start and they needed someone to get them out of their heads. Some wanted to talk, to sprawl out naked with you and get all of their thoughts out. 

Loneliness is the main malady you alleviate. 

Some didn’t want to talk at all, some just wanted you to open your legs and take, and that was okay too. Everyone had their thing. 

“This okay?” You put your linked palms on the little bit of skin poking out through the gap in your robe, your skin surrounding both sides of his hand. 

“Yeah, s’okay.” He watches the robe slip open, and his other hand joins the fray, pulling it apart to see more of your thigh. He licks his lip as more of you is revealed and you artfully let the shoulder slip, drawing his eye up to your cleavage. He pats his leg, and you get a genuine thrill, sliding over and up onto his lap. He needed no further guidance after that, now that he had permission, his body was taking over. 

His eyes were dark, focused, tracking the line of your throat when you swallowed thickly. He watched the way your breath hitched when he slid his hand up your inner thigh and found you bare underneath, his fingers slipping through the silky hair at your mound, his fingers parting your lips softly to find your slick folds. He lets out a shuddering breath at the same time you do, when his finger slips over your clit. 

“I’m too old for you, pretty.” He watches his hand between your legs, using it to spread your thighs enough to see your pussy dripping for him. 

“You don’t feel too old.” You hold onto his neck, giving him more access and your stomach drops to feel him hardening under the swell of your ass. You pull his hand from between your legs, and dip his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around them before pressing them back against your achy clit. He pulls a genuine moan of pleasure at the extra slip when he swirls around your clit nice and slow. Tortuous, and talented.

“So fuckin’ soft,” He glides his fingers down, circling your entrance but his eyes are focused on your mouth now, “bet you’re tight as a fist, aren’t you baby?” He slides two thick fingers inside and you clutch at him, more turned on by him than you’ve ever been doing this line of work.

It’s a stretch, but he works them in, pressing against your upper wall, looking for something and when he finds it you whimper in his arms. 

“Do you kiss?” You barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears, his fingers curling inside you, and he puts more pressure on the button he’s found and you moan, lost and mindlessly enjoying the fullness. 

He presses devastatingly soft, tender kisses to your throat, completely at odds with the wet sounds of his exploration between your legs. 

“Baby, can we kiss?” He repeats it, this time with his fingers still, but stuffed deep. You press your mouth to his, humid and hot and he tastes like the good alcohol you have stashed in your cupboard. He groans and his fingers scissor inside you, squelching between your legs with every lazy pump. He traps your bottom lip between his, alternating a teasing bite to the plump of it, with deep licks into your mouth. You’ve never been kissed like this. 

“You just gonna use your fingers?” He pulls away to skim his nose down your neck, bunching the top of the robe in the splayed hand at your back to pull it down from where it hangs on your shoulder. His mouth engulfs your nipple when it falls and any thoughts that he may be too old for you seem to slip his mind because he doubles down, moaning obscenely into your skin as you leak onto his lap. 

“No, just wanna open you up, I wanna make sure this little pussy can take me.” Arousal and excitement pools in your belly. 

“What a gentleman.” You laugh, half crazed with lust for this man who just might be old enough to be your father. He smiles, drunk on the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his spit still shining on your breast. He has a dimple, so boyish in contrast to the grey in his beard and in his hair you can’t help but love it, it suits him.

“Spread your legs a little more for me darlin’,” one hand is heavy on your hip, holding you so you can drop one leg and open up a little more, “I wanna see you come,” he speeds up, his thumb now doing tight little circles against your clit and you moan, unabashedly, “look how wet she is,” he stares between your legs “I just wanna see her come.” He hooks his fingers again and the pressure is almost too much. It only takes a few moments, his fingers pet, pet, pet and then you clench, the pleasure going off in your belly like a bomb, radiating out through your breasts, into your hips, all the way down to your fingers and toes. 

A universe contained within your body, borne of his hand.

“Fuck.” Your legs close over his hand, and he slows down but doesn’t stop, a softer, slower stroke while you catch your breath. “Let's get you outta these clothes.” you start undoing the buttons to his shirt, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of freckles littered along his skin. He pulls his fingers out from between your legs, shiny and dripping in you and sticks them into his mouth, moaning at the tang of you. 

Undressing him is like opening a gift. His arms are strong, his biceps flexing when he all but lifts you up to stand, pulling your robe off and away from you like it’s on fire. His midsection is soft, but you can feel the strength underneath when you undo his jeans, tensing in excitement the closer you get to the considerable bulge in them. You curl your fingers around both his jeans, and his boxers, impatient to get him naked. You crouch as you pull them down, mouth watering at the size of him, hard and bobbing in front of you. The muscles in his thighs are firm, his skin so warm and you can’t help but lick a stripe up the underside of his cock on the way back up. 

He lets out a sound like he's been punched in the gut and you take it in like sustenance. 

“Don’t–I’ll come too fast if you put it in your mouth.”

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, just as he reaches down to grab and spread the cheeks of your ass, stomach full of butterflies at the feeling of him hard and leaking against your belly. 

“But I wanna swallow it, I wanna feel it in my throat.” You pout and he lets out a shuddering breath, “Don’t you wanna fuck my mouth?” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat, your fingers slipping through the unruly, grey strands at the back of his neck. 

“Not now baby, I’m barely goin' to last as it is.” He turns you, pressing you to lay in the middle of your quilt and he’s quick to follow, fitting himself between your legs, leaning on one arm beside your skull and when he grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes, you almost can’t watch him. It’s too erotic, it looks so big in his hand, too big to fit but you know it will, he’ll make it fit. 

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers as he feeds himself inside you slowly, an inch, before pulling it out, then a little more, until he’s fucking you a little deeper each time. 

There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill your lungs, he took up every fucking drop. You’d been with other men, you’d been with women, all of them taking their pleasure from your body and most of them giving pleasure in return, this was something else. This was almost scary, the way the vision of him above you made your brain buzz and your nipples hard, made your cunt leak all over him. 

He moves up onto his knees, those big hands pull your legs up and apart, pressing the backs of your thighs into your chest, practically folding you in half to slide his cock deeper still.

He snapped his hips hard, pulling a sound you’d never made out of your mouth, again, and again, until it was a continuous babble. He watches the way his cock disappears inside the tight clutch of your cunt with every dirty roll of his hips. He sinks a little further down, and adjusts his stroke, until just the tip of it stays inside of every heavy push forward. 

This isn’t some desperate, lonely old guy looking to get his dick wet, this is a grown man, fucking you like a grown man does and you feel like a grown woman taking it. 

“Joel, baby that’s so fucking good-“ you press your hands to his chest where he leans against you. He’s focused, eyes glazed over, sweat dripping down his nose in his efforts. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, his pace stuttering slightly and you know he’s not gonna last.

“I wanna see her come with me inside,” he whines, and you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing so you reach down and swirl your fingers around your clit while he watches, “that’s it baby, that’s it, fuck, I’m close-“ he somehow spreads you wider, the wet suck of your pussy is louder, more obscene, more erotic. 

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-“ the orgasm strangles the words in your throat, pulsing him out but he pushes back in and you feel it all the way in your toes. 

“Fuuuuuckkk—“ he pulls out and pumps himself furiously against your mound, covering the soft patch of hair in spurt after milky spurt. It’s a lot, some has splashed onto your hip, your belly, you feel it slipping down to where you clench, empty and gaping without him filling you. 

It’s quiet for a moment after, while your blood cools, and he milks himself dry, pumping a few more times despite the over-sensitivity. 

“You got anything for me to clean you up with?” He rubs at the indents he left on the back of your thighs before unfolding you. 

“There’s a little pile of rags in that first drawer behind you.” You point to the tiny chest of drawers, and he groans when he moves up and off of you. Now that he’s emptied his balls, the signs of his age rear their heads. He groans, wincing as he bends forward to carefully wipe everything away with gentle hands. 

It’s nice to see him walk around naked, welcome, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often, if he came back that was. 

“That was-“ he scratches at the back of his neck, passing the cloth over your belly, “that was really good.”

“I’ll say, it was better than good.” You stretch out and luxuriate like a cat in warm patch of sun, seriously debating offering him time to recover so he could fuck you again. He quirks his lip, the ghost of a smile, the confidence dulled to shy, awkward fumbling. He tosses the rag into the little basket you point to, and he begins the process of getting dressed. You get up when he’s almost done, your thighs, and what’s between already sore and pick up your robe. He’s putting his neat little stack of ration cards on the table when you finish tying it up. 

“Thanks.” He pulls his boots on, opening your door before turning back to find you right on his heels. 

“Anytime.” You smile at him, hoping it won’t be a one-time thing. He moves to step outside but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking something for your own. He kisses you back when you press your mouth to his, it's softer, his tongue sweet when it tangles with yours and you smile into the kiss when he reaches down, and grabs your ass. 

“Bye, Pretty.”

“Bye Joel.”

-

You hadn't fallen into the work, so much as slowly slid into it. The first time had been almost a dare, a challenge to yourself, a proposition made by someone and maybe your own foolish, naive need to prove that you weren’t some stupid baby. A man, an older man that had shared cleaning duty with you had come right out with it, saw you bending over to pick something off the floor and told you that he’d pay every ration card he had for a taste of that ass, as he so eloquently put it. 

At first you’d been shocked, he seemed like a perfectly bland, run of the mill survivor making his way in the QZ, but he’d been serious. You’d asked him to clarify, to repeat his words, and he had. He’d shaken his hands of the dirt and dust of the job, produced a tiny stack of much needed ration cards from a hidden pocket and held them out for you like a cold glass of water in the desert. Something inside you had recoiled, he wasn’t repulsive, but he wasn’t exactly the object of your late night fantasies. Another part though, a hidden little sliver of something jumped at the chance to have some power, some semblance of control and so without much thought to consequence, you’d taken him up on it. 

An uncomfortable fifteen minutes later, he was grunting behind you, stroking himself furiously to paint the cheeks of your ass in his come. 

Once it was done, the little part of you that had welcomed the challenge was curiously absent, and the part that had recoiled was bigger, swelling like some awful, infected limb. But you had rations enough to stop working for a few days, and that took some of the repulsion away. 

It was a while before you did it again. It was a while before you saw the man again, maybe part of you, that ever-present bit of self-preservation urged you to avoid him but he eventually found you again. This time you turned him down, and he hadn’t pressed, but he’d told others. Other men who seemed to sniff you out, some of them older, and less diplomatic and those you told to fuck off. Some of the younger ones though, closer to your age looking for the experience, some of them you took in, with the strict promise to never tell anyone unless they wanted to never see you again. Those experiences were better, less traumatic. 

After that it seemed like things came together, you had a steady string of people who took you seriously and paid up front. 

The first woman had been a girl of around your age, she’d heard from a friend of a friend, carefully and strategically keeping the source to herself. You’d never really given it much thought but once you did it seemed only natural, women got lonely too, and there was nothing about her that you didn’t understand. So you accepted her, took her rations and gave her as much of yourself as you gave the men. 

It’d taken time to establish yourself, to find the regular people you let into the circle, it was all much easier now. With the exception of Joel, you hadn’t taken on someone new in a while, but he made you glad you did.

-

His hands always shake before it starts. 

It’s a light tremble, a couple of fingers in his left hand and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s an injury, or a sign of nerves. He’s hard of hearing in one ear too, his right. You hadn't picked up on it at first but once you do, it makes sense. He tilts his head to the right a tiny bit, turning his good ear towards your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. 

He was older than the rest, that did bother him, but never enough to stop visiting. He dragged it out sometimes, made himself wait, avoided you, but whether it took him a week or a month, he came back. 

“Hi Joel.” You smiled to see him standing at the threshold, fingers twitching by his side, his hair a mess, a small bundle in his grip.

“Hi.” He doesn’t smile back, he’d waited too long, the frown practically tattooed on. He puts the bundle down on the dresser after kicking off his boots, and doesn’t mention it. 

It’s dark outside, later than you usually let anyone come see you but for him you make exceptions. His hands keep rubbing at his thighs, his eyes darting around, you let him settle for a moment, get his bearings before jumping into anything, it’s a dance and you both have your steps. 

“How do you want me?” You finally break the silence once he sits on the quilt. He looks up at you, but doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fall to your cleavage, then down to your waist where the robe is cinched, then further still to your hips. You move closer, until you stand between his spread thighs. 

“Hm? Wanna fuck me on my back? Or should I get on my hands and knees?” You thread your fingers through his hair, slicking it back as best you can, he shudders at your words and at the feeling of your hands on him, putting up his usual show of shame at being here with you, at being older. “Should I get on my knees right here and suck your cock?” His hands land on your hips, his face pressing against your sternum, robe parting enough for him to press his lips to the valley between your breasts.

“You’re too fuckin’ soft, way too fuckin’ pretty to be lettin’ me touch you.” He always does this, has to make it known that you shouldn’t let him do this, that he shouldn’t want you like this. It never stops him, he opens the robe and pushes it off to fall on the floor regardless of his words and moans into the skin of your breast where he nuzzles like a cat.

“Prettiest thing I ever saw.” His mouth laves at one pert nipple, then the other, leaving them hard and shiny when he trails his kisses down to your belly. 

All day you’ve thought about him here, getting to have him to yourself, opening you up and molding you to fit him like a glove, making you see stars like he always does. And all day you’ve felt that slow simmer of arousal, that steady ache to bloom and gape for him, both soft and obscene. The constant excitement of anticipation. His mouth on your nipples only served to turn it up to an inferno, turning you to liquid for him. 

“But I like when you touch me.” You scratch at his scalp, pressing his face into your skin, “I like it when you fuck me, you make it so good, much better than anyone else.” You flatter him, but you don’t lie to him. You’ve learned to be impartial to your experiences, sex is work. As fun as it can be with some of them, it’s all a means to an end, you need to eat and so you do what you have to do. You are also realistic about him, he is not your boyfriend, he’s not your partner, he barely gives you a second glance on the street but in here, he’s your favourite. He fits you better than anyone and anything, and as much as you hate to admit it, you need him as much as he needs you.

He takes in the words, believes them and relishes them. 

“How do you want me, Joel?” You pull his face up, bending down to kiss him before he can answer and his desperation comes through. His tongue is insistent, his kiss almost violent. 

“I want you here-“ he pats the bed, before getting up to take his clothes off. You help him, both of you working efficiently until he’s as naked as you are. His cock is already hard, the tip of him pearly with his own want despite any and all notions of impropriety. 

His body always betrays him. 

He gets you on your back, but he doesn’t lay on top of you, rather beside you. He doesn’t let you turn to face him, he wants it like this, his body curling around yours to be able to see it spread out for him without himself in the way. 

“Open up for me, s’good, just like that.” He takes the thigh closest to him and drapes it over his hip, positioning himself to enter you from underneath. He lifts his head, showcasing his core strength to watch as he brings his cock to the open mouth of your cunt, sliding in without so much as a warning. You feel exposed, spread open and bare under his eye and it only heightens the experience, cracking something open inside of you. 

His hips push and pull slowly, lazily at first despite how fucking hard he is but doesn’t last. The sight in front of you there, breasts bouncing with every snap, is too much for him. With one hand free, he strums and plucks at your nipples, opening up the dam between your thighs to ruin the quilt underneath. 

His other hand isn’t idle though, it slips down, grabbing onto the plush of your ass, holding you in place hard enough to bruise. 

“That feel good?” He watches you leak all over him, and knows it does but he wants to hear it anyway. 

“Yes- Yes Joel–” You moan, turning to watch his face. 

“This little cunt goin' to come for me? I wanna see her come, I wanna feel her choke my dick.” He surges forward, swallowing the moan from the source before speeding up. His cock strokes, strokes, strokes and you feel the warmth blooming in your core, spreading like a wildfire through your hips, the release so close you can almost taste it, you whine and he shushes you, his voice soft despite how depraved you feel with his cock kissing something sacred inside of you. 

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and sweat builds in your hairline and at the back of your neck, collects and slips where your skin and his meet.

“I know baby, I know, I can feel her, she wants to come doesn’t she?” His lips press against your cheek, his words warm against your skin. His lips are so soft, so plush as he pants into your face, goosebumps cover your body. You nod against him, mouth open in a silent scream when he adjusts his angle slightly. 

He’s no longer able to form complete sentences, his words are reduced to a repeated chant of yeah baby, yeah baby, right there, right there huh? Barely formed questions for the answer you know he already knows and then his fingers are in your mouth, stretching out your lips, holding your mouth open in a filthy, yet pale imitation of what his cock is doing.

You drool, and you don’t care but it’s what he wants, he takes it from your mouth and slides it over your clit and it’s like he’s pressed the nuclear codes in your body. 

You want to curl into yourself, but you can’t, his grip tightens, painfully, holding you to take and take and take his cock until he bursts inside you like a ripe berry. His groan is almost more obscene than the act, his groin pressed up against you tight, pressing himself deeper than ever to paint your cervix in his come. 

“Fuck–” He presses the word to your cheek, sliding his sweat soaked face down your neck, to your shoulder. He pulls out after a moment, and you feel him leak out of you. He moves to hover over you, pulling one nipple into his mouth to taste before the blood has cooled, and then the other. He isn;t done yet though, he kneels between your spread legs, inspecting the mess he’s made of your pussy, a self satisfied look on his face. 

“Gonna dream about this, while I’m gone.” He lifts your legs, pressing them up and open and slips two fingers deep inside to push his come back in and as you moan at the act, you cannot help but wonder where that worried, too-old Joel is right now. 

“Prettiest little cunt.” He says it to himself, rubbing his mess into the sensitive walls of your sex like a balm. 

He licks his fingers after, tasting the combined flavours of both of you. Your heart almost can’t take it. 

Once he’s dressed, and you have gained enough strength to get up and put your robe on he’s almost back to his shy self. 

“I have the rations here, but I brought somethin’ else.” He gestures to the little bundle he’d left on your dresser, “I found it, thought you might like it.” He opens it, and it’s a can of peaches. 

“Oh!” You’re genuinely taken aback. 

“You ain’t allergic right?” He frowns, and you smile, something soft spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the sex you just had.

“No, I’m not allergic. Thank you Joel, I am really excited for this.” You ignore the soreness between your legs and close the gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips in thanks. 

“Well alright then.” He frowns again, and it’s not shyness you see on his face now, it’s awkwardness, it’s a man who doesn’t know how to be soft, but is trying his hardest. 

“Bye Pretty.” He lingers at the door, devouring you with his eyes and even though he was still dripping out of you, you felt naked and exposed, open and spread out for his gaze. 

“Bye Joel, don’t wait too long to come see me again okay?” You press yourself against him, the soft lines of you tucked tight against the hard angles of him. He gifts you with a rare smile but doesn’t respond, save for a toe curling kiss at your threshold before he’s gone. 

Hours later, when your body is truly sore and spent, you lay in bed with a book, eating the peaches he brought, and wonder idly what he’ll bring next time. 

-

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[sanguineterrain]

about a boy - e.m.

Summary: You've never had a boy in your bed. You're not sure what you're meant to do with one.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: none i don't think? mainly fluff and an overthinking reader (they're so me)

divider by firefly-graphics

There's a boy in your bed.

"M&M?"

You turn your head. Eddie holds the bag of candies to you.

"Okay," you say, and take a blue M&M.

Eddie smiles, about fifteen M&Ms in his own mouth. His attention returns to the screen. You have no idea what's playing.

A boy is in your bed, and he's put a movie on, and now his thigh is pressed against yours, lean and warm.

Eddie's socks are green and have tiny yellow stars on them. He's pulled them over his jean cuffs to keep the cold away. Not that it matters when he has a sleeveless Metallica shirt on.

But Eddie doesn't seem to get cold, anyway. You went for ice cream last week even though it had snowed the night before.

Eddie had paid for your ice cream, which isn't something to look too into. Steve's paid for your ice cream before, because Steve's a nice guy. And Eddie's a nice guy too. So maybe nice people pay for ice cream. And that's all.

Your eyes trace the dip of Eddie's belly, the slice of skin that peeks out between his waistband and shirt hem. His exposed arm and neck is sprinkled with freckles and you can see the edge of the demon tattoo on his breastbone.

Your heart races. That's wrong, isn't it? Looking at Eddie like that? Hoping he'll give you more?

You don't know. You've never had a boy in your bed. There's no guidebook.

Eddie laughs at the screen. You relish in his swelled cheeks and glimpse of fanged canines. You love Eddie's smile; bright and all-encompassing. You can't help but be pulled into his orbit every time you're around him.

You ought to give Robin something for introducing the two of you. A fruit basket, or maybe Vickie Summers in a gift box.

Need curls deep in your chest as you watch Eddie sink further into your pillows. You wonder if he can feel your eyes on him. That would be embarrassing. But maybe he'd be flattered that you're looking at him; that you can't help but.

He's touchy. Affectionate. You're really not, but Eddie takes it in stride. He gives you little half-hugs instead of his usual squeeze-the-soul-out-of-you ones. He bumps your shoulder or simply walks beside you, respecting your space.

And funnily enough, through all that, you've begun to wish Eddie would touch you more.

"'M gonna get more popcorn," he says. "Y'want something else?"

You turn your head in a vain attempt to make it seem like you haven't been mooning over him like a lovesick calf.

"No, no, um, thanks. Thanks."

You cringe at your clumsy mouth. Eddie's oblivious, hopping off the bed and disappearing into the hall.

Are you even allowed to want more? You and Eddie are friends. Maybe even Good Friends, especially after the 'murderous monster tries to swallow Hawkins' crisis died down.

But you don't hang out like this. Where Eddie can see all the Polaroid pictures of trees you thought were good reasons to love the earth and of your mom and of the deer you saw once, and your sky blue wallpaper with clouds painted on it. You wonder if he thinks you're childish or silly.

Why does he even spend time with you? Are you the only one free? Was today a non-Hellfire day and that's why Eddie had agreed to come over? Nothing better to do?

You haven't the slightest idea what's happening in the movie. You should pay attention because Eddie might want to talk about it afterwards, and he'll be cross if you don't know what he's talking about.

Except, that doesn't really seem like Eddie. Still. You've never had a boy in your bed. You don't know if they expect you to pay attention to the movies they play.

You chew on a cuticle. Eddie returns in a couple minutes, climbing onto the bed with his knees. He offers you the bowl of popcorn. You shake your head.

"Everything okay, sweet thing?" he asks.

Oh, don't you just melt over that. You feel like the yellow M&M between Eddie's fingers.

"Yeah, f-fine."

You stare at the foot of space between you. Once, you'd dared to lean on the shoulder of a boy you didn't like that much. Your head hadn't stayed long on his shoulder, and afterwards, you wished you'd been struck by lightning.

What if this is like that? What if Eddie sneers at you and shuffles away. God, you can't handle that. You like this boy in your bed so much, it frightens you.

"This guy, the one in the raincoat." Eddie points. "He's one of my favorite actors. I like the way he talks. You ever get that? Liking the way someone talks?"

You look at him. Eddie looks at you. He's trying to pull you out of your head. He thinks something's worrying you. You're so anxious all the time. And Eddie knows that, so he tries to ground you. You withdraw and Eddie will call out to you and ask you questions. He always sounds lovely. Sometimes, you try to gather the courage to ask him something back. But the words remain lodged in your throat.

"Yeah, I get that." Be brave, be brave. "I like the way you talk."

You wait for lightning to strike.

"Really?" Eddie asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Uh-huh. You have a nice voice."

Nothing. Not even a rumble of thunder.

"Sweet thing, you're gonna give me a big head," Eddie says with a grin.

He's not teasing you. Once upon a time, you might've thought he was, because it seemed like that's all people were capable of. But Eddie's not. He thinks they're nice, the words you say. You want to say more nice words. You want to keep this boy in your bed.

You also want to close this distance. Be a permanent planet in Eddie's orbit. Be brave.

You stare at that tiny foot of space between you again. You're probably being too quiet and still, and Eddie's probably worried you're stuck in your head again.

So before he can coax you out again, (because he cares about you. He cares about you, and you're just going to have to get used to that, alright?) you scoot an inch.

And another inch. And another.

You move at a glacial pace. You don't think Eddie's picked up on your little scheme. How fiendish you are, attempting to cuddle with the boy in your bed. Wicked!

Now, you're so close you can feel Eddie's body heat. His shirt looks soft and worn. You wonder what he smells like.

You move closer. Now, your chest is touching Eddie's side. He looks at you.

His eyes are dark like the blackest parts of space. If you do this and fail, those eyes might just swallow you up.

You listen for thunder, but the skies are clear.

"What's goin' on, pretty?" he murmurs.

"Do you like me?" you blurt, helpless in his pull.

Eddie's brows lift. He blinks, cocks his head.

"'Course I do, sweet thing."

"No, like." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, then open them. "You like me enough for a movie, but do you like me enough to let me put my head on your shoulder?"

"Is that all?" he asks, eyes dancing. There's stars in them. "I like you so much, I want your head on my shoulder forever."

Cinnamon. Eddie smells like cinnamon.

You no longer wish to be struck by lightning.

"Oh," you breathe.

Eddie hums and gently taps your head with one finger.

"That what you've been thinking so hard about?" he asks.

"I've never had a boy in my bed," you say.

"'M honored to be the first."

You nod, jittery with hope. "I'm glad it's you."

And then Eddie eases you into his side. It's perfect. It feels like you're young and don't know any better. It feels like you'll never find anything else like it.

Eddie bows his head. His curls tickle your cheeks and shroud you from the rest of the world.

"And will you kiss me too?" you ask.

"As much as you want, pretty."

You think you can get used to having a boy in your bed.

[dekariosclan]

As a fellow galemancer i had to share that when your doing the spell scene with gale, when the narrator says the weave is making your one, i couldnt help but notice that he slowly blinks at you like a cat, since tara is technically part cat im sure they blink slow for affection so im not sure but Gale as a cat person slow blinking at you feels so cute, just some food for thought adore you blog as well have a great day

OP, you are absolutely brilliant. However, it seems somehow tumblr autocorrected ‘tressym’ to ‘cat’ in your ask, because as Gale and Tara would both insist, she is definitely NOT a cat, absolutely not, not even a smidge, she’s proudly 100% tressym and we would never want to insult her or get on her bad side by insinuating otherwise! Obviously that was a mistake on tumblrs end! nothing more!!

(…okay OP I think we are in the clear, that should smooth things over with Tara, just wanted to cover all our bases there 😂)

You raise a really interesting point—Gale, having been partially raised by a tressym, could absolutely have picked up a few tressym qualities and mannerisms! So let’s talk about that:

slightly 18+ / suggestive under the cut!

First off, to your point, Gale does the tressym slow blink to show affection. As if Gale’s soft cow eyes weren’t appealing enough, those slow, soft, affectionate blinks?? How could you resist:

Gale loves to touch you, hold your hand, have his hands on you, and of course massage you…except that his massages, while lovely, seem to be less ‘ease your muscle stress by applying firm pressure’ and more ‘making biscuits on your back.’ When you ask where he learned his technique, he says he’s self-taught and proudly adds ‘Tara approves of my form.’ (Doesn’t matter, you love it regardless.)

Gale longingly mentions his tower’s ‘crackling hearth’ several times throughout the game, and just like Tara, it’s one of his favorite places to be—ESPECIALLY if he’s curled up next to it with you. Now, whether you’re on his lap or he’s on yours? That’s entirely up to you. Though Tara might object if her favorite spot—Gale’s lap—is too frequently occupied >:(

Gale occasionally adds in a soft, loving head bump during a makeout session—gently, of course! (This one is canon IMHO as he does this during his ‘Grateful’ kiss variant seen here)

Speaking of making out, when Gale’s engine really gets revved he’ll move from those yearning moans to a low, steady rumble of desire from deep in his chest. A purr of arousal if you will—but one that can turn into a growl as he hungrily claws at your clothes, if your laces/buttons are not cooperating with his need for immediate removal.

It’s canon that Gale hates vegetables, full stop. After all, what self-respecting tressym craves broccoli? He’d much prefer to share a meal of quipperfish, pigeon, or beholder meat with Tara. A proper carnivorous meal, and preferably one that comes with some sort of cream-based delicacy for dessert. Also…are those peas on his plate? Carrots?! Instantly incinerated.

And finally, Tressyms are fastidious about their cleanliness—Tara herself can be seen diligently cleaning her paws during the epilogue—so of course Gale follows suit. He’s very vocal about being disgusted by the bloodbath you can get while in the mindflayer colony in Act 2, and he loathes being in the sewers of Baldur’s Gate. Gale prefers to be clean and preened at all times, not only for his own sense of pride, but also so he can be as presentable as possible for you. (As he himself put it, ‘A gentleman is only as handsome as his least-groomed locus.’). Now when it comes to your cleanliness, though, Gale would never criticize you for your, ah…sweaty, glistening muscles after a fight, OR your particular musk arising from said sweatiness and dirt. In fact he rather likes it, because the only thing better than being clean is the process of getting clean, which he will happily help you with! Perhaps a long, hot, luxurious bath, your naked bodies intertwined as he runs his hands and mouth a bar of soap over every inch of you. Or, perhaps, if bathwater is not available, he could go full tressym and simply lick you clean himself clean you up in a different manner! Who knows?? The possibilities are endless, and he does have a practiced tongue. 😉

— — —

Thank you again for this lovely ask OP! I hope I painted an accurate picture of just how similar our beloved Gale is to a cat TRESSYM !!

As always if anyone has any additional points, please feel free to add them! 🐈🪽💜

[aidaronan]

Welcome to the Lube Chute!

Some We're-A-Package-Deal Summer Job Stobin crack, dedicated to @griefabyss69. Also shout out to @wynnyfryd who said the Lube Chute sounded like the location of Stobin's next fail summer job after Family Video got destroyed. "No, I'm telling you, Steve. We have to say it every time."

"We have to say, 'Welcome to the Lube Chute, where our main goal is fillin' all your holes,' every time?"

"Every time." Robin shrugged her shoulders. "It's the whole 'ocean of flavor' thing all over again." She'd started at the Lube Chute a week before him, owing to his need to hover over Eddie while his body knitted itself back together. By the time Steve had decided Eddie could get to the fridge and the bathroom on his own, she had been deemed competent enough to show him the register and inventory procedures.

"Yeah, except 'ocean of flavor' was about ice cream," Steve said. "And this is about, you know, rubber dicks."

"That's the way of stupid retail, huh." Robin sighed dramatically and hopped upon the counter. Next to her sat an open box of flavored lubes. She picked up a pricing gun and started affixing them with stickers.

A few minutes later, the door dinged with the sound of someone pushing their way into the shop. A regular-looking latino man in jeans and a faded Zeppelin tee stepped into the shop.

Steve gave Robin a pleading look, and she pulled her lips thin in sympathy and mouthed, "sorry, your turn." God. Welp. He may as well rip off the Band-Aid.

"Welcome to the Lube Chute," Steve said flatly, "where our goal is fillin' holes."

The guy snorted softly and went on his way, moving toward a rack of adult video tapes. Meanwhile, Robin kept her head down, looking pointedly to where she'd slapped a $.3.99 label onto a bottle of Maxxx Slick Strawberry.

"Like obviously I don't care," she said. "But it is 'where our main goal is fillin' all your holes.'"

"Ugh." Steve rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. "Why is it, like, so long?"

Curling his chin back around, he found the customer at the counter holding Dr. Lovesmuscles's Foot Long Schlong. The customer looked between it and Steve before raising his eyebrows. Shit and fuck. For the first time in literally ever, Steve wished he was back in those tiny Scoops shorts.

"I wasn't... I didn't mean the... I..." Steve stared at the guy over the counter and then gave up on trying to explain, punching things into the register as fast as he could so he could end the interaction. "So for the video and the toy, that comes to $18.39 with tax."

Steve made made change for a $20, put the guy's things into a nondescript brown paper bag, and then bit back a groan when he realized he had to embarrass himself one more time before it was all over.

"Thank you for visiting the Lube Chute. Remember if the base ain't flared, it doesn't go up there. Have a nice day!"

Next to him, Robin coughed into her elbow. When Steve looked over, he found her reading the back of one of the lube bottles, this one watermelon flavored.

"What do you think potassium sorbate even is?" Robin asked. "I mean, I know what potassium is. I passed chem and got into college—go Wildcats. Just... potassium sorbate. What does it even do?"

Steve stared at her for a long moment and then snatched the pricing gun from her hand. #

It was late July. August loomed and with it so did the end of possibly their last summer job together. After this, they were both slated to leave Hawkins. Robin to Northwestern, Steve to Chicago to be near her (and because it made sense as a base for Eddie to work on growing his music career.)

On this particular Wednesday, they had a huge shipment of video tapes to go through. Other than the scantily clad and sometimes fully nude women on the covers, it felt a lot like being back at Family Video. They quickly priced and stocked the tapes that were for sale, and then they worked on storing the covers for the rentals and putting them in the rental cases and then into the system.

"God, Steve, I am just, like, so gay," Robin whispered under her breath for the fifth or sixth time as she stared wide-eyed at a VHS cover. On it, a redheaded woman stared into the camera, her breasts exposed, her hand disappearing down the front of her very thin white panties. "You do know you can just, like, check one of these out, right?" Steve asked. "You're an adult. No one would—" Steve cut himself off when the bell over the door jingled. Jumping at the sound, Robin almost dropped the tape, fumbling with it several times before Steve snatched it from the air and handed it back to her. She was blushing hard when she went to put it into the computer.

One crisis averted, Steve turned toward the door to find one of the owners coming in. Shit.

Steve had slacked off on the welcome and goodbye phrases over the course of the summer because, well, he didn't want to say them. And now he wasn't sure he even remembered them properly. Shit, shit, shit.

He smiled and nodded as the owner approached the counter. Stephanie was a sleek, blonde woman who looked nothing like the kind of person you might expect to own a sex shop.

"Order come in okay?" she asked.

"Oh, uh, one damaged tape so far," Steve said. "Definitely an improvement over the last order."

'If the base is too...' No, that wasn't it.

"Love to hear that since I spent 3 hours yelling at the distributor after that incident."

'Where we fill holes for...' Definitely not.

"Yeah, right, sucked for us too beca—" Steve froze as a customer walked into the shop. He looked over at Robin, hoping to catch her eyes for a save, but she was laser-focused on sorting another box of tapes into alphabetical order for processing.

Fuck. Steve smiled at the incoming customer. Okay, he could do this. Deep breath, winning smile. "Welcome to the Lube Chute, where our main goal is fillin' all your holes."

Robin inhaled a deep gasp right around the same time that Stephanie burst into raucous laughter, throwing her head back and exposing her slender throat. In another life where he wasn't already tits over ass for Eddie Munson, he would've had to fall a little in love with her.

"Oh my God, that is too good." Stephanie wiped tears form her eyes with her thumbs and then giggled a few more times. "Jesus, Steve. Did you come up with that on your own?"

"Wha—?" Steve snapped his eyes over to Robin, who had her teeth set in grimace that would have been comedic at any other time. Shoulders pulled up around her ears, her eyes bled with apology.

Steve clenched his jaw and turned back to Stephanie, slipping into the most suave persona he could muster under those conditions. "Oh, you know, just thought you'd get a kick out of it."

"Well, you were right about that." Stephanie shook her head and grabbed the money bag to take it to the bank. "'Fillin' holes!" She laughed again on her way out the door.

Steve watched like a hawk as her car pulled out of the parking lot and then rounded on Robin, voice low as the customer browsed the "New Videos!" display.

"You told me we HAD to say..."

"Oh my God, I was gonna tell you after, like, a week, but then you stopped doing it on your own, so I just kinda..." Robin made a wobbly gesture with both hands, and Steve sighed deeply.

"You're walking home today," he said, but they both knew he didn't mean it, especially when his lunch break rolled around and he saved her half his orange as usual. # It was still July, and they could see the customer approaching from the parking lot. "Steve," Robin said. "Steve, please." "I want to point out that it's your own fault that you have to do this now, officially, as part of company policy. Because Stephanie liked it so much." "Steve, but..." Steve jutted his hip out against the counter and crossed his arms, waiting. With the same put-upon sigh he'd grown used to at Scoops and Family Video, Robin drew herself up taller and slapped her hands down on either side of the register. Through the front door, a fat woman with curly brown hair stepped into the shop. Robin beamed at her. "Welcome to the Lube Chute! Where our main goal is fillin' all your holes."

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Enough

Summary; You're being a brat. You know it and Eddie knows it but when Eddie snaps you decide to give him space, worrying that he's had enough of you.

Warnings; Just a lil Angst with a happy ending fic

❤️

The phrase woke up on the wrong side of the bed seemed to apply heavily to you today.

Honestly, you weren't sure what was wrong, you had just woken up very grumpy, with a bad headache and had been moody with Eddie even when you didn't mean to be.

He had been so patient with you and you were aware you were being a bit of a brat and so was he.

Nothing made you feel better.

You were too cold, then too hot, your headache made you sensitive to loud noise and Eddie's guitar playing was annoying you even though you usually loved it.

Even with how patient Eddie was he still had a limit and he had reached it.

"Princess would you get out of the fucking mood you're in or shut up, unless you want me to put you over my knee right now!" Eddie barks finally losing patience and you freeze eyes widening and your lip wobbling.

"All day you've been a nightmare and I'm sick of you being a brat. I've had enough" There was no sweetheart or princess and that's how you know he's seriously pissed and you feel guilty because he's been so sweet all day and you've just been bitchy.

"I'm sorry Eddie, I didn't mean to be" he grumbles under his breath and the doorbell rings. It's the Hellfire Club coming for their meeting.

Feeling incredibly forlorn you stay quiet as Eddie welcomes the boys and he's all smiles, certainly happier than you've made him all day.

He's still off with you all night and it makes you restless, a sour feeling in your stomach.

When you head to bed and Eddie falls asleep, you're too anxious and wound up to join him so you decide to head home, you don't want to cause an argument and you're certain that you would only annoy him.

Once you home you curl up into bed and it's all cold and you just feel lonely and your head is hurting even worse than it was before because you've been stressing.

"I've had enough!" Eddie's voice echoes in your mind and your heart aches. Did that mean he was sick of you?

Maybe Eddie would be happier if you stayed away for a few days.

❤️🌸

You go to work and do your best to not think about the argument or worry if Eddie is still mad, you just lose yourself in shelving books in their correct position and unpack some orders.

You loved working in this bookstore and running it, it was cosy and comforting and helped you de-stress.

Well maybe not so much today... The only thing that would make you feel better was seeing Eddie but you didn't know what to say to him after yesterday.

Would he even want to see you? Any argument you had no matter how heated resolved itself quickly because you could never stay mad at each other.

This was the longest you had gone without speaking and you missed him.

Once you've finished work you lock up and plan to eat as much ice cream as possible.

That would be the plan except once you get home you notice Eddie's van is parked out front, you gave him a key for emergencies so he's most likely inside.

He's sitting on the couch when you head in and he immediately stands up.

"Hi" He walks over to you and there's worry and relief in his eyes.

"Hey, sweetheart, I've been worried. Woke up last night and you were gone "He strokes over your cheek and you bite your lip still feeling out of sorts over yesterday.

"I just wanted to give you space. Didn't want to hang around after being a brat and all, you said you had enough" he softens.

"I shouldn't have said that princess. I'm sorry" you sigh and cuddle into his chest.

"I was being bratty though. I'm sorry. I had a terrible headache, woke up and felt shitty and I shouldn't have taken it out on you" He presses tender kisses over your forehead.

"Just tell me next time okay sweetheart? I'd do anything to help you. You know that. I love you so much"

You nod, you do know that.

"I love you too Eddie" He looks at you with concern as he ever so tenderly massage your head.

It makes you wince and he notices straight away.

"Does it still hurt sweetheart?" you pout up at him, Eddie could never resist your pout, kinda like when you could never resist his big doe brown eyes.

"Mmm a bit" he takes your hand and leads you upstairs.

"Well, then princess, bed rest, kisses and cuddles are my cure for ailments" It makes you giggle and nod.

Now that does sound wonderful.

✨❤️

[stardustvanfleet]

Merry Christmas To You — Josh Kiszka x Reader (Fluff)

PAIRING: Josh Kiszka x F!Reader, Fluff

WORDS: 2.2k

SUMMARY: It's a snowy night in early December, and you and your boyfriend Josh are having a cozy night in, decorating your tree. When he puts one of his favorite classic Christmas albums on, the evening becomes even more romantic thanks to an impromptu serenade.

WARNINGS: None beyond kissing, language, mention of alcohol, and minor flirtatious innuendo.

A/N: Happy holidays and Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you enjoy this incredibly cozy and sugary sweet festive fluff. I had hoped to get this out a bit earlier in the month, but between working two jobs and preparing for the holidays it took a bit longer than expected, so thank you all so much for bearing with me during this time of year that is so damn hectic!!! Some special thanks here go to my loves @sinsofstardust and @losfacedevil for beta reading and being endless sources of both inspiration and love-- I adore y'all!!! I hope you all have a very happy holiday ❤️

FIC BEGINS BELOW THE CUT!

//

It was one of those December nights that you wished you could live in forever. Dusk had fallen early, and a light snow was falling outside; the soft, downy flakes catching in the light of the streetlamps as they tumbled gently towards the ground. For the first time in your new apartment, the one that you and your boyfriend Josh had moved into together just a few months earlier, the view through your window panes was truly beginning to resemble a Christmas card.

You took a sip from your mug of cocoa, which had been generously spiked with Bailey’s, but still tasted dangerously sweet. Turning over your shoulder with a grin, you caught Josh’s eye as he entered the living room with his own mug, steaming hot and piled high with whipped cream. You couldn’t help but feel your heart swell when you saw him— looking so handsome in one of his cozy white sweaters, his curls framing his face so beautifully, it was inevitable that he still gave you butterflies after all this time. 

“Josh, come watch the snow with me, love,” you giggled, curled up on your couch, which was pushed up right up against the largest window in the living room— it had been a perfect spot for watching the leaves change color and eventually fall to the ground, and now it provided an exceptional view of the picturesque wintery scene outdoors. His grin was infectious as he looked over towards the window and mused, crossing the room towards you, “How about that? It looks like we’ve got a winter wonderland on our hands…” reaching the couch rather quickly and setting his mug down on the coffee table.

 He slid in right next to you, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist as he moved to press affectionate kisses to your cheek, one after another, not seeming to want to stop as long as he had you giggling under him.  Finally, you pleaded through your laughter, “Joshy… I don’t see you watching the snow!” as he gave a chuckle of his own and teased, “Ohh, sorry about that, mama… you know how distracted I can get…”

You captured his chin between your fingers with another giggle, feeling heat rising in your cheeks at his use of the pet name which he knew always made you weak in the knees. “Seems particularly easy to get distracted around here….” you replied playfully, before pulling him in and kissing him fully, your heart fluttering at the satisfied sigh he let out against your lips. It was all so endearing, from the softness of his lips to the familiarity of his scent, which was spicy and comforting and floral all at once. There may have been a chill in the air that day, but in the warmth of Josh’s arms, with his lips against yours… despite the weather, it was undeniable— you were melting.

It would have been so easy to get entirely lost in the kiss, but he began to smile against your lips, and pulled back gently, offering you a cheeky smile as he teased back, “Careful, or I’ll get distracted enough that we’ll have to push decorating the tree to another night…” his words making you giggle and lightly, jokingly smack at his arm, chiding, “Joshua… you’re gonna end up on the naughty list….” giving him another quick kiss and a grin before wriggling out of his grasp to rise from the couch towards the large box of ornaments sitting beside the coffee table.

“Hold on, angel…” Josh said, standing up himself as you paused, turning to face him with a smile. He was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye while heading towards the record player set up beside the bookshelf, continuing, “Is it really Christmas if we don’t have the perfect soundtrack?” You watched with amusement as he crouched down to rifle through the large record collection that the two of you had assembled, a wide grin breaking out on his face when he found what he was looking for. “Nat King Cole,” he said with satisfaction, “...now, there’s a reason his middle name is King. And, well… okay, so it’s two reasons. The first reason is that it’s his name, naturally, but there’s also another reason… the big reason, the important one. And it’s that he’s the King of Christmas. it’s just that simple…” 

You found yourself giggling with affection as your boyfriend rambled on; it was one of the many little things about Josh that had made you fall in love with him. As he spoke, he stood from his crouching position to place the record on the turntable and lower the needle, and the cozy tones of Deck the Halls began to play in the living room— Josh’s handsome face illuminated only by the flickering light of the fireplace and the warm golden glow of the lights already set up on your Christmas tree. The light danced across his delicate features as he rose to walk towards you and the box of ornaments, and he offered another grin, asking, “Shall we get this decorating soiree started?”

You laughed again, unable to deny the way his turn of phrase and distinct mannerisms made you feel with your heart fluttering so distinctly in your chest. When at last he reached you and began rummaging through the box of ornaments, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. When he finally looked up to meet your gaze with a knowing half-smile, you tenderly leaned in to kiss him gently once more, before pulling back and replying, “Okay, now we shall,” which elicited a laugh from the man in front of you, his warm brown eyes sparkling in the low light as he replied, “A very important final step before we get started… my darlin’ is so thorough.” You giggled breathlessly at the affectionate nickname, taking his hand inside the box of ornaments and giving it a squeeze. 

Together, you began picking out ornaments and hanging them on the tree, from sparkling white crystal snowflakes and pinecones, to small figurines of ice skaters and Santa Claus, to childhood photos of the two of you in tiny silver frames— Josh insisted that those should be hung up beside each other, saying definitively, “I’ll need you to keep me company up there!” 

Between his jokes and your responses, Nat King Cole’s voice served as a backdrop, his gentle crooning making the room feel cozy and festive beyond belief. The reflection of the Christmas lights were twinkling in Josh’s eyes as he stole glances at you while you both hung ornaments on the tree at once, his hand coming to wrap around your waist for a stolen moment as he headed back towards the box to grab his next ornament of choice. Your heart stuttered deep within your chest, beginning to pick up its pace at Josh’s loving looks and touches.

It was when Josh’s favorite Christmas carol began, however, that he really began to focus his attention on you. The familiar swell of strings marked the beginning of Nat King Cole’s rendition of The Christmas Song, and as Josh crossed back towards you to hang a silver bell on the tree, he caught your eye with a smile, before beginning to sing along with the record. “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” You felt heat immediately beginning to rise in your cheeks as a look of joy appeared on your face. Nothing made you melt more than Josh’s voice. “Jack Frost nipping at your nose…” He gave you an affectionate smile while singing the lyrics, reaching out to tap the end of your nose with his fingertip at the end of the line, which made you giggle wildly. You reached up to grab his hand and pull it to your lips, pressing little kisses to his knuckles as he continued singing along. You were mesmerized, unable to tear your gaze away from him even if you wanted to. Everything about Josh was enough to light up a room, but whenever he decided on performing for you, even in the comfort of your own home— it was still always utterly captivating. He was breathtakingly talented, and unfathomably beautiful.

Gently, tenderly, Josh’s hand fell to your waist while he continued the song, the words flowing as smoothly and sweetly as honey. “Everybody knows… a turkey and some mistletoe… help to make the season bright…” He was beginning to sway you along to the music, and you were letting him— lost entirely in his voice, his loving touch, his gaze, in this moment that was beginning to feel dizzying in its domesticity. By the time the song reached its instrumental interlude, the two of you were slow dancing in the living room— your head coming to rest on Josh’s shoulder, face buried in his neck as he held you close, sweeping you around the room in slow circles to the piano instrumental. He was so warm, and you could feel the soft rise and fall of his breaths through the cozy knit fabric of his sweater. When you finally lifted your head to meet his eyes for the final chorus, the love you were feeling for him was almost overwhelming.

“And so, I’m offering this simple phrase… for kids from one to ninety-two…” Josh paused in his serenade for a moment to bring his free hand to cup your face, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone as he smiled at you with undeniable affection. “And though it’s been said, many times, many ways… Merry Christmas… to you…”

You knew you were looking at him like he had hung the moon in the sky for you… but, frankly, with the adoration in his eyes, it almost seemed like he’d truly have been willing to try. As the song reached its conclusion, you leaned in without even needing to think, capturing his lips so lovingly and passionately that Josh let out a soft sigh against your lips, struck by surprise and delight. You found yourself lost in him, lost in your feelings, as you melted entirely in his arms, his hand still cupping your cheek and jaw with unmistakable tenderness. By the time you two finally allowed your lips to separate, the next song had already been playing for what had surely been over a minute. After a breathless moment of collecting yourself that must’ve taken a few seconds, you managed to let your eyes flutter open, only to see Josh opening his eyes at nearly the exact same time— the sight making you giggle, your heart skipping a beat within your chest.

“Your voice is unbelievable,” you murmured, reaching your own hand over to cup his cheek in return, which prompted him to lean into your touch so effortlessly and subconsciously. Instantly, even in the low light, you could tell the compliment was making him blush, with his cheeks and the tip of his nose flushing a rosy red under your touch as he averted his gaze shyly, letting out a bashful, “Oh, god… Thank you… I think you’re unbelievable.” A smile crossed your face as he paused for a moment, blinking at you as if in thought before continuing, looking at you so lovingly, “I’m so happy we get to make Christmas memories in a place all our own this year, angel… you’re home to me, lover. You make it feel like Christmas.”

Truly, you couldn’t have said it better yourself. 

The moment was breathtaking. Josh’s words, his eyes, the glow of the Christmas tree and the crackling of the fire… everything was so perfect. Your smile, at this point, was entirely out of your control— you wouldn’t have been able to stop even if you had wanted to try. Words failed you for a moment as emotions swirled like snowflakes within you. “Oh, Josh… I love you so much.”

He was grinning at you, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. When he spoke again, you could hear the affection in his voice. “I love you so much, darlin’. I’d lasso the moon for you.”

His reference to It’s A Wonderful Life made your smile widen even further—- something you had previously doubted was even possible. Your head was spinning a little from his romantic words, and when you finally managed to speak again between shy giggles, you teased, “You’re too smooth for your own good… but it is a wonderful life, Josh, because I’ve got you.”

Josh laughed a little, breathlessly, the rosiness of his cheeks still so endearing. You couldn’t resist any longer, closing the distance between the two of you and kissing him, so deeply and passionately that he almost faltered on his feet for a moment, his grip tightening on you to steady himself— and perhaps from a desire to be even closer to you.

When you finally pulled back, the Nat King Cole record still softly playing and your tree sparkling behind you, the two of you once again took a moment before opening your eyes. You found yourself lost in Josh’s warm embrace, the scent of him, the feeling of his heartbeat against yours. You were all his, and he was all yours. And this was only the beginning.

The words left your lips in a whisper, affectionate and gentle. “Merry Christmas, Josh.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Merry Christmas, angel.”

//

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! If you enjoyed this, you can find my masterlist here and be added to my taglist here.

TAGLIST: @sinsofstardust @jakesguitarsolo @losfacedevil @sparrowofthedawnsworld @gold-mines-melting @texas-bbq-pringles @mountain-in-springtime @alwaysonthemend @tripthelightfatality @tommie-gvf @second-suns @runwayblues @shutupdevvie @godly-sinsx @sacredjake @ignite-my-fire @kiska-enthusiast @songbirds-sweet @rhythm-of-space @hsfallingsky @the-starcatcher @kenobicoffee @earthlysorrows @zm-gvf

[loveandleases]

(I thought it was only fair I start Kinktober off with Cam. Each Ro will be getting kinktober posts so no worries if Cam isn't your pick!)

You barely got the door closed before the bag of groceries slipped from your hand and onto the floor while fumbling for the light switch. The apartment was dark, all the lights off, except for the light glow coming from Cam's doorway. He likely left his computer on again, streaming some old B horror movie no doubt.

After flipping the light on, you bend down picking up the stray groceries that managed to fall out of the brown bag. A pack of Halloween-themed Oreos, something Cam and you had snacked on since you were kids. His, always finding its way into a glass of milk, and yours always ends up licked clean of cream.

If I don't turn his computer off it will be dead by the time he comes home.

It's not a long distance from the kitchen to Cam's room, he was adamant about getting the room closest to the door, "In case someone decides to off us! I'll scream loud enough so you can escape. Doing it for you Red!"

You're just a step away from the door when you realize it's slightly ajar. That is also when you realize the sounds coming from the room. It doesn't register in your head whose voice you hear, whose moans you hear. No, that doesn't sink in until you push the door open ever so gently. Why did you open it so slowly? Were you worried about startling who sits inside?

You can feel your tongue slide along your lips, moistening them before your teeth sink into your lip. Are your ears deceiving you? The sound of skin on skin, the sound of heavy breathing. Cam's voice.

"Fuuck." He groans, as he stares at the photo on his phone.

Your eyes widen, watching as Cam thrusts upward. His hand tightly wrapped around his erect penis, a slight glistening on the tip. You spot the slightest freckle on it, before his hand begins to rub up and down the shaft. His other hand holds his shirt up and out of the way, allowing a view of his toned muscles, that slutty waist you always tease him about. His eyes are staring so intently at the phone, his messy red hair sticking to his forehead.

Cam removes his hand, spitting the slightest bit of saliva onto his palm before sliding over the tip, wetting it. He trails his fingers slowly down the long girthy length, before cupping his balls and groaning deeply. His head tilting back, eyes pressed tightly together.

You can feel the arousal between your legs, no matter how hard you think to look away, there is just something that keeps you from doing so.

Cam begins to grip his erection even tighter, applying more pressure when his palm rubs over the tip. His breathing is hitched, and the sounds coming out of him send a shiver down your spine. You watch as his toes curl slightly, his muscles tightening.

He opens his plump lips, a breathy moan escaping them. "God, I need you." Cam raises up slightly in his chair, thrusting, you can hear the contact of his hand, his balls each thrust he does. Harder than the next. "Red!"

Hearing your nickname come from his lips you gasp loudly, bumping into the door frame. This finally catches his attention, you watch in what should be horror but it's not. As his head jerks to you, his eyes widen in realization. You both stare at one another dumbfounded, but not for long.

Once Cam sees you standing in the doorway, your eyes stare elsewhere, and watch as he tries to cover himself only to see the white substance begin leaking between his fingers.

"I bought Oreos!" It's the only thing from your mouth as Cam stares down to his hand, realizing that what put him over the edge was your very presence. Knowing you were watching.

[napakmahal]

Reader making Tadashi listen to the new Charli xcx Brat💚 album 😛🫶 ((if you haven’t listen to it yet YOU SHOULDD

Kidding maybe…

😭 but if you don’t want to write about that then perhaps ice cream comfort moment with Tadashi and getting some fresh air on his moped after a flopped exam ((chem exam for me ngl 💔💔))

Chemistry is in fact NOT for the weak

Nobody likes to feel like they lost, especially after they’ve tried so hard. Tadashi was one of those rare gems that were both straight A students in high school and a (mostly) straight A student in college. With the exception of freshman year when getting a C was a straight victory. Since his development of Baymax, he was enrolled in several health courses full of others who wanted to be doctors, surgeons, anesthesiologists, and phlebotomists. Pharmacology was not for the weak.

He studied so hard he really did. Chemistry was Honey’s thing and she was nice enough to tutor and quiz him for weeks leading up to his three hour exam. But he needed to take the course, not in order to graduate, but he wanted Baymax to be able to give accurate first opinion prescriptions. He was up all night and studied all day. He nearly injected raw liquidized pure caffeine into his veins. So it was devastating when he got back that paper with a fat 64% written in red ink.

When you picked him up he didn’t say anything. Just leaned his body weight onto you in a hug with the most defeated look it broke your heart. Everyone got shitty grades, especially in college. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. He didn’t fail it but that was a comfort to literally nobody.

Because the test was so early he was able to leave campus by eleven. At home all he did was lay on his bed and stare at the giant 64%. He’d flipped through the entire package at all the questions he’d gotten wrong cursing at himself at the ones he should’ve gotten right. He could have sat there for hours cursing at himself and you knew that. Which is why you went left for about half an hour to rush to the store. Two personal sized ice cream tubs and extra chips and small candy. None of it healthy but who gives a shit?

By the time you’d come back he was still in the very same position on his bed. His face was completely blank, his eyes weren’t even moving.

“Hey,” You leaned onto his bed and yanked the packet from his hands and tossed it on top of his dresser.

He put his hands over his face and said with a muffled voice, “Give it back.”

You simply said “No.” Taking the cold grocery store bag and resting it directly where his shirt had ridden up to reveal his bare stomach skin.

Tadashi curled up like a rolley polley and hissed. “Ah! What was that?”

“That was the feeling of medicine.” You reached into the bag and pulled out the orange-pink container of white peach sorbet and a metal spoon you’d dug out of his kitchen. Tadashi is lactose intolerant, he tries to refrain from eating dairy plus he genuinely believes that sorbet tastes better than ice cream in general.

You two were sitting on his bed resting against each other's bodies and enjoying your frozen treats while watching say yes to the dress, a classic.

“I’m not so sure this counts as medicine.” He joked and fed you a spoonful of his sorbet.

You asked, “Did this make you feel any better?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Then it’s medicine.”

He let out such a joyful laugh, smiling with his perfectly straight teeth. He placed the container between his thighs and started rubbing his temples. “Oh shit, I just remembered I have to break it to Honey that I didn’t pass. She’s gonna kill me.”

“She’s not Gogo, she won’t kill you.” You scoffed. “Besides, you technically did pass. You knew more than half of the answers! That’s more than most people know!”

Tadashi laughed through his nose and just burrowed his head into your body for comfort. “Unless you have a reason to be so upset about it. What’s your grade in that class?”

He mumbled something.

“What?” You asked him to repeat himself.

Another mumble.

“Baby, I can’t hear you. Say it one more time.”

“A hundred-twenty six percent!”

You sat up off his bed frame and pulled your body away from his, causing his head to go crashing into the wood. “Are you serious?”

“First of all, ow.” He rubbed his head. “Second of all, yes I’m serious.”

“You have a one hundred twenty six percentage in that class, why are you so upset over this test? It’s not going to hurt you that badly.”

Tadashi looked down into his lap and took a big spoonful of his sorbet. Between a full mouth he said, “I don’t know, I just hate failing, so much.”

“But you’re not failing.” Your voice was softer.

He shrugged. “I know I’m not but I just don’t like to feel like I’m failing.”

You held his face in your hands and kissed his forehead so sweetly his heart did a leap. “ I get that, but I just feel like you’re driving yourself crazy over nothing. You’ll do better next time and you’ll learn from your mistakes but there’s no need to lose your mind over this, you know?”

Tadashi nodded with your hands still around his face. “I know, it just kinda feels shitty.”

“I know it does, love. But it’ll be okay, you’re so smart and such a hard worker.” You pressed little pecks all around his face.

His face scrunched under your lips. “Thank you, hunny.”

You two cleaned up and just sat in his bed watching stupid TLC shows when you started slipping into sleep in his arms. His fingers gently brushed against your face and eventually coaxed you to sleep. No matter how numb his arm got Tadashi didn’t dare move so he wouldn’t wake you up. A few minutes later he’d almost fallen asleep right beside you until a small ding came from his bedside table. A text notification on his phone from Honey.

Heyy! How did it go?

[dontbelasagnax]

First, I love your art and your fics so much! Second, you seem like someone who has very good Codywan headcanons, and I’d love to hear some of them if you have any you’d like to share 🙂 (No pressure at all though!)

Tysm anon!!! I don't know what kind of headcanons you're looking for but I have soooo many always haha! They live in the nebulous realm of headcanons in which they are applied to every iteration of codywan unless they are not--for no reason other than vibes. All sfw but I always have thots (very intentional spelling) if anyone would like to hear about the nsfw things.

- Cody has spreadsheets for everything. It calms and organizes his mind. Helps him visualize and put the chaos to rights. When Obi-Wan notices Cody getting antsy and agitated, he gently asks him if he's made a spreadsheet recently. If that doesn't solve things, he'll offer to look over the charts together. If that doesn't solve the issue, he'll pull Cody into his lap, tenderly kiss any available real estate that needs kissing, and twirl fingers through his head of curls and massage away the tension. For all that Cody hates when his hair gets messed up, he does love being pet like a cat.

(the rest is going under the cut because I'm rather verbose)

- SPEAKING OF CATS! Cody is a cat person. This is nothing new, I just wholeheartedly know it to be true. It's only because he wants a cat so badly that he acts like he doesn't care for them. Obi-Wan sees through the facade. He saw how Cody looked at the stray tooka they rescued from the rubble one somber evening. How he cradled the lump of fluff and ran his thumb back between ears as if the lightest of touches would hurt the poor dear. How palpable was the anguish in his eyes after handing off the tooka to the surviving locals of the city. Even after he said, "Glad that's over with. Would hate to get cat hair on my blacks." Obi-Wan knows. So the next time he's on Coruscant, he buys a little orange plush tooka. It's tiny, only just bigger than his hand, but perfect. He ties a piece of flimsi reading '- OWK' to its neck with a ribbon and tucks it under the covers of Cody's bed so its head and front paws peek out. Perhaps he's a coward, perhaps he's just being gracious in letting Cody have some privacy in receiving his gift. What he does know is the next time he feels Cody staring long at the side of his face, he looks back and Cody blushes and smiles ever so slightly- shy. Oh, Obi-Wan loves him.

- Obi-Wan doesn't hate caf. It's simply not his favorite. When he does drink it, he likes it black. There could be many reasons for this but Cody thinks it's a superiority complex thing. Cody likes his caf with cream and two packets of sweetener. Sure, he'll drink any caf shoved his way, but what he truly enjoys? Yeah, it's not the shit coming straight from the dark depths of a Sith Lord's ass crack.

- Cody likes when Obi-Wan drives. Could be a ship, speeder--any mode of transport, really. It's not a secret that Obi-Wan does not like driving. With how calm and steady he remains at the wheel, there is tension in his jaw, bitten into his cheek, and clenched white into his knuckles. It stresses him out. But he is good at it. And he makes Cody feel safe. Cody doesn't get to feel safe a whole lot in the midst of war.

- Cody will never tell a living soul this (except maybe when he gets so sloshed he can't remember his name or all the reasons why he really should not lay out his honest bleeding truths) but his favorite color is not 212th gold. Yes, 212th gold is Cody's color. It's his. But blue is what he finds most aesthetically beautiful. It's the color of a certain Jedi's eyes in the sunlight and the unnatural glow of that same Jedi's lightsaber. It's the color of that Jedi's eyes in a dim room when he looks looks soft and tired, a blue that's more grey than anything resembling an actual blue. It's not one color and yet it is because he loves that color just like he loves that Jedi. He doesn't love the color just when it's pretty in one vibrant idealistic shade. He falls in love again and again when he sees it in new lights. Just like Obi-Wan.

- not to cozywan truth on main or anything but There's not a place Cody and Obi-Wan sleep better than in each other's arms. Or maybe not arms, per se, but sprawled across one another in some fashion. Touching. More often than not, in the tiny cots onboard The Negotiator, Cody ends up plastered to Obi-Wan's back, arm possessively wrapped round his front to keep him from falling off the edge. With the luxury of a bed actually made to fit two grown men, things aren't much better. Cody wakes to find he's being suffocated by Obi-Wan who, in his sleep, discovered the joys of lying directly on top of Cody. Cody's not innocent. He can count multiple occasions where he's buried his face in Obi-Wan's belly and woken up to being gently shoved away from his heated pillow because, oops, his resting place was a full bladder. Neither of them complain too much, not when it's so easy to be lulled into the warm, liquidy loose and easy clutches of cozy sleep in close quarters to the person they love. Something deep in the brain unlocks and says, 'everything's alright now, relax, let it all go--safe, safe, safe,' when Obi-Wan's cold nose finds the column of Cody's throat who's hand comes up to indulgently cards through silky hair. There's a resonating hum of rightness in their chests that says, 'home'.

[mooodyblue]

hello my dear lily!! no rush for this request at all but any time u feel like writing more cg!austin I would love to read some! maybe reader slips while they’re on vacation together. (yes I’ve been smiling looking at pics of kaia and aus in paris together 😭❤️)

sooo late but thank you for the request friend !!! hope u enjoy 🫶🏼

pastries and jealousy

pairing: cg!austin butler x gn!little!reader

wc: 1.2k

➸ masterlist

austin was a busy man, never seeming to catch a break. but when he was presented with the opportunity to go to a launch party for his perfume in paris—he took that as a perfect opportunity for the two of you to have a romantic getaway.

paris was okay for the most part. you attended events with him, went for nice walks together, and stayed curled up in bed every morning till it was time to get up. it was nice to have some time with him after such a long time. you missed this, missed him. although, there was always a strong pang of jealousy whenever he was mingling with others at the fashion events he attended. he was yours, nobody else's. seeing him give that dreamy, bedroom glance to someone else made you feel awful.

after coming back from a launch party, the two of you were silent in the cab ride home and austin definitely noticed. austin often joked when the two of you were apart that he just had a feeling you weren't having a good day, so being next to you? he didn't even have to ask if you were okay or not. 

he placed his hand on yours, resting between the two of you on the seat. “what's wrong?” he asked, glancing over at you staring outside the window. he got even more concerned when he saw your thumb slip between your lips—a habit you had when you were anxious about something. he reached over and grabbed your wrist, “don't do that.” 

you let out a whine in response, crossing your arms with a huff as you looked out the window.

he couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the pout on your face despite your obvious annoyance. “you feelin’ little, baby?” he asked, rubbing your back gently. 

oh, how you wished you could stay mad at him. his gentle touch softened you up, glancing at him and then down at your lap. “i dunno…” you muttered. before you left for paris, you promised yourself you wouldn't slip. not while on a much-needed vacation-that-wasn't-really-a-vacation. you didn't even pack your paci or a stuffie. what an awful time for you to suddenly regress.

“that's alright.” he pressed his lips against your temple and kept a hand on your back, trying to think of something to cheer you up or even help you fully slip. he had packed an emergency bag for times like this, except he had it at the hotel. but it was clear you needed a boost, and that's exactly what he was going to do for you.

he glanced out his side of the window, noticing a small bakery on the corner. never in a million years did he think he’d be giving you sweets for no reason, but he thought you deserved a nice pick me up…or maybe that was a valid reason.

you were surprised when he brought you to a small bakery, the fresh smell of baked goods and coffee filling the air the moment you stepped in. your eyes were glued to the glass windows, looking at the various pastries and breads the place had to offer. 

there was so much to choose from….various macaroon flavors, cakes, sweet breads—it was taking everything in you to not jump out and down in excitement. 

“....you hear me?” 

you stood up straight, looking at austin. “huh?”

he put an arm around your shoulder, shaking his head, amused by how had suddenly drowned him out. “i said—you can pick out a few things. whatever you want, baby. my treat.”

“anything?” you gasped, looking back at the desserts. 

“yes, anything.” he repeated. “i’ll even buy us a couple of hot chocolates, that alright?” 

you let out another tiny gasp, holding onto his arm and stomping your feet excitedly. “i want whipped cream!” 

he adored how excited you got over small things while little, he was practically beaming with happiness just by looking at you, unable to keep the smile off his face. “what's the magic word?” 

“please!” you answered proudly. 

“good job, baby!” he kissed your cheek and let you finish looking at the various pastries. 

austin definitely splurged a little too much on you, but it was a local bakery—he even made sure to tip well. he got the two of you a seat in the corner to prevent anyone coming up to him or having anyone take sneaky photos of the two of you. this was his private time, he wanted to spend it well with you.

he had a tiny box of macaroons and a box of various pastries to share. you're brain wasn't able to fully pronounce some of the words, so you pointed as he told the barista what you were pointing at. 

you thanked him as he set everything down on the table, holding the warm cup of hot chocolate between your hands. 

as you were about to take a sip–austin took a sip first, giving you a soft smile and completely unaware of the white, creamy mustache on his upper lip. you let out a soft giggle, looking at him and covering your mouth to stifle back a laugh. 

“what?” austin raised an eyebrow, “whats so funny?” 

you kicked your feet under the table, giggling again. “you have whipped cream on your face!” 

his eyes widened, looking at his reflection on his phone and turning red before going to wipe it off. “okay, okay. it's not that funny.” he mumbled, “eat a macaroon.” he quickly said to change the topic.

an eclair, tart, and a few macaroons later–you took a sip of your own hot chocolate, carefully holding the mug between your hands as you drank carefully. austin knew you were a bit clumsy when little, so he held up the bottom of the cup to give you a bit of support.

you set the mug down, your upper lip now covered in whipped cream. 

he chuckled at you, “how cute.” he grinned. “seems like my mustache has somehow teleported to you.” he dipped his finger into his whipped cream and booped your nose, “there we go, perfect!” 

“daddy!” you whined, dipping your finger into yours and getting some on his cheek. 

“alright! okay! i surrender!” he laughed, wiping his face off with a napkin then wiping off yours. “silly baby.”

after finishing your hot chocolate, he tossed the leftover desserts in a bag and wiped up your face again—clearing of any chocolate or sticky residue from the sweets. “you still mad at me?” he asked, wiping off chocolate from the corner of your lips.

you sighed, “thought daddy got sick of me.” you said with a pout. 

“me? sick of you? oh, sweetie.” he kissed your forehead, “you're my baby. i don't know what gave you that idea, but i’m yours and yours only. alright?” he stood up and took your hand, the other hand carrying the plastic bag. he led the way out of the bakery and back into the cool, crisp paris air, holding your hand as you wandered back to the hotel. 

your arm was hooked under his the whole way, eventually stopping to look at him. “daddy?”

he gave you a soft smile, holding your hands in his. “what's up, baby?” 

“‘m sorry for gettin’...jell–jel–jea—” you stammered.

he waved it off, “jealous. i think that's the word. it’s a big word, isn't it?” he crouched down, “a word that little ones like you shouldn't even be worried about.” he squeezed your hands gently, “i love you, baby. big or little, you'll always be my baby. are we good now?”

you nodded, looking down at him. “okay.” you hugged him tightly, almost making him stumble backward as he let out a laugh. “i love you too.”

[astroboots]

You are such an incredible writer and I love your Homecoming series!

When do you think Boa discovered that her feelings for Santiago weren't just friendly?

Stuck with You

Summary: It's the night before Santiago leaves for deployment.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you)

Content: fluff, angst. Young Santiago with his luscious curls who should come with his own warnings really.

Wordcount: 2,900

Homesick Masterlist | Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

If you're being honest with yourself, you've always loved Santiago. How can you not? After all, he makes it very hard not to. 

There are many things you love about him. That gap between his teeth that he's had since you were kids. The crinkles around his eyes when he smiles that started coming in after he returned from his first deployment. Those ridiculously luscious black curls that are finally starting to grow back from his ugly buzz cut now that he's home again. 

Been home just about shy of five months, and somehow it's already time for him to go again. Five months that went by far too quickly. 

Whenever Santiago is back it's almost like he never left town. You'll come home to him having let himself in with the spare key. He'll be bumming on your shitty IKEA futon. Eating up all the doughy cookie parts of your Ben & Jerry's you have stacked in the freezer (leaving plain vanilla ice-cream in the bottom like a savage). Reading your books that he always puts back in the wrong order on the shelf. 

He'll sit there, book in his lap, like he belongs there, slotting in so easily into your life it seems seamless. Making this shitty little apartment feel a little bit less shitty, a little bit less lonely, and just that much more like the home you actually want to return to. 

Santiago has that magic skill when he's here.

It's been that way since you were kids. When you lived down the road from him. Your mom would be working late hours between three jobs, leaving you by yourself, and he'd sneak over to yours with R-rated movies he wasn't allowed to watch. 

No matter the time, or the location, when Santiago is here, he fills up the space with his presence. He's always made your empty home feel less lonely. It's one of the many things you love about him. 

And when he's gone. When he leaves, he takes that with him. 

It's why the weeks and days leading up to his deployments always leaves you with a gnawing dread in the pit of your stomach And tonight? The last night before he leaves is always the worst. 

The knowledge that after he goes, you'll come back to an empty futon, an empty apartment, an empty home, and you're right back to being a latchkey kid with no one to come home to. 

Still you don't want to put a damper on his night. A night amongst a group of old friends, meant to be a last hurrah to send him off again. So you suck it up, you get dressed, put on makeup and you practice your strained smile in the mirror until it's not so strained anymore. 

You're just about to call for a cab when you get a text in the group chat. 

Santiago

Sorry guys, got a killer migraine and not quite up for it tonight. I'll catch up with everyone next time I'm in town. 

You stare at that message for a long time. You don't know how long you stare at it, or how many times you reread it, hoping that the text will change if you keep reading it, before you snap yourself out of it and get out of the dress and wash off the makeup. 

You hate the send offs, but you hate the idea that you're not going to see him on his final night even more. Want to clasp onto the last few hours, like the countdown of New Year's eve right before the ball drops, even if it kills you inside. 

There's no use moping about it. What are you supposed to do anyhow? Call Santiago and cry about the spilled milk? Guilt him into coming anyhow, migraine and all? 

He probably would, if you asked him. You know that. 

Because you're his oldest friend and he'd do just about anything for you that you asked him to. Except the one thing you want more than anything. Stay. 

No, the best thing to do is to cut your losses, settle in for a night of Korean dramas and finish off the Ben & Jerry's Santiago's left in your freezer. Distract yourself, so you don't think about whether he'll call you in the morning before he leaves so you can at least say bye. 

You throw your crumpled up dress into the laundry basket, about to put on sweats and a baggy t-shirt when your eyes linger. Santiago's left his army sweatshirt here. 

Rough and scratchy, it's the most depressing washed out gray you've seen. You're surprised he didn't throw it in the trash considering how much he keeps bitching about it. It's probably going to give you the same rashes Santiago gets if you wear it. So you don't know what possesses you and makes you take it out of the basket and put it on. The material itches like there are bugs crawling around your skin the moment you do. 

You glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror and almost burst out into a laugh.

What a hideous shirt. 

Shaking your head, your hand is already at the hem ready to drag it off and about to release your poor skin from the eczema trap when the scratch of keys at your front door pulls your attention. 

The noise stops your heart and has you leaping to the living room just in time for the door to open and Santiago's wild curls pop up like a whack-a-mole. 

He barges in pizza boxes first, beer crate second as he haphazardly kicks the door close, without any signs of the "so called migraine" he'd texted your friends about, eyes alert and grinning from cheek to cheek. 

"Got us two meat lover's special and your crazy peanut, banana curry pizza," he says as he strides into your kitchen space and sets down the three boxes of pizza along with an overly full grocery bag filled with cookies and snacks.

"You better appreciate this, people standing behind me in line looked at me like I was fucking crazy. You know you're the only one that orders this abomination? Pretty sure you're the only reason they still have it on the menu." 

"What are you doing here? Didn't you have a migraine?" you accuse and Santiago doesn't miss a beat, not even looking up as he unpacks the last of the grocery bag. 

"Is that my sweatshirt you're wearing?" 

It shuts you up quick. You don't say anything more about his miraculously gone migraine and he doesn't push about you wearing his clothes. Instead he reaches into the bag and pulls out a DVD cover depicting a sickle sticking up from the soil with dripping blood in the title: Children of the Corn. 

"What do you say, just like old times." Santiago smiles, and when have you ever said no to Santiago? 

So you roll out your shitty futon bed. Surrounded by a buffet spread of snacks: Doritos, popcorn, Reese's and spilled beer that will never wash out of your sheets. The movie flickers in the background, but neither of you really pay it any attention beyond the opening. 

You're too busy laughing at Santiago's stupid jokes. Too busy imagining the fury in his sister's face, as he tells you about how he used Martina's curling iron to straighten out wrinkles on his shirt and nearly got himself killed. 

Too busy cramming your face full of popcorn and loading up on greasy pizza into the early hours in the morning as you're talking about everything and nothing. The bottle of beers long polished, but neither of you inebriated enough to account for the way you're both slurring. You're both half-asleep. You just don't want to miss a beat of a second with him until he has to go. So when a traitorous yawn breaks out and Santiago asks if you need to sleep, you lie. 

"Not sleepy, just tipsy."

"What about you? Don't you need sleep?" 

He smiles, and you can't help but smile back at him. At the way his eyes are half lidded, and the messy thick curl that's spilled onto his forehead lingers. 

He shakes his head gently at your question. "I can sleep on the plane." 

There's a small pang of pain piercing somewhere deep in your ribs. Like someone stuck a thumbtack in there and you can't reach in and pull it out. 

Your smile wants to drop, but you fight it, because you don't want to make a scene. Don't want to make it harder for you both than it already is. You just need to smile and get through it. 

Not that it works, Santiago can see through your crap in two seconds flat. His own smile drops, the drowsy expression in his face much too sober all of a sudden. 

"What you wanna do when I get back?" he asks, switching the subject.   

Back. Cause he will be back, is what he's telling you without drawing attention to the fact that you're near tears. 

Eight months from now, you remind yourself and you try to compile a list of all the things you can look forward to doing together. 

But you can't think of anything, mind drawing blank. 

"The new Kill Bill will be out," Santiago suggests, filling in the space of your silence. "We'll go together. You're also going to have to come as my plus one for my cousin Diego's wedding in September. Otherwise my mom is going to try to set me up with some "nice" girl again," he moans drawing quotation marks around the word, nice, like it's a curse. 

"Need you to intercept my mom's nagging. Don't want her to go on about grandkids again. I'm barely the legal age to buy a beer, I don't understand why she's talking about grandkids like my sperm is running against an expiry date. It's not a carton of milk." 

You snort with laughter and nearly choke on your spit, and when you turn to look at him, Santiago looks way too pleased with himself at making you laugh. 

"It's because she's worried you're going to knock up some rando you meet at a bar one of these days, and then you'll be stuck with them for life."

Santiago just grins, "nah, the only woman I'm stuck with is you." 

He doesn't mean it romantically. You know that. But still you can't help the wide smile pulling at the corners of your mouth or stop the warmth that blooms in your chest at his words. 

Can't stop staring like a pathetic loon at his face when Santiago's eyes tilt up towards the ceiling, before his eyes flashes in that way it does when he thinks he has a brilliant idea. 

He snaps his fingers, abruptly and much too loud for this time of the night and nearly jumps off your futon in his excitement. 

"That's what I should do to shut my mom up! Just marry you! It'll be great — won't have to listen to her nag. She won't try to set me up with any more "nice" catholic girls from church." 

You don't know what comes over you. You know better. Should have stopped Santiago, thrown a pillow in his face and told him to shut up before he got himself too excited.

But you don't, because when you see the animated expression on his face, the way his eyes are wide open, eyebrows shot up with a big open-toothed smile, describing your hypothetical future together, your stomach flutters. Your cheeks warm when he tells you how your kids would have his amazing hair and your "angry looking eyes", and he'd sing your kids Metallica songs as their lullabies and you can teach them why Hemingway is a really shitty and overrated writer. 

He looks at you, waiting for you to laugh at each one of his fantastical details, as if he was doing a bit in a standup comedy. Like this is all a joke and terribly funny. Because Santiago is telling it like a joke, but you can almost see it in front of you. 

Two kids, close in age so they’ll always have each other and never have to feel alone the way you did growing up. A dog, a big one, and a fluffy one at that, that will shed and leave fur everywhere and Santiago will bitch about how it keeps getting into all his clothes. A house, not a gaudy McMansion house. It doesn't even have to be big or special, just a home. Filled with people that are waiting for you, instead of another empty apartment and a note on the refrigerator letting you know there's frozen pizza you can heat up for dinner. 

"We'll name our first after my mom. She will never be able to complain about anything about me again," Santiago jokes. 

And that's the problem with all of this. Everything he's describing. This hypothetical future that's your dream. It's Santiago's worst nightmare -- a horrible, disfigured joke. 

A house and a family that he is beholden to, and would never be allowed to leave out of a sense of duty— you might as well lock him up in chains and throw away the keys.

You've known it since the first day they met. Santiago has adventure and ambition thrumming underneath the veins of his flesh. Can barely stand still for more than five minutes in one spot before his whole body vibrates with impatience. His feet itches to take a leap and dive headfirst into adventure and the unknown.

You know all of this because you know Santiago, maybe better than anyone. So you don't know why you would open your mouth to ask him, the one question you never ask anymore. 

"Would you stay?" 

His mouth works, eyes still glinting with something warm and adoring, as if his first instinct is to say yes— and then you can see it, the moment that his brain catches up with your question and he realizes what you're asking him. 

Can practically hear the needle drop and pierces through the happy bubble. Can see the second that the laughter and mirth in Santiago's eyes dim. His words catch in his throat as he stares at you until he has to look away.

Because you know… no matter how much you mean to him. Hell, even if he wanted to, he would never be able to. He would never stay. 

Not for you, not for anyone. 

When words find him again, Santiago sounds flustered and apologetic, fingers running through his disarrayed curls in that way he does when he knows he's fucked up. 

“Yeah, no, I’m drunk. Sorry, just ignore me.”

An awkward silence that is so unlike any space the two of you find yourselves in, fills your tiny apartment. You can feel the weight of it sitting on your chest like lead. 

The only thing you can hear is the gears in Santiago's brain turning, as he's trying to find the words to make this right and fix it. 

Even in the dark you see the way his mouth opens and closes, two seconds away from apologizing, "Boa, I—"

Except, he has nothing to apologize for, you're just being selfish. You want a life that this man is incapable of giving. Something that you've always known and he's never tried to trick you otherwise.

You roll to your side until you're facing him, putting on your best attempt at a smile that you've practiced all day in the mirror. Then you give him a playful pat on his cheek to let him know that you're just fucking with him. 

"I know what you meant idiot. Go to sleep, you have a flight tomorrow".

Santiago's eyes are still homed in on yours. Wide and sorry, brimming with guilt. You can tell that he's trying to decide whether to untangle the tangled knot that he's accidentally stuck his foot into or just let it go. Trapped in the indecision of this moment. 

So you makes the decision for him. "Sleep, or there's no fucking way I'll be able to drive you the airport tomorrow." 

There's a hesitant nod, accompanied by a quiet murmur of an "ok", against the flickering light from the TV Screen. 

You reach behind you for the remote to turn it off and the whole room is swallowed by the pitched darkness. 

It's better this way. 

This way you won't be able to see him or what expression he's making. 

Except, that doesn't happen. Even in the dark you can see him. It doesn't matter that your eyes are tightly shut, cause you've known this man so long, for so many years, that you've committed every inch of his face to memory.

Know him so well that you know that his eyebrows are knitted into a worried pinch of  a frown. Lips pressed together into a thin line as he stares into the darkness of the ceiling before he can't help himself and those thick lashes of his flutter shut. 

Something brushes up against your calf, and then his knee nudges yours. 

"I really love you, y'know," he murmurs. 

And it's all you can do to stop yourself from breaking, to quell that ugly sob you can feel lodged somewhere between your throat and chest. 

"I know Santiago, I love you too." 

How can you not? He just makes it very hard sometimes. 

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[mrsnancywheeler]

my brain is still so fixated on billy taking his muse out for ice cream after a blow up fight….. it’s torturing meee ☹️☹️

like you’re so quiet the whole trip, drained from the yelling and crying and emotional rollercoaster billy always puts you on, but how can you still be upset with him when you’re in his car late at night with the warm summer breeze coming through the windows and soft rock on the radio and his hand on your thigh like he wasn’t just calling you the worst things in the world. your cheeks are still damp but you’re curled up in the seat with his discarded jacket wrapped around your shoulders, surrounded by the comforting smell of his cigarettes and cologne. he won’t even really look at you, but you don’t want to talk anyway. you know you could do better than billy dunne when he treats you so bad but it’s so much easier to fall back into his warm embrace, to fall asleep in his car, etc. </3

and then you’re at your ice cream place and he’s ordering for you because he knows your favorite flavor and exactly how you want it, so you don’t have to think about anything. you’ve had such a long night and just hearing the sound of his voice and feeling his hand in yours is enough. he takes you to the beach too as promised, and you feel so safe and warm leaning against billy with your heavy eyelids and ice cream and the waves crashing and the moon above that you’ve forgotten everything you were fighting about. at least until the next time he’s mad at you. sigh. swoon.

it's one of the times you're crying made him feel bad and he's not so out of it that it made him angrier. and you feel kind of numb sitting there except for the way hjs finger is rubbing up and down your thigh as his hand sits on top. sometimes you play with his hand or sleeve, but nothing is said. his eyes stay on the road, you kind've hate that you're letting him do this after all the the things he said and did. but his passenger seat feels like home, his presence feels like home.

he pats your leg when you arrive and opens the door for you by the time your hand is in the door handle he's opening it for you. smoking a cigarette as he puts his arm around your shoulder. he knows your favorite place to get ice cream, one that you can walk right down onto the beach from. the continued silence is kind of difficult, it makes you feel like you did something wrong, but he's not angry so it's okay. and when he's remembering all the little things you like, doing all the talking so you can just exist. and then you're walking down to the sand, looking at the water and the stars. he's sitting down, your head on his lap as he plays with your hair.

there's still silence for a while before he breaks it, "you know I care about you, right?" and there's a silence because he says that, but is this what it feels like to be cared about? "because I say a lot of things and I think it's just cause, I don't know, I'm scared"

"of what?"

"I don't know, that I'll tie myself down and then realize it wasn't the life I wanted and leave a wake of destruction behind me trying to escape it all. that I'll be like my dad."

there's so much you can say and you don't know what to go with. that he's already leaving a wake of destruction anyways? that you'll be waiting regardless? "you're not your dad, billy."

"how do you know that?" you respond with the only thing you can. kissing him, letting it say everything you don't feel strong enough to admit right now, that you love anyways, that you care enough for the both of you. and that you don't know, you have no fucking idea. and then your foreheads are pressed together and he's pressing kisses to the side of your mouth

[ereardon]

Part One: The Night Before

Summary: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Angst, pining, weddings, cursing 

WC: 2.9K

Series masterlist here; part two here

There was a knock at the door. 

You sighed and stood up from where you had been sitting at the desk writing your note to Jeremy for tomorrow. 

Maybe it was Anna with the steamer for your veil. Or your dad asking about the schedule for the forty-ninth time. Or your mother with an emergency that definitely wouldn’t warrant her reaction: the florist only has medium pink not light pink roses or the wedding planner accidentally wrote cream china instead of bone-colored china and now the three-hundred person reception hall would be wrong. 

Except you didn’t care. You didn’t care about any of the details. 

Not anymore. 

The knocking continued. 

“One second!” you huffed, scurrying barefoot across the bridal suite. It was enormous and you simply flung the door open without looking through the peephole first. “Rooster?” 

Bradley gave you a small grin. He was still wearing his jacket and tie from the rehearsal dinner, but the tie was now loosened and hanging around his muscular neck. “Hey Ace. Can I come in?” 

You nodded and stepped to the side of the door. Bradley stepped inside carefully, walking into the living room of the suite. 

“Shit, nice room,” he murmured. 

You shrugged. “Dad said to do whatever I wanted. And how many times do you get married? One night in a hotel suite isn’t going to break the bank.” 

Rooster nodded. “Yeah.” 

You crossed the room, brushing a hand over his back as you grazed past him toward the wet bar. “Want a drink?” 

“Sure. What do you have?” 

“Wine, gin, bourbon, vodka, whiskey, soda, champagne. Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Bourbon on the rocks.” 

“You got it.” You grabbed a rocks glass and dropped in a few large cubes from the built-in ice maker before splashing a generous pour of Blanton’s over it. Despite the fact that you had promised yourself you were done drinking after the rehearsal dinner, you poured yourself a glass of champagne and sunk down on the couch next to Bradley, holding out his glass. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Bradley whispered, tipping the glass back and pouring half of it down his throat. You sipped carefully at your champagne flute, eyes wide. 

“What’s up, Roo?” you asked softly, hand reaching out on the back of the white silk couch, touching him. He curled his fingertips around yours. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” he asked. 

You laughed. “Of course I do. You spilled an entire tray of tequila shots on my shoes.” 

It had been a hot June Saturday. You were out with a few girlfriends. You had just finished your junior year at Georgetown and were back home in Annapolis. 

You were standing at the bar, ordering another round, when the oaf next to you turned too quickly, taking down a waitress and her entire platter of tequila shots. They rained down on your feet. Thankfully you were wearing sneakers, so no glass penetrated your skin, but you smelled like the inside of a Mexican brothel. 

“Dude?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. 

Bradley Bradshaw looked back with wide eyes, cheeks flushed with pink embarrassment. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed and before you realized it, you were swept into his arms and he was carrying you bride-style into the unisex bathroom in the back. 

“Hey man?” you asked, tapping his shoulder. “Want to put me down?” 

“Sorry, yeah,” he said, setting you down gently. You tugged at your denim shorts and gave him a funny look. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“In case there was glass,” he said softly. “Didn’t want you to step on it and hurt yourself.” 

You peeled off your white Keds, which were soaked and now a faint yellow color, and lifted one leg to dunk your foot into the gross sink. “You just go around pouring tequila on girls and then scooping them up and hauling them into dark bathrooms?” 

“I, uh,” Bradley stuttered and you laughed. He caught your gaze in the mirror and laughed with you. “I’m Bradley.” 

“Y/N,” you said. “Now are you gonna help me wash my shoes or what?” 

He picked up the Keds from the floor and took them to the other sink, rinsing them under cold water and pressing soap against the cloth sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see that waitress standing there.” 

You shrugged. “It’s fine. Not the first time I’ve had a drink spilled on me. I’ve been to my share of college parties.” 

He grinned. “Where do you go?” 

“Georgetown,” you replied and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be a senior in the fall.”

“Georgetown,” he repeated. “Impressive.”

“Not really.” You switched feet, lathering the cheap pink soap over the toes of your left foot. “How about you, tequila boy? What’s your story?” 

“Naval Academy,” he said and you peered at him. It made sense, you guessed. He was tall, lean, and muscular. He had deft hands, you could tell just from the way he was cleaning your shoes. And he had a quick reaction to scooping you up and hauling you into the bathroom, despite your protests. 

“Just at the bar trying to sleep with townies?” you asked. 

Bradley practically choked on his own spit. He caught your cackle in the mirror and turned to you with a grin. “God, you’re something, aren’t you?” 

“I’m drunk is what I am,” you replied. 

He held the shoes under the automatic hand dryer and you watched in silence as Bradley rotated them evenly. After a few minutes, he held them out to you. “Not perfect, but it’ll do.” 

“Thanks,” you murmured, reaching out and grabbing them. You leaned against the cool white porcelain sink to slide each shoe on, bending over to tie the laces. When you straightened up, Bradley was staring at you. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, leaning back against the sink. “So, sailor,” you said softly and he grinned. “Buy me a drink to make up for the truckload of tequila you dumped on me?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Bradley placed his hand on your low back and steered you out back into the bar. Someone had cleaned up the tequila catastrophe and you stepped right back to where you had been standing before the incident, Bradley’s fingers still warm on your back. They slid off as he went to grab his wallet to open a tab and you looked up at him. He was attractive in an entirely unexpected way. There were small scars that peppered the left side of his face and you wanted to reach out and trail your fingers over them. 

He handed you a glass — a vodka soda this time — and you smiled at him. Bradley smiled back. 

And then a hand appeared on his shoulder and you looked up. A guy with the whitest teeth and perfect Dr. McDreamy hair stared back at you. “Bradshaw, who’s your friend?” 

He was gorgeous. You felt your blood freeze for a moment. 

And then Bradley’s voice pulled you out of your coma. 

“Y/N, this is Jeremy. He’s my roommate at the academy.” 

Jeremy smiled and you felt your heart speed up. “Nice to meet you.” 

You left that night on Jeremy’s arm. He brought you back to his room at the academy; you were staying for the summer with your parents and bringing a boy home that you had met two hours earlier would have sent up red flags to your father. 

After, you got dressed and left Jeremy asleep on his bed. You cracked the door open carefully, closing it behind you with a soft thud. 

And then you almost tripped on a leg jutting out into the hallway. 

“Fuck!” You stumbled but righted yourself at the last moment. Bradley gazed up at you with tired eyes. “Bradley?” 

He nodded and stood up, wiping at his eyes. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled and it looked like he had been asleep against the wall. 

“Were you sleeping?” 

“Just closed my eyes for a second,” he whispered. 

You looked down at your watch and groaned. “Shit.” It was almost four in the morning. Your dad would definitely be looking for you. You looked back at him. “I’m sorry.” 

Bradley shrugged. “It’s fine. Happens.” 

You looked back at the door, forlorn. So it happened a lot. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You had slept with Jeremy after three rounds of drinks. Why would you think that wasn’t a regular occurrence for him? You nodded. “I see.” 

“Y/N,” Bradley reached out and grabbed your hand. You looked up at him. “That’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “Jeremy, he’s a good guy. You should know that.” 

You smiled. “I needed to hear that. Thanks.” 

Bradley smiled back at you. “Well, I should probably get some rest.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I should go.” 

“Do you need a ride or something?” 

“I’ll just get an Uber.” 

“I can wait with you.” 

“You’d do that?”

Bradley squeezed your hand. You hadn’t even realized he had never dropped it. “Of course.” 

The two of you stood in silence outside the dorm building. You were cold in the early morning fog. You shivered and Bradley shrugged out of his ugly Hawaiian button up and handed it to you. 

“Here.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” You slid it on. It smelled like suntan lotion and beer and it was warm from where it had hugged Bradley’s boxy form. 

A Honda rolled up slowly and you checked your phone, reading out the license plate. 

“This is me,” you confirmed. Bradley nodded. You stepped to the curb and pulled open the door. “Hey, Bradley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

He smiled. “I hope so.” 

“Why is that what you’re thinking of?” you asked softly, taking another sip of champagne. 

Bradley leaned back against the white couch, sliding his arm down to his side. You combed your fingers through his hair at his temple and he shut his eyes. “How’d we get here, Ace?” 

“Get where, honey?” you asked. 

Bradley sat up and looked at you. “Here, Y/N. With you marrying my best friend tomorrow, in the ballroom downstairs.” 

You reeled back. There was a fire in Bradley’s eyes. You had seen that look before. “Brad,” you whispered. “What’s going on?” 

“Why are you marrying him, Y/N?” he asked. “Why him?” 

Your mouth popped open. Suddenly, it felt like the entire suite was devoid of air. You wanted to gasp but there was nothing to suck into your lungs. All that existed in that moment was Bradley.

“Roo? You’re not gonna believe it.” 

Bradley took a deep breath. “What is it, Ace?” 

“Jeremy asked me to marry him!”

He looked at your face. How fucking estatic you were. It had been seven years since the night the three of you met. Well, since the night you and Bradley had met, Jeremy had shown up out of the blue. Swooping in. Stealing the girl. Doing what he had always done. 

But this time had been different. You were different. 

You should have been his. 

“Bradley?” 

He looked up into your eyes. “What did you say?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I said yes, Brad. Of course I said yes.” 

And then you launched yourself into his arms, his hands wrapped around your waist, your fingers pressed tightly around his neck. 

You whispered into his ear. “I’m getting married, Bradley. How crazy is that?” 

He pulled you in closer. “It’s insane,” he murmured against your neck. “I can’t believe it.” 

“What did you say?” you asked, aghast. 

Bradley’s eyes were trained on yours. There was a hardness in his features that you recognized from all the times the two of you had been in difficult spots before. The first time he and Jeremy deployed together and you held both of them on the tarmac, tears in your eyes, your voice hoarse from spending the entire night before crying. It was the same look he had when Carole died and you had stood in a black wrap dress under an umbrella in the rain next to Bradley as they lowered her casket into the ground. It was the way he looked at you when you said the doctor found a mass on your ovary, only for them to remove it and confirm it was benign a few weeks later. It was the way he looked the night you had fought when he accused you of throwing your life away to follow him and Jeremy around the country from base to base. 

You had never been able to let him go. It was always the three of you. It had always been the three of you. 

Even when it was supposed to just be you and Jeremy. Bradley had always been there, in the shadows, never out of reach. It’s how you wanted him. It’s how you needed him. 

“Brad?” 

“Don’t marry him,” Bradley said. “Please.” 

You had loved Bradley Bradshaw for years. He was the best friend you had ever had. He fit so seamlessly into your life that you could barely remember a moment when he wasn't in it. 

He was the person holding your hair when you drank too much on your twenty-fifth birthday in Las Vegas. Bradley was there when you ran your first marathon. He was there when you and Jeremy bought the house. He was there the day you brought home Buddy, your labrador rescue. Somehow every single memory over the last decade has Bradley on the edges of it. 

He was also Jeremy’s best friend. 

“Most of you know me. I’m Bradley Bradshaw, best friend of the groom and best man.” Bradley paused while there were cheers from the tables of other Naval aviators. You grinned up at him from where you sat next to him. “But you might not know that I’m also a best friend of the bride’s.” He gazed down at you. “Y/N isn’t just the best thing that happened to Jeremy. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too. So it’s the greatest honor of my life to be here with you all as they commit themselves to each other. I’ve been the third wheel for most of their firsts.” There was laughter in the audience but Bradley didn’t notice. His eyes were still on yours. You held his gaze, unblinking. “Tomorrow is just another first for these two. Here’s to a lifetime together. I love you both.” 

Finally he lifted his gaze from yours and raised his glass. 

“A toast to Jeremy and Y/N. Thank God I spilled tequila all over her shoes a decade ago or we wouldn’t be here now.” 

More cheering. Bradley gulped down his entire flute of champagne and sat down. You leaned over and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Roo,” you whispered into his ear. 

His hand came out and brushed against the white silk of your dress where it sat on your hip. “I love you too, baby.” 

Bradley’s soft brown eyes bore into yours. You suddenly felt exposed in your thin white lace nightgown that you had been wearing when you answered the door. You stood up and crossed the room, shrugging on the matching robe, cinching it tightly around your waist. So tight it hurt. 

Everything hurt. 

“What are you saying?” you whispered. “I’m getting married in less than twenty-four hours, Bradley. Why are you doing this?” 

Bradley stood up. “Because I can’t watch you get up there and walk down the aisle to him.” 

“Why?” you wailed. “Why the fuck not, Bradley?” 

“Because it should be me!” he shouted and you froze. Bradley froze. The air in the room froze. 

“What did you say?” Your voice was barely a whisper. It was so thin it could break. The way Bradley was breaking but you just couldn’t see it. Maybe it had always been like this and you had never seen it. 

Bradley strode across the room until the two of you were only inches apart, his hands on your neck, tilting your head up to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since that very first night at the bar. I kick myself every night for not making you mine before Jeremy could.” 

“Bradley.” 

He dropped his hands and took a step back. You felt tears start to well behind your eyes. “I wanted to tell you, Y/N. I started to. A hundred times. A thousand. But then I saw how happy you were with him and I stopped myself. I care more about you being happy than anything else in the world.” 

He paused. You wiped at the tears beneath your eyes, the heavy diamond on your left hand grazing your cheek. 

A reminder. 

Bradley took a breath. “I’ll walk away, Ace. I’ll go back to my room and pretend I never came here. And tomorrow I’ll stand up there next to Jeremy and watch you walk down the aisle like the most beautiful bride on the planet and I’ll try to forget that I’ve loved you for a decade and nobody else can compare to you. I’ll do all of that, if you can answer one question for me.” 

You raised your eyes to his. 

“Does he make you as happy as I would make you?” 

A/N: This is a two-part series!

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[sommerregenjuniluft]

@hpsaffics feb 3 - time loop - 1117words

aka fem bartylus in their bonnie and damon from season 5 of vampire diaries arc (i made myself cry with this but also i'm on my period so who knows ksfjf)

“Hey, look,” Barty says, her head popping up over one of the grocery store shelves, “The small, pickled corn cobs you like so much are on Sale.”

Regulus doesn’t have to look up to see the shit eating grin stretching her lips as she holds up the jars of pickled corn with the impossible to miss, red SALE stickers that have been there for every single day of the past 3 months. She simply rolls her eyes and turns to grab an OJ out of the cooler, like she does every Saturday morning. Regulus believes in keeping a weekly and daily schedule in favor of not going insane, thanks a lot.

There’s a noise across the empty store that sounds like Barty put two of the jars into the shopping cart.

Regulus sniffs, ignoring the flutter in her stomach as well as the sting deep inside her ribcage.

She goes about filling her own cart methodically, absentmindedly listening to Barty mucking about wherever she is. Humming under her breath, bags crinkling, the sounds of the cart clinking against stuff. Barty has great spatial awareness in any situation except for the grocery store. 

Regulus still feels last weekend in the tender bruises along her Achillies heel. If bruises stayed that long she’d have enough evidence from a year ago to build a real case. They do not, however, so Regulus is just left with the knowledge of it and that hollow feeling in her chest like someone had a big scoop and Regulus’ heart was a tub of Ben & Jerries.

She continues down the aisle in a bit of a daze. Eggs, oatmilk, protein bars, Earl Grey, Spaghetti and Fusilli because Barty is a fussy shithead that won’t eat other forms of pasta.

They meet again in the snack aisle, Regulus rounding the corner and finding Barty curled over her cart, studying the back of a honey puffs packet.

She’s gnawing on her bottom lips, rosy mouth pursed to the side and the line between her eyebrows deep and pulled low beneath her fringe and Regulus watches some of the longer brown hair slip over her shoulder and to the front. The round muscle is bare, freckled, and so are her arms because last week Barty made it her mission to go through Evan’s closet and cut off the sleeves of his every one of his t-shirts. 

Regulus had been furious. 

She misses him desperately. Pandora and Sirius, too. The very first night she’d slept in her best friend’s bed, clad in one of Sirius’ softest shirts. Regulus doesn’t remember a time she’d wept herself to sleep so harshly. 

Barty had come and gotten her after 32 hours of refusing to leave the room and dragged her into a shower before plopping her down on one of the kitchen bar stools and making pancakes for her. Whipped cream and blueberries on the side. And then she’d left to go wherever it is she goes every single morning after breakfast until she’s returning for lunch.

She slips the strand of silky straight hair behind her ear now and then glances up when Regulus advances farther into the aisle.

Their eyes meet for a moment, mint and blue gray, clashing, getting caught in each other. Hooks sinking in, ripping at the entangled spots, and when Regulus finds it in herself to break away she feels raw. Chafed. A hotly throbbing ache. Burning.

Regulus looks around in the shelves but she isn’t really seeing any of the things. It takes a moment and then she’s taken aback when she genuinely can’t find the Ritter Sports party mix. It should be right in front of her, nestled between the Kinder stuff and the no name rows of chocolate bars. There’s an empty space on the shelf where they should sit and Regulus blinks at that spot in confusion.

Before she can do more about it the cold metal of a shopping cart grazes Regulus’ naked calf, jolting her and making her look up at Barty where she’s come closer, still lazily draped over the handle of her cart, now sporting an amused expression.

Her smirk is horribly smug and sitting a little lopsided on her unfairly beautiful face, “Lookin’ for something, Black?”

Regulus opens her mouth to respond but then Barty props her chin in one of her palms and cocks her head at an exaggerated angle, pointedly letting her gaze wander over the shelf Regulus is standing in front of numbly. And then up.

Regulus blinks again and then follows her line of sight automatically. She sweeps her gaze back around and up and then spots the chocolates where they’re perched on the very top of the shelf. Neatly set up over the row of Reezes there. 

All the way up there and impossible for Regulus to reach.

Her favorite chocolates.

Barty had taken the time to put every last of Regulus’ favorite chocolates on the top of that shelf with such care for order she’s never once applied to their pantry in the months they’d lived together back when they were a couple.

Regulus feels her browns knit, eyes burning with anger and when she looks over she watches the smile on Barty’s face turn wider. That’s about all Regulus is able to take.

Her chin starts crinkling and she feels her lips start to wobble despite the way she’s biting down on the inside of her lower one hard enough to draw blood. There’s nothing Regulus can do against the tears shooting into her eyes and the way her throat starts to clog up before, pathetically, a single sob escapes her. 

And then she’s crying. Full on, shoulders shaking with it and Barty’s smile falls.

She looks properly panicked and the cart gets shoved to the side, colliding loudly with the opposite shelf, and then she’s there to pull Regulus into a hug.

Her head hangs uselessly as she weeps into the crook of Barty’s arm and chest, deep heaving sobs as Barty cradles her head and holds her tight by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey,” Barty mumbles, voice strained, “I’m sorry, Reg, I’m sorry. I’ll get them back down.”

Regulus uselessly ruts her face into the naked skin, tasting salty shame in the corners of her lips.

“Every single one of them, I’ll get them all down, baby. I’m sorry,” she whispers, breath hot on the crown of Regulus curls.

Regulus finds her hands fisted into the material of Barty’s shirt, clutching at it numbly while she tries to swallow the sobs, “I hate you.”

Barty nods above her, “I know, baby,” and if Regulus didn’t know any better she'd think she hears shame and regret mixed into the words. “I know.”

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

“What hair product I think each svt member is”

Summery: a holiday fic that has absolutely nothing to do with the holidays! Wanted to try my hand at writing something a bit different and thought this was a good idea to start. Not really comedy but amusing none the less! (idk if what I wrote makes sense hopefully yall are picking up what I’m putting down) approximately: ten minute read

A/n: THIS IS NOT MY ORIGINAL IDEA! (In a way it is buuuutttt still) I can’t find the author who wrote the “what piece of furniture svt are” or something to that effect so they’re the ones who gave me the idea so if yall find them please tag them unless I do first!

warningz/info: mentions of pain, mentions of chocolate, I think what, three curse words? y'all let me know if I should start keeping them to a minimum or remove them entirely because I know some people are uncomfortable with them! I feel like the spacing between paragraphs is weird in this fic but oh well. no idea how this is gonna go over and im scared that I tagged it with "x reader". plus I dont know if anyone would read/enjoy it but I had loads of fun writing it! as always, if you did like it, please leave some love like comments and or reblogs!

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper. This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

•••••••••••••••••••

>Seungcheol<

gel. Sticks to you like glue once you find each other (romantic music starts playing in the hair care isle when you pick up your favorite gel) everyone has their preferred brand/ look they worship. Thicc. Either smells putrid and chemical like or good enough to transport you to a magical land of chocolate, pink grass and purple clouds

>Jeonghan<

he is a Bobby pin. And I will provide no further explanation on this except that he holds you together but will stab you lmao

>Shua<

an Afro pick/ hair pick. Its what everyone’s looking for: that little somen’ somen’. That little poof we all desire. Also scalp massages :)

>Jun<

wide tooth comb. My fellow thick haired/ curly haired people will know about this one 😭 this shit can be mean to your scalp tugging on your hair and UGH helps you greatly and is a necessity but damn… that’s all I gotta say

>Hoshi<

Refresher product/ moisture product. wakes you up in the morning. Gives you a reason to NOT look like you just rolled outta bed even though you did. For most this is one ofthe holy grails in life. What would I do without it? Makes us all smile even at 4:00 am because oh my god I look better after I slapped this in. Just all around a day-brightener

>Wonwoo<

curl cream. Grounding. Has many different looks n stuff

>Woozi<

a rat tail comb. Everyone should have one. Versatile, used for many different things. Good for every sort of job and is a natural to be honest and is small but mighty lol

>DK<

a satin/ silk bonnet. And no, not one of those that most  moms wear with the lace trim. Those end up at the foot of your bed by the morning. The ones with the thick elastic. I choose this cause it goes by many different names, just like him lol just has that comfy homey feel to it

>Mingyu<

hair mask. Made at home with some questionable ingredients. Seriously sometimes I don’t think he’s real lol 

>Hao<

a denman brush. It sounds to helpful and great. And it is great!…. When you figure out how to use it. Hard to figure out but once you get the hang of it you’ll never go back (another thing my fellow curly haired babes will understand)

>Seungkwan<

co wash. A little something extra, a boost of energy, if you will. a well kept secret but also a well known fact 

>Vernon<

hair tie. Easy to loose but also easy to find. especially in places where youd think: “why the fuck would it end up here?” Like idk man, but you should definitely check the dark corner collecting lint— that’s where they always are

>Dino<

leave in conditioner because with use over time it makes your hair (you) healthier

~End~

a/n: annnnnnnnddddd thats it! hope y'all enjoyed this disaster of a fic lmao if you liked it, please leave some love like comments or reblogging!

stay safe, y'all!

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