#fuck it. i can just suck it up and pick out a sandwich and some crisps or something; write my name on them and put them in the fridge

[fingertipsmp3]

I love waking up to a text from the assistant manager telling me someone I worked with yesterday is poorly (with what girl??? Is he contagious?????) and asking if I can pick up a shift today or tomorrow

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[whore-era]

1-800-GIRLS

☁︎ modern!ellie x sex-hotline-operator!reader, very small mention of dealer!ellie ☁︎ summary: where ellie dials the wrong number and meets you instead. ☁︎ warnings: contains smut! 18+ only. top/dom!ellie, bottom/sub!reader, mentions spitplay/breathplay/overstimulation, mentions sexual interactions with men, dirty talking, guided masturbation (r!recieving), use of fem nicknames (babygirl, sweet girl, pretty girl, pup, puppy) let me know if i missed anything else pls. ☁︎ a/n: i feel like this kinda sucked bc towards the end i kinda rushed it, but i couldn't shake this idea n knew i had to write it. hope u like it bbs<3 also thank u to my bestie @elskittie for helping me figure some things out w this fic ☁︎ word count: 4,463 ☁︎ 1-800-GIRLS part 2

phone call style story — reader is in italics, ellie is in bold.

monday, 12:45am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, hot stuff?

uhh.. i just wanted to order a pepperoni pizza..

oh yeah? you want something hot and ready? i have something hot and ready for you.

ummm..

you hear some shuffling in the background, "jess! i think you gave me the wrong number!" the person comes back on the line again.

this isn't papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

....do you want me to roleplay as papa tony's cheesy pizza place?

woah woah woah! roleplay?? who the fuck am i on the phone with?

this is sugar from 1-800-GIRLS.....a sex hotline...for you know? phone sex.

PHONE SEX?? you hear the girl's voice yell in the background, "jesse! you ass! you gave me the number to a phone sex hotline!"

"does she sound hot?"

"well yeah, but—"

hey, you do know it's $1 a minute right? you've been on the line for almost 5 minutes, babe.

HUHH?? hell no..ok thanks sugar bear, or whatever. bye!

the line clicks off, and you shrug. sitting back in your bed to continue watching your favorite netflix show. you feel your work phone vibrate again, the name flashing 'bobby', a regular who frequents the hotline.

sighing and picking up your phone and holding it to your ear, you take a bite from your sandwich as you answer your 15th call this evening, "thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you, big boy?"

tuesday, 2:12am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's sugar speaking. how can i help you tonight, cutie?

hey....sugar.. i just- er- wanted to apologize for yesterday. my buddy got your number confused with a pizza place we really wanted to try. didn't mean to sound rude last night.

it's no issue, babe. don't sweat about it.

.......

.......

soooo.... is that the only reason why you called?

ellie didn't want to admit that she was attracted to 'sugar's' voice and that she'd been thinking about it all day during class. but also, ellie was high as a fucking kite, which gave her the courage to even dial the number again anyways.

i— uh— well— how does this whole thing work?

what thing? the hotline?

yeah..

well, you call me, we have phone sex or talk or whatever, and then you hang up. again, it's a dollar a minute.

okay, okay, i get it. so we can just talk? about anything?

yeah, if you want to.

sick.

ellie takes another drag from her joint, before speaking again.

so, do you like doing this? being an operator or whatever?

you let out a laugh, which ellie caught.

specify what you mean by 'like'?

i mean— this is your job. do you enjoy doing it?

ehh...i guess.

c'mon. you can be honest with me.

well, being a sex hotline operator has it's downsides. obviously helping old men jack off gets a little weird sometimes — they have some unusual fetishes.

oh yeah? what's been the weirdest one so far?

uhhh..i have this one regular who has me pretend i'm a ghost. apparently, having sex with ghosts is a real turn on for him.

what the fuck. seriously?

mhm, it's true.

shit, dude....i don't think i could ever do what you do. i dunno how you can do it.

well when you have college tuition and rent to worry about, the downsides don't seem all that bad.

holy shit, you're in college? how old are you anyways?

19.

that's crazy. we're around the same age. i figured you were a bit older.

how 'bout you? how old are you?

21.

not bad not bad. you're way different from the clients i usually get.

yeah? how?

considering my usual clients are 40 to 60 year old men who are married with kids and have secret fetishes, i'd say you're out of my ballpark.

ellie laughs.

how do you know i'm not secretly an old, 57 year old man who's married to my wife janet with three kids? and i have a balloon fetish?

you let out a giggle, adjusting your sleep shorts as you lay back down on your bed, completely invested in your conversation with this girl.

well, how can i appease your balloon fantasies?

i'm just fuckin' with ya. definitely not a man and i have the more normal kinks and fetishes.

is that so? what are the 'normal' kinks and fetishes?

uhhhh....well i'm into bondage, i love tying girls up..i dunno, just seeing them open and vulnerable does something to me. i'm into breathplay, spitplay, overstimulation, and i'm definitely a dominant so—

all you could do was gape as the girl went on her tangent, listing off every kink she could think of. you gulped, suddenly getting a bit nervous from this topic of conversation. you were experienced in the field of phone sex, but actual sex was a totally different world you had no practice in.

so, how 'bout you sugar?

...uhhh....i'm a virgin actually.

the other girl went silent on the other side of the line.

what? but you work as a sex hotline operator.

oh yeah- but— hold on, i'm getting another call. i'll speak to you some other time.

you hung up and threw your work phone across your bed, laying your head down on your pillows. talking to men was so much easier for you, so why do you get all caught up when you talk to a girl?

it was nearly 3:30am, so you decided to turn in and call it a night, mentally preparing yourself for a busy day tomorrow.

wednesday, 11:45am

sitting next to professor adams, patiently waiting for the students to turn in their quizzes, you try to focus on the text of your 'philosophy 101' book.

you were grateful that professor adams gave you the opportunity to be his teacher's assistant for a little bit of extra cash, and you weren't complaining either. the tasks he gave you were easy for a mere $16 an hour. still, it wasn't enough to support all of your bills, so you couldn't drop the hotline gig.

"and time! everyone hand your quizzes in to my TA, regardless if you finished or not," professor announced. all the students shuffled towards the front, handing you their quizzes as you neatly put them in a small pile.

"ah shit— let me put the date on that," a girl, with a very familiar voice spoke. looking up, you're greeted with the most attractive girl you've seen in your life. she had brunette hair and green eyes, with a small scar on her right brow. was this..? no, it couldn't be. that would be insane.

handing you the paper, her hand brushes against yours. you look down at her quiz, seeing in messy, scribbled black ink the name ellie williams.

slinging her backpack on one arm, she heads out the door, "jesse! wait up for me!"

leaving you in a daze, you were completely speechless by the idea that one of your new, favorite clients from your nighttime job is actually a student at your university.

saturday, 1:45am → 1:14:34 ongoing call with 401-890-6798 (cranston, RI)

thanks, sugar. will be calling you again at the same time next week.

no problem, sir. goodnight. dream of me.

sure will, babygirl.

the line clicks as the older man hangs up, and you shudder a bit, feeling uncomfortable after having to roleplay as a ghost, again.

sighing heavily, you place your work phone on your desk and pick up your real phone, opening instagram and scrolling on your feed as you mindlessly snack on some gummy bears.

you double tap to like some of your friends pictures, wishing you were out at a party, drinking some lukewarm beer and dancing with your girls to the latest tiktok hits.

but instead you were cooped up in your apartment, dirty talking old men through their fantasies and bearing witness to their guttural groans and masturbation. it was a shame that friday and saturday nights were your busiest evenings.

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you ponder for a moment, your finger hovering over the instagram search bar.

fuck it, you thought, typing 'ellie williams' and hitting search.

the username @_elliewilliams pops up, and bingo. it was the same girl from professor adams class.

luckily her profile was public, so you take your time carefully combing through her instagram account, mindful not to accidentally like her posts or anything.

ellie's feed consisted of smoking weed, eating out, and hanging with her friends, jesse and dina. there were only two selfies she had posted — one of her and an older gentleman and one mirror picture of her in a grey hoodie and a light brown canvas jacket that made her look so good.

the ringing from your work phone caught you off guard, causing you to jump in your chair and exit out of the instagram app. you take a look at the number, and speak of the devil, it was ellie herself. she was the only jackson number that ever contacted you.

saturday, 2:10am → incoming call from 307-222-4578 (jackson, WY)

thank you for calling 1-800-GIRLS, sugar speaking. what can i do for you, handsome?

hey, sugar. just wanted to apologize for how our last conversation went. i probably pushed a boundary or something— i'm not sure if you're supposed to talk about personal things with customers— so, i'm sorry.

you let out a soft laugh.

why is it when you call me, you're always apologizing?

'cause i'm a fuck up, that's why.

nooo, that's not true. besides, don't worry about it. your question just caught me off guard, you know? never had clients ask things about me before i guess.

ahh, gotcha. so...were you busy before i called?

you shake your head, even though she was on the phone and couldn't see you.

uh, not really. my line doesn't usually get busy until...12 midnight ish.. it slows down by like 2 am though. how about you? what are you up to this friday night?

i just got back home from a party. business was slow and it was getting boring, so i dipped.

business? what business?

ah— well—

ellie silently cursed to herself, not wanting to scare you away with her current occupation.

if i tell you what i do, promise you won't get freaked out or anything?

you're talking to a phone sex hotline operator. don't worry.

you can hear her laugh from the other end.

well, fuck it, cat's out of the bag. i deal weed on campus and shit.

ahhh. i like that. is that how you can afford the minutes you spend calling me?

yup. i can stay on the phone for hours if we wanted.

maybe you'll be my only customer.

i wouldn't complain.

speaking of customers, do you want me to save your number under a specific name or nickname or anything? since i'm assuming you're gonna be a regular?

trying to confirm if it was indeed ellie you were speaking with, you sat on the edge of your chair, anxiety building in your belly.

what nicknames do your clients usually pick?

uhhh. master, sir, king, mister, alpha— umm and daddy.

something stirred inside ellie hearing that last nickname roll off your tongue.

you could just put me down as ellie.

got it.

what do i call you? do i just keep calling you sugar?

well, you're a customer. you can call me anything you like, but, for formalities and privacy, i can only tell you my hotline nickname — sugar.

okay, okay, that makes sense. you're not really allowed to have any personal or close relationships with clients, huh?

no, not really. mostly for safety purposes.

ellie was a little disappointed to know that she wouldn't be able to get to know the girl she was talking to beyond calling on the phone. she already felt herself getting attached. your voice was alluring and enticing, and she couldn't help but want to hear it more, and possibly put a name and face to who it belonged to.

but, i could bend the rules a little if i really wanted to.

yeah? let's see about that.

saturday, 4:45 am → 2:43:03 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

oh my god! did you and your ex get caught??

you were enamored with ellie. the way she could keep a conversation going and the stories she told — you didn't wanna hang up.

no, no, no, luckily we hid behind a dumpsters before the cops could catch us. it's hilarious thinking about it now, but we were dumbass 18-year-olds back then.

you both were in fits of laughter, your belly aching and tears watering in the corners of your eye.

as you calmed down, you couldn't stop your mouth from asking a question that's been racking on your mind.

so, how long were you and your ex together?

uhhhh, about 2 years.

ohhh okay........are you seeing anyone right now?

ellie lets out a laugh, and you can hear her smile, even through the phone.

why? who's asking?

well, i was just— uhh—

i'm just fuckin' with you. nah, i'm not seein' anyone right now. single af.

okay, okay. good to know.

how 'bout you?

nope. i'm single too.

seriously?? how?

i dunno. just never found the right person i guess. also, working for this hotline has made me lose hope for relationships in general, some of these dudes call me and say all this stuff — while having a whole wife and family at home.

i think you're looking in the wrong place then. try talking to people at school or going out to parties—

can't. if i'm not doing homework or studying, i'm working and doing this. i gotta make a living somehow.

ellie couldn't help but feel bad, knowing if she could, she'd support you full time and take that weight off your shoulders.

hmm, maybe you'll meet someone who could support you and take care of your bills and stuff.

oh? where would i find that? sounds too good to be true.

maybe they're closer to you than you think.

your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of what to say next.

i— uh— i have to go. it's 5am.

oh— uh— yeah. of course. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

sunday, 11:37pm → incoming call from ellie (jackson, WY)

hey.

hey. where's your usual greeting?

you're not a usual customer, so i think we're past that now, ellie.

ellie's heart thumped in her chest hearing you say her name.

good. anyways, what are you up to tonight?

just studying for a quiz tomorrow morning. how about you?

smoking, just finished some homework.

what class was it for?

uhhh, just this calculus class.

you clamped your mouth shut, suppressing a gasp. it was for professor adams class.

....uhhh, i could never get calculus. it's so hard.

yeah? maybe one night i can tutor you.

i'd be a terrible student.

i think you'd be the perfect student. i can teach you, i got you.

you couldn't help but think there was another meaning behind her words, but you didn't want to jump to any conclusions. it would be embarrassing if you got her message all wrong.

what's your quiz on anyways?

energy transfer between cells, it's for biology.

i know a thing or two about that. here— why don't we do this, just explain to me what you know and we'll go from there.

okay, i can do that.

you and ellie spent the next two and a half hours talking about cell function and energy transfer and everything else in between, with her correcting you and adding in important things you missed.

alright, sugar, i think you're ready for this quiz tomorrow.

you think so?

i know so. you're such a smart girl.

there she goes again, praising you.

uh, th-thanks.

don't worry, okay? i know you'll do great.

a smile curls on your lips, flustered from all her support.

you should get some sleep, so you can be focused and ready for tomorrow.

m'kay. thank you, ellie, for all your help.

of course. always. goodnight, sugar.

goodnight, ellie.

monday, 5:32pm → 45:21 ongoing call with mister j (corpus christi, TX)

yeah, babe? you want me to fuck your tight ass?

mhm, yes mister.

c'mon. beg, sugar.

please. fuck my tight hole, mister j.

ah, hell.

you can hear his belt buckle clanging, and the soft buzz of a zipper.

what's wrong with 'ya tonight, sugar? you're bein' a real buzzkill, 'ya know that? fuckin' turnin' me off and makin' me soft.

i-i'm sorry, mister j. please, jus—

yea, yea, save it. we'll jus' try 'gain tomorrow.

the line clicks on the other end. tossing your work phone on your desk, you fall back on your bed and stuff your face in your pillow. weeping into the plush material, you let yourself fall apart and break down.

but your sobbing session is cut short as you can hear the familiar ring of your work phone.

wiping your tears, you walk over to your desk and answer.

monday, 5:45pm → 00:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

thanks for calling 1-800-GIRLS, it's suga-

woah, woah, woah are you crying?

e-ellie?

yeah, baby, it's me. sounds like you're crying. what's going on? talk to me.

today was just a really, really bad day and then i opened my hotline a little early and one of my first clients just lashed out on me because i wasn't responding the way he wanted me to and—

you sniffle.

— and i'm just really stressed out by everything going on in my life right now.

i'm sorry. i wish there was something i could do— someway i could comfort you or take the weight off.

i-it's fine, ellie. talking to you is making it a little better.

ellie was silent for a moment, thinking carefully and planning her next moves accordingly.

do you trust me?

....y-yea, of c-course. why?

i'm gonna help you ease the tension. okay?

okay.

first of all, where are you?

i-in my room, sitting at my desk.

okay. go lay down on your bed.

with your phone pressed to your ear, you pick up your legs and stride over to your bed, laying down on the fluffy, material of your blanket.

okay, i'm on my bed.

good. what are you wearing?

foreseeing the direction this phone call was heading in, apprehension builds in your stomach.

ellie, you really don't have to-

hey, i want to help you. if that's okay with you. if not, we could talk about something instead.

biting your lip, you fold.

i-i'm okay with it, but i-i've never— played with myself with a customer before. i don't really do anything with myself even when i'm not working anyways.

that's okay. don't think of me as a customer, think of me as a...teacher. i got you, remember?

okay.

good girl. now, what are you wearing?

uh.. a tank top and shorts.

cute. take them off.

gulping, you follow her orders, shimmying out of your top and shorts.

done?

mhm.

good. so obedient.

i want you to rub your boobs for me. rub your nipples, pull on them, just feel the skin under your hand for me, baby.

rubbing the soft skin along your breast, and tugging on your hardened nipples, you bite your lip, savoring the way your body feels under your touch.

how does it feel?

feels good.

bet it does.

ellie couldn't stop her mind from imagining you, on your bed, perfectly naked. and how she'd give everything up, just to sneak a peek.

now, i want you to just rub your hands against the sensitive parts of your body. be slow and gentle, we're not rushing anything.

as your hands drift from your neck, down to the hills of your breasts, and to the edge of your panties, ellie speaks through the line again.

doesn't it feel nice, baby?

mhm.

wish i could be there, to watch you, touching your pussy.

you instinctively clamp your thighs, feeling heat rush to your core.

alright, take your panties off. slowly.

you slowly peel the piece of material off, looking at the small, wet spot that formulated on your underwear.

okay, they're off.

such a good girl, following my every command.

you gulp, her nickname for you sending shivers up your spine.

slowly feel the skin on your legs. stroke your inner thighs, tease yourself a little.

hanging off on her every word, you let out a shaky breath, the heat in your cunt growing only bigger and bigger.

god, i wish i can be there to see this right now. bet you look so good, thighs spread apart, pussy all wet— all because of me.

i- i'm aching. i need more, ellie.

i know, baby, i know. i wish i can help you more. if it were up to me, i'd have you bent over your desk, taking you from the back. fuck.

your mind drifts to that image, of her fucking you, taking you as hers. a stream of your slick begins to leak out from your pussy. god, you wanted her so bad.

slide a finger between your pussy, baby. let me hear how wet you are.

spreading your thighs apart, the tip of your fingers slips in between the folds of your pussy lips, the slick sound of your wetness echoing throughout the room. loud enough for ellie to hear.

fuuuuuck.

i-

you tried to speak, but it comes out sounding like a pathetic whimper. ellie's brain was going insane, she couldn't believe where she had you, writhing from her mere words.

go ahead, pretty girl. rub slow circles on your clit.

the pads of your pointer and middle finger gently rub steady, figure 8's against your hardened nub. closing your eyes, you imagined ellie, and how it was her hand instead of yours. the thought had you panting, faint breaths releasing from your parted lips.

your pussy sounds so wet, holy shit. you sound so fucking good for me. so fucking perfect.

as your fingers continue massaging on your sopping, wet clit, a pool of wetness gathers right below your ass.

how does it feel, baby?

f-feels amazing, ellie.

you let out a low whimper.

i wish you were here.

me too, pup. me too.

you can hear her heavy breaths from the other end of the phone.

i wish i could be there, kissing your neck. trailing my lips down to suck on your nipples. fuuck, wanna taste every inch of your skin. i wanna feel your pussy tighten around my fingers.

you let out another pitiful moan, only to hear ellie curse under her breath again.

rub your pussy faster for me, angel. imagine it's me, pumping my fingers in and out. would daddy's pretty girl like that?

you couldn't respond. all you could let out was these weak whines, yearning for ellie and her touch. you added a third finger, building onto the pressure and picking up the speed.

your moans sound so pretty. wonder how'd they sound when you're taking my strap. gonna have you cry out my name, yeah? isn't that right?

mhm, yes, daddy.

good. that's what daddy likes to hear, such a polite girl.

with your eyes rolling back, you could feel your orgasm building.

i-i'm gonna— ellie, i—

you gonna cum for me, puppy? huh? c'mon, rub faster, baby. i know you have a little bit more left in you.

your fingers speed up, the sound of your wetness gushing out reverberated in ellie's ear.

oh my god, daddy can i? please? can i—

arching your back, you knew you were close. the feeling was getting to be too much and you were about to fall over the edge.

look at my baby, so respectful and asking permission. come on, pretty puppy. cum for daddy. let daddy hear how good she made you feel.

that was it. letting out a penetrating moan, you rode your orgasm out and finished all over your fingers, making a mess. you were heaving, chest rapidly rising and falling.

god, i made a mess.

oh, yeah? do one more thing for me. suck your fingers clean. puppies clean up their messes.

monday, 8:57pm → 3:01:32 ongoing call with ellie (jackson, WY)

after your little self-care session with ellie, she took it upon herself to get your mind off of today's events, filling your conversation with stories and interesting topics.

oh, forgot to ask, what'd you end up getting on that biology quiz?

ughhh, i got a 65 out of 100. one of the reasons why i was so upset today.

seriously? how?

i don't know! i asked professor gonzalez and she told me that i was focusing on the wrong thi-

wait, did you just say professor gonzalez? holy shit, you're taking biology 201 with professor g? do you fucking go to school at university of wyoming? in jackson?

oh shit, you didn't mean for that to slip out.

i— uh— i have to go—

wait! sugar! please. hear me out.

you stay silent, waiting for what she had to say.

if we really do go to the same campus, please, let's meet up. i really want to see you.

.....why?

i just— i love talking to you. spending hours with you on the phone is what i look forward to when i get home. besides, i really want to take you out, on a date.

you bit your lip, unsure of what to say.

listen, if you want to see me too, meet me at the library in building B, by the comic book section. okay? tomorrow at 1pm.

....

i really hope you come.

the line clicks off, and you spend the rest of the night restless, tossing and turning, debating whether or not to see her tomorrow.

tuesday, 2:50pm

ellie eagerly checked her phone again, bouncing her knee in distress. her mind was running rampant — fuck, she's not gonna come. maybe jesse was right. maybe i was wasting my time.

looking up for the 80th time, she scans the comic book section, seeing no one else but some dude with his face buried in a wonder woman comic.

as ellie gets up from her chair, she turns her head, and she freezes.

there you were, looking like an angel who entered from the garden of eden. ellie's heart sped up, seeing her girl standing before her. you were everything she could've imagined and better.

walking slowly towards the brunette, you brush a piece of hair from your face, and smile meekly.

"hi ellie, it's me."

pls let me know how this fic was, i tried out a new writing style & read pt 2 here <3

[me-and-your-husband]

How bout Ellie fiending over a thick reader, Girlie with a dump truck ? 👀

I think papa likes her fat bottomed girls yk ?

🕷️

you're so right oh my god now i'm really thinking about it. certified thick girl™️ here btw.

warnings: smut, thick reader (specifically ass and thighs 🤤), swearing, ellie is kinda feral

even before you got together, ellie would be staring at the way your thighs moved as you walked, ogling your ass as you bent over to pick something up. (most of the time) she wasn't even trying to objectify you, but she went batshit crazy in the summer when you'd parade around wearing ripped up denim shorts, giving her more to look at. dina or jesse probably caught her a few times too.

"you've gotta stop staring at her like that, ellie. there's literally a puddle of drool underneath you."

she'd just groan and pretend she wasn't stealing glances at your ass and thighs out of her peripherals.

and she'd always be finding excuses to even brush your ass or thighs. once, you came back from patrol with a cut on your inner thigh that needed stitches. she had to practically BEG joel to let her stitch you up.

"why?"

"i've got steadier hands than you."

she ended up sat between your thighs, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from your body, the flesh of your thighs doing that thing when you sit down where they just get twice as big out of nowhere. she couldn't even look at you, but her hands were fucking shaking because she was literally between your thighs right now oh my god

or she'd go to reach behind you, pretending to accidentally brush your ass with her hand.

she'd never do anything too weird though.

when you guys started dating tho? different story

her hands are ALWAYS on your ass. everyone headcanons her as a tits girl, but i disagree. she's literally sleeping facing you so she can wrap your legs around her and she can just hold your ass. that's literally it she does not give a fuck.

i feel like she wouldn't touch you too much in public, but when you're around your friends? girl is all over you. hand in your back pocket, hand wrapping around the inside of your thigh, keeping it warm. she loves to just squeeze the soft flesh of your ass or your thighs, pinching it, sucking it, literally anything.

she absolutely LOVES when you sit on her face, literally drowning in your slick, caged by your supple thighs and her hands literally squeezing your ass the entire time.

it's to the point where you barely wear pants around her place anymore cause she'll just end up ripping them off of you so you can sit on her lap and she can massage your thighs anyways

you once joked about getting "ellie" tattooed into the inside of your right thigh and "williams" tattooed on the left but it actually turned her on a little

she'd never admit it though.

it didn't matter if there were 80 empty chairs next to her, you were sitting on her lap, and that was just how it was

your ass is literally like a stress reliever for her. whenever she's anxious she'll just pull you into her lap and feel you up. she has no shame in it either.

and if you're in the kitchen making lunch or something she'll come up behind you, squeezing your thick hips and ass, so drunk on your curves that you're asking her what she wants on her sandwich and she just goes "this ass is so good."

she definitely sucks hickies into your asscheeks too when you're fucking. like the inside of your thighs and your ass will be LITTERED in purple bruises from her mouth. it would hurt to sit down for a couple of days but you didn't care.

and maybe on patrol you get ambushed by a group of guys. you manage to take out most of them but there's one left and he's got her in a chokehold, and you jump down from some random corner and literally take him out with your thighs around his neck. yeah she's gasping for air but she's DRAGGING you back to jackson and not letting you leave her bed for dayssss

ellie is definitely the type to get so fucking pussy drunk, she'd be eating you out and then she'd just start like nuzzling your ass and thighs with her cheek while her own slick is just POOLING underneath her

something inside of me tells me that she'd call you "mama" all the time, no matter the setting.

"c'mere, mama."

"that's a sweet ass, mama."

"fuck, mama. love these thighs."

need this in my life so bad

part 2

permanent taglist:

@winters-fairy

@idkwhattonamethisblogs

tlou taglist:

@jordie-gvf

@sunxflowerxx

[xhanisai]

Uhh marichat where Chat gets Mari away from an akuma and she accidentally forgets she’s not wearing the mask when she talks to him.

~(x)~

.

He didn't even take the time to breathe and before he knew it, Chat Noir pounced on Marinette's frozen form and rolled them away in the nick of time. The nasty Akuma's razor-sharp claws swiped the area she was at momentarily ago at lightning speed and had the hero not been quick enough, well...

In his arms, he'd be holding Marinette "I'm-In-So-Much-Du-FUCKING-PAIN" Cheng instead and it would have been a severely gruesome sight. Thank the kwamis from all around the world that some good luck shined on him for once (but most importantly, thank the lucky charm bracelet Marinette gave him a long while back which he wore religiously every day as a civilian).

The Akuma's warning growls and oncoming form were enough to snap the feline out of his thoughts and by instinct, he picked Marinette up bridal style and sprinted away as fast as possible. Though, the Akuma let out one last roar of anger which Chat Noir managed to hear even after putting a few good hundreds of metres between them.

"I WILL GET MY REVENGE ON YOU MARINETTE DUPAIN-CHENG! YOU WILL NEVER INSULT MY BRILLIANT FOOD EVER AGAIN YOU BRAT!"

Wide-eyed, Chat Noir directed his greens towards his huffing good friend, the girl rolling her eyes at the Akuma's words and looking very annoyed rather than scared for her life. As if the whole thing was just an inconvenience and the Akuma's claws weren't literally millimetres away from turning her into a sheesh kebab.

"Marinette? Est-ce vrais?" He asked as he continued to leap from rooftop to rooftop, noting in the back of his head that the Akuma was now busy arguing with le Papillon in their head a good distance away. They were safe for now.

"He was selling mouldy fruit tarts! And the sandwiches tasted like they were made ten thousand years ago!" She folded her arms and huffed childishly again when he set her down on her feet, his hands on his hips and a brow raised attractively under the mask. "I told him this politely and tried my best to not make a fuss. But no! He started yelling at me and got all the customers' attention!" Her blue eyes then turned beady with its glare. "Then that stupid man tried to insult Maman and Papa, saying how can a stupid kid like me with parents like them know any better? So I said his food sucked and that even a five-year-old could do a way better job! Hmmph!"

Ahh. No wonder he got akumatised and had a vendetta against the pouting girl. Chat Noir could only smile at her endearingly, always admiring the way Marinette could get so fired up and passionate on behalf of other people. It's one of the many, many things about her that made his heart flutter and try his best to match her energy when he can. It's just a shame that instead of getting a chance to de-escalate the argument, le Papillon reared his ugly head and took advantage of the fuming man's emotions.

"Well. It looks like he's itching to dice you up and put you on a tart. You should hide before the Akuma--"

"COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE, DUPAIN-CHENG!!!!"

Just as Chat Noir was about to scoop her back in his arms and dart away, Marinette did a complete one-eighty and took on a strong stance. Fists curled by her sides, eyes now narrowed with determination and she stared down at the Akuma who was still quite a distance away from them; his giant but clumsy form still looking for her with a nasty scowl on his face.

"Chat Noir. Get to the rooftop on the Akuma's left and have your catacylsme ready. I'll summon a lucky charm once I'm behind him. I guarantee that the butterfly is in his apron so hopefully I'll get a pair of scissors or something." She was completely blind to the way Chat Noir gawked behind her, his jaw comically dropping to the floor and his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

He couldn't even utter a word.

"Let's go!" She ordered and just as she ran and reached the end of the rooftop they were perched on, her hand automatically went to the side of her hip.

When she didn't feel her yoyo anywhere on her and realised that she was still decked up in her civilian attire, it was as if a bucket of icy cold water mercilessly poured on her head. In pure Marinette style, her face contorted into one that screamed 'I FUCKED UP' and slowly, she faced her Chaton who was still gaping at her.

.

"...I can explain." She rasped weakly. Instead of laughing it all off and pretending nothing happened like he should've (that stupid cat!), Chat Noir got down to one knee instead, pulled off his ring, revealing himself to be none other than Adrien Agreste and spoke.

"Marry me. Now. Please."

.

Of course, Marinette screamed like a dying monkey.

.

~(x)~

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[shadow4-1]

Sweet n' Silly Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Headcanons (SFW & NSFW)

Ghost is a character who has so many different facets of his personality that he represses for one reason or another. Sometimes, though, he can't hide things well enough. Here are a few headcanons (NSFW Under The Cut):

Ghost is very picky about the masks he wears. If he buys them pre-made (which is rare - he likes to make his own, he can sew), they have to be a very specific type of fabric. Of course, it has to have all the tactical advantages, but it has to be SOFT most of all. All of his clothing is soft for that matter. This man will NEVER, I repeat NEVER, be caught dead in anything starchy or itchy or scratchy. Even his bed sheets are that crazy 1000 thread count cotton. He likes soft things.

Speaking of soft things, Simon carries around a very small square of quilted fabric in whatever extra pocket he might have. It's actually a piece of a handkerchief his mother sewed for him as a child to keep him from taking his baby blanket with him to school. It's old and tattered and stained, but he carries it with him anyway. It's been with him through thick and thin (and the grave). He doesn't need to sleep with it, but if he's severely stressed, he'll hold onto it and examine it for a little bit. Sometimes, that fabric feels like it's the only thing tethering him to earth.

Would absolutely love to get his nails professionally done, but because of his appearance, he doesn't want to intimidate some poor nail lady. Instead, he opts to give himself mani-pedis. Sometimes, if he's feeling rebellious, he'll bust out his trusty bottle of black nail polish and go for it. It's not like anyone'll see it under his gloves. And God forbid if you walk in on him painting his toenails. He WILL kill you.

Ghost has some interesting food habits. He'll honestly eat whatever if he has to, but he would much prefer to eat simple, almost childish foods. He likes things like pasta, sandwiches, juice, and pudding. God, he loves pudding. A giant bowl of hot mac n' cheese and an entire 6-pack of prepackaged pudding is his favorite meal. He KNOWS its bad for him and it totally fucks up his very specific diet he uses to upkeep his frame, but he can't help it.

Has an intense skin care and oral care regimen despite the fact that almost no one will ever see it. His smile would make you go blind because he practically bleaches his fucking teeth - and also because he chose to smile with teeth.

He's quiet for a multitude of reasons. Yes, it's because he's observant and wants to be in control of his surroundings. But it's also because deep down he's still a shy boy. He can stand up for himself and others if he has to, he's grown into that part of himself. But as for meeting new people, he's shy. He doesn't know you, and he doesn't know if he WANTS to know you. He'd rather just eye you up and let your actions speak for themselves. And that's why Johnny is one of his favorites. Something about a person who can outwardly show their genuineness is his kryptonite (although of course they don't have to be as much of a puppy as Johnny - take for instance Price or Gaz)

Absolutely detests physical touch unless he initiates it or it's fleeting. Handsy people piss him off. But a light punch to the shoulder, a tap or two? It makes him feel normal. Normal people aren't afraid to touch each other in that casual sort of way. Ghost is kind of normal. At least he tries to be.

Fucking sucks at flirting. He comes across as dry and uninterested even if it's the opposite. He just hopes the person he's interested in can pick that up so they don't run off thinking he's a prick. If they do then fuck 'em. Ghost is happy being by himself. He's been alone for so long, what's another few years.

Has a very silent praise kink. If his lover tells him anything good about him, goes straight to his ego. He won't show it, but that "I like being with you" went straight to his cock and made him puff out his chest. Of course you do. He's great. He's always been great. Now he's really going to show you how great he is.

Ghost is a huge scent guy. He's very picky about what scents he enjoys, and if he has a lover, he can and will throw out all of their expensive fragrances (and soaps and lotions, etc). His lover HAS to smell a certain way to him, and he'll supply them with whatever he deems appropriate. By the time he's done, his lover will have to adopt a whole new skincare routine. Smelling like sex is obviously one of his top picks, although once again, he'd never say that aloud.

He's a very, VERY visual creature. He knows it makes him come across as a creep, but he loves just watching his lover. He loves picking up on their mannerisms and their quirks. He loves watching their body move when walking or showering. He loves seeing wet stains in his lover's underwear and indentations of his teeth in their skin. He truly devours EVERYTHING with his eyes.

Gets aroused by the weirdest of things. Bare hands on metal, that section of skin in between the collar of a shirt and a throat mic, blowing bubbles in gum. Sometimes, he's hard for nearly an entire mission because someone's voice is too raspy in the comms. (And yes, he's an avid ASMR lover. Those tingles he gets goes straight to his dick and he's ashamed about it. He would absolutely die if his lover sees his search history. They can't know he wants their tongue in his eardrums - no one can.)

Rarely jerks off. He represses all of his sexual energy until he physically can't anymore. He knows it's because deep down he's traumatized. Pleasure is something he doesn't feel like he's allowed to have. His lover should be allowed to have it. But him? No. Jerking off feels like such hedonistic behavior. He feels like a degenerate after. No jerking off. Besides, the more pent-up he is, the sexier his dreams get.

He's always been afflicted by crazy dreams - mainly nightmares. Sometimes, though, especially if he's pent up his dreams get sexual. For the most part they're pretty tame, par for the course sex dreams but when he really gets pent up? When he feels like he's going to burst? His dreams get so realistic they might as be reality. He gets rough and possesive and fucks his lover into his mattress only wo wake up and have to come to grips with the things he's WILLING to do to them. He's so used to being disciplined that the moment that mask drops he can't look at himself in the mirror.

[sleepywinchesters]

for the smutty prompts— buddie somno? 🥺💕

Teeheehee (Also send me smutty prompts here so I can have enough dopamine to study)

Buck was exhausted. Bone deep, ready to collapse the second he found a non-floor horizontal surface. But it was date night. Working with your partner was great, except it meant that when work got busy there was no one there to pick up the relationship slack. So he was going to drag Eddie to dinner if it killed both of them, but he conceded the movie was probably a bad idea. No one needed to pay $40 to take a nap when they could do that at home for free.

Still, despite the exhaustion, Buck was glad to have time with Eddie that didn't involve work. They could talk about the weird fish sandwich this place had; wonder who would choose salmon and brussel sprouts when there was other options. Eddie fed him a bite of his pasta, chunks of crab and shrimp in a white sauce, and Buck sliced off a piece of his sandwich for Eddie to try. They had held hands over the table, waiting for the check, and kissed in the car for a while before heading home.

As Eddie pushed him up against the front door, mouthing at his neck, Buck pressed his hips forward and- yawned. Eddie pulled back, looking at him incredulously.

"Really?" he asked.

"Sorry. Sorry. Just well- you were there."

Eddie kissed him softly, backing off. Which is not what Buck wanted. They had talked about it before, playing with sex while one of them was asleep. The opportunity had never presented itself until now.

"I know. We can just go to bed. Have slow morning sex."

Buck groaned, pulling Eddie back so their bodies were flush.

"Or," he said, kissing Eddie's neck. "We can do what we were talking about a couple weeks ago?"

"Hmm?" Eddie was distracted, as Buck sucked on the spot behind his ear that made his brain go offline.

"We can get in bed, and you can finger me open and fuck me until I'm snoring then keep going."

"Really?"

"I've missed you. Want you in me, even if I can't stay awake for it."

Eddie pulled back, looking at him, seeming to assess his sincerity. He tugged Buck back into a searing kiss by the belt loops.

"Yeah. Yeah. We can do that."

"C'mon then."

Buck pushed him back, leading him to the bedroom, working his shirt open as he went. He knew Eddie would follow him. He got there first and had stripped down to his boxers when he looked up and saw Eddie leaning against the door frame watching him strip.

"See something you like?" Buck asked, teasing.

"Mmmhmm. Finish getting naked, Buck. and get on the bed."

Eddie pulled his own shirt over his head, and shoved his pants off, barely taking the time to undo his belt. Buck flopped back on the bed, digging around for the lube in the nightstand. Eddie tackled him, pressing him against the bed as soon as he had it. He bit down on Buck's pec, just to make him arch up into his mouth and moan.

"How do you want me?" Buck asked, stifling another yawn.

Eddie pressed their hips together, their cocks catching. Buck pulled him into a kiss that was more tongue than lip, tasting him, while Eddie ground against him. Eddie moaned as they lined up, velvet skin creating friction, smoothed only by pre-come. Now that he was horizontal, Buck could feel himself relaxing into the bed, eyes getting heavy.

The kiss got lazier as Buck settled. Eddie pet over his sides, soothing him, even as his cock twitched against Eddie's, and his hips moved of their own volition, seeking out more stimulus.

"On your side, sweetheart. Let me see that ass."

"Okay," Buck agreed easily, rolling over.

Eddie was pressed up against him immediately, cock sliding into the crease of his ass. Buck moaned. He needed more. Eddie was on the same page, reaching for the lube and popping it open, smearing some on his finger.

"Relax for me. Get comfy and let me take care of you. If you drift off, you drift off yeah?"

"Yeah."

Buck could feel Eddie's fingers at his rim, rubbing gently. The pillow was cool under his cheek, a delightful contrast to the hot line of Eddie's body against him. He closed his eyes and pressed back, wanting to at least feel his fingers before he fell asleep. Eddie obliged, pressing one in, the stretch enough to perk Buck up just a little. Enough to press back into the sensation. Eddie's hand wrapped around his hip, keeping him still. He pressed a kiss to Buck's shoulder.

He crooked the finger inside him, just a little, before adding a second and rubbing against Buck's prostate. Buck felt himself leak more pre-come, smearing on his stomach. He was comfortable though, thoughts wandering to how good Eddie felt inside him, how he was going to wake up in the morning to the feel of his come still inside him. No one else would take care of him like this while he dozed; no one else he would trust to.

Eddie was muttering against his skin, sweet nothings that drifted over Buck's consciousness, as Eddie stretched his hole. His whole body felt warm. He must have dozed off for a few minutes, because he roused when cold air rushed against his bak, and he groaned in displeasure.

"Hey, baby. Just getting some lube. Go back to sleep."

Buck was inclined to agree. He shifted a little, vaguely aware of Eddie coming back, pressing against him, lips against the back of his neck. He could feel Eddie press into him, splitting him open. Normally, he'd be pressing back into it, trying to get Eddie to go faster. Instead, he relished in the stretch, brain going to all the times they'd done this before.

Before he knew it, the slow roll of Eddie's hips had soothed him, his body going slack. Eddie watched his sleeping boyfriend, face peaceful, and almost stopped. He pulled out, only to have Buck, even in sleep move his hand clumsily towards him, trying to get him back in.

"Ok, ok. I got you. I'm so close, honey," he said.

Buck couldn't hear him, of course, but it kept him focused. A hot ball was forming in his groin.

"You're so good for me. I love the way you trust me, let me have this. Let me have your body. Gonna make you come without even waking you up. Bet I can do it."

Eddie moved his hips as fast as he dared. He could feel Buck start to come, walls clenching around him before his cock spurted. Buck groaned, enjoying the orgasm, even in sleep. Eddie wondered if he was dreaming. He paused, waiting for Buck's breath to even back out before thrusting a few more times, coming deep inside him.

Buck shifted closer, not letting him pull out. He stirred enough to mutter something Eddie didn't fully understand, but got the gist of.

"I got you. I'm not going anywhere."

Buck sighed, fully relaxing into the bed. Eddie got comfortable, sleep overtaking him too. If he woke up to Buck thrusting against him in a few hours. Well, they could both take what they needed.

[musings-of-a-rose]

Build Me Up - Chapter 3

Pairing: William “Ironhead” Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 4800+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Hey! Another chapter and it didn’t take me a year and half! A HUGE thank you to @mermaidxatxheart for helping me so much with this chapter after I stared blankly at the screen for so much of it. GO READ AND REBLOG HER STUFF!

**Reader is ethnicity inclusive despite stock photo bias

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Build Me Up Masterlist

General Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

<<;Chapter 2<<

“But what if they don’t like me?” You were standing in your closet, trying to find something to wear to the bar. Will had invited you to meet his friends and brother for the first time, and you were freaking out a little.

Will chuckles, getting up from where he was sitting on the edge of your bed to join you in your closet. He gently grips your wrist, pulling you towards him. His blue steel eyes lock on yours and you can feel yourself relaxing under his gaze. “They’re going to love you, Robin.”

“But-” He silences you with his lips, gently placing a kiss on yours, making you forget your worries. The kiss takes a sudden spicy turn, Will gripping your hip with one hand and putting his other hand out, backing you up against the only exposed wall in your closet, pushing you against it. 

“You know,” you say, breathless as he sucks on your neck. “I think my closet is the only place in my apartment that you haven’t fucked me.”

He chuckles into your skin and goosebumps erupt down your arm. “Well, we’ll have to fix that.”

“We’ll be late?” 

“I don’t care.”

—

Somehow, you managed to arrive only a handful of minutes late, his friends only having just sat down. They all occupied a big, round booth at the back of the place, a couple of them sitting with who you assume are their girlfriends.

“Hey, bro!” This giant man, somehow taller than Will, also with blonde hair and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, gets up and gives him a hug, turning those blue eyes to you and you feel yourself being studied under them.

“You must be Robin. Nice to finally meet you.” He sticks his hand out and you take it, giving him a firm handshake.

“Benny, right?”

“That’s me. Will won’t stop talking about you. I was thinking he made you up.”

You pat your body down. “Nope. Real.”

He chuckles. “I like you already. Oh! This is my girlfriend, Jamie.” Benny gestures to the woman already sitting in the booth next to him, dark hair cascading down her shoulders as she waves at you. 

Will continues for Benny as he sits next to Jamie, everyone waving as Will introduces them. “Santi, Tom, his wife Molly, and Frankie and his wife Vanessa.”

“Nice to meet you all.”

They all say similar things as you slide into the seat next to Benny, Will sandwiching you in between the Miller brothers.

“So, Will tells us you’re an archery coach?” Frankie asks as he takes a sip of his beer.

You nod. “I am.”

“That’s really fuckin’ cool,” Benny says from besides you.

“It’s my passion. Along with picking up hot men at the grocery store.” You smile and wink at Will, who gives you a smirk but raises his eyebrows.

“It better only be one man.”

“You’ll meet him next week.” Everyone at the table erupts into laughter, including Will, who squeezes your leg under the table, a small spark of fire igniting in your lower belly at his touch. 

“What made you want to teach archery?” Frankie asks, resting his arm on the back of the bench behind Vanessa, who scoots a little closer to him.

“My cousins were bow hunters. I never went with them but I loved watching them practice. I begged my parents for over a year for a bow and they finally caved. I went to the Olympics, actually.”

Everyone stares at you. “So you’re like..good?” Benny asks, his eyebrows raised in awe.

You shrug. “I guess. I got silver.”

Benny spits out his drink. “You won a silver Olympic medal and this asshole never told us?” He leans past you and slaps Will on his shoulder. 

“Would you have believed me if I did?”

“Fair point.”

The night continues on, everyone asking questions to get to know you better and you them, in return. Eventually, everyone starts having their own conversations, Frankie talking to Will across the table. Benny turns to you, swallowing the last of his drink and setting the mug down on the table. He speaks just loud enough for you to hear him.

“I’m really glad Will found someone. He really needs…well, you.”

Giving him a small smile, you reply. “I think it’s really me who needs him.”

Benny glances behind you at Will, who is engrossed in a conversation about helicopter repair with Frankie before he leans in closer. “No, I mean especially after the breakup.”

You cock your head at him. “The breakup?”

“Yeah. His ex fiance?”

Will had never mentioned being engaged before. It must have been a bad breakup, considering you talk about everything else. Hell, you’d met him in the middle of a PTSD episode so it’s not like he had to hide anything. Benny realizes his mistake by your silence.

“Ah shit. I shouldn’t have said. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. It must have been bad for him to not mention it.”

Benny nods. “Yeah. But she was older than you.”

“Older than me?”

“Yeah, you’ve gotta be what…10? Years younger than my brother? I mean, you did meet him at a Publix.” 

“Shopping was a pleasure that day.”

Benny laughs, his head flying back with the force of it. “Well, hopefully the old man won’t slow you down too much, Miss Olympics.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you quip back anyway. “I can assure you - it’s me having to keep up with him.” You wink, hoping the implication of sex comes through and are rewarded with Benny choking, coughing as Jamie thumps him on the back, his cheeks turning pink.

“I did not need to know that.”

“You seemed concerned about the age gap. I can assure you, your brother is a very thorough lov-”

“Ok ok, you win!” Benny laughs, pretending to plug his ears. Will turns to you, a questioning look on his face.

“Oh, Benny tried to poke at the age gap between us. So I was telling him how that is not an issue in the bedroom.”

Will blushes, but a smirk ticks up at the corner of his mouth. “Well if he didn’t want to hear about his brother’s sex life, he shouldn’t have made fun.”

“OK OK!” Benny laughs, plugging his ears again.

Soon it’s time to leave, Tom and Molly heading out first to relieve their babysitter, followed by Frankie and Vanessa. Santi had left a while ago, leaving with a girl he had been flirting with at the bar, which was apparently “very Santi”, and Benny and Jamie follow you out to Will’s truck, chatting idly and promising to meet up sometime for a double date. 

“So…how’d I do?” You ask, buckling your seatbelt as Will starts up his truck.

“I’ve never seen Benny that excited about a girl I’m dating. So I’d say they like you.”

You smile, letting out a little sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

Will chuckles, his eyes fixed on the road. He reaches out and places his hand on your exposed thigh, the warmth from his skin spreading wildly across your body as he gently squeezes your leg. 

By the time you get back to your place, you’re barely holding it together. Will had slid his hand further and further up your thigh and you nearly had him pull over, almost unable to wait until you got home.

But then, you had a different idea. You knew the first time you’d slept together, and every other time after, that Will was holding back, knew he needed to be able to let go and just..be himself. If you were being honest with yourself, the idea that Will was that good at making you cum and he was holding back turned you on even more. Jamming your key in the lock, you quickly open the door and pull him inside, the question of “Am I invited in?” dying on Will’s lips as you shove the door closed, pressing your body to his. He places his hands on your hips, pulling them flush against his own and you grind slightly over his jean clad erection. His hands slide up your body and you can feel him hesitating, restraining himself, his lips faltering very slightly against your lips. 

“Will?”

“Mmm?”

“You can stop holding back.”

“What?”

You put your hand against his chest, pushing slightly to get him to stop and look at you, which he does, his steel blue eyes blown wide and concerned.

“I know you’re holding back. It’s ok, you can let go with me.”

He hesitates a moment. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“I won’t break, Will. I’m… I want you to.”

A conflict rages in his eyes, making them look like a roaring sea. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Swallowing hard, you meet his strong gaze with one of your own. “I do.”

When he doesn’t move, that battle still raging in his mind, you push him harder and he backs up, momentarly stunned at your bold move.

“Let go, Will.”

“You don’t know…you-”

This time, you shove him a little harder and he takes a few steps back, his eyes darkening, chest rising and falling a little faster. Another good push and his back hits the wall, and he lets out a huff of air, the resolve in him nearly breaking.

“I don’t always realize how rough I can be. I don’t want to hurt you, Robin.”

You place both of your palms on his strong chest and look up into his eyes. “I’m a strong girl, Will. I trust you.”

He glances away from you and you lean up to whisper in his ear. “I want this. I want you, Will. All of you.” Your lips find his neck and you start to suck on his skin, but a second later, Will’s iron grip squeezes into your hips and somehow you’re flipped, back pushed against the wall, Will so close to you as he shoves his leg between yours, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, applying a slight pressure, which surprisingly sends a rush of wanton heat between your thighs. His eyes are the darkest you’ve ever seen them and you know you’ve finally got him to give in. He’s still your Will, but in this brief moment, you feel like you’re finally seeing the last little part of him that he so desperately wanted to share but felt that he couldn’t. 

“You wanna be my little fuck toy, is that it?”

"Yes, sir," you breathe out and Will pushes himself closer to you, a growl in the back of his throat at your nickname for him. He leans towards your ear, speaking low.

"Safe word is fruit loops." He stares at you, waiting for confirmation that you heard him. When you give him a slight nod, he smirks, pressing his lips to yours, his large hand sliding up your throat to grip your jaw, pressing his fingers into your skin to open your mouth so he can slide his tongue inside. 

Your hands fist in the front of his shirt and when Will’s lips leave yours to suck a spot on your neck, you moan, fingers twisting into his hair. When you give it a little tug, Will sucks hard on your neck, dropping the skin and pulling back to look at his work, watching the mark rise to the surface of your skin. The corner of his mouth ticks up, smirking as he roughly grips your jaw again, turning your face up to his. 

“Bedroom. Wanna fuck this pretty girl into the bed.”

A rush of arousal blooms between your legs and you nod. Will lets go of you, taking a step back to give you room to move. Taking a step past him, you glance at him over your shoulder and give him a tiny smirk before turning and running full out towards your room. Heavy footsteps thud on the floor behind you and Will’s fingers grip your arm tight just before you make it to your bedroom. He pulls you back to him roughly with one hand, his other coming up to tangle in your hair, tugging hard on it to pull your head back. 

“Thought you’d run? That you could be faster than me?” You try to shake your head, but he just grips you tighter, pushing you forward into your room. His grip on you is strong, and when he pulls your head to the side even more and sinks his teeth into your neck, you moan loudly, loving the way he laps at you after to soothe the spot. He releases your hair and shoves you forward, your hands slapping on the bed to stop yourself from planting your face in it. He pushes you up onto the bed, gripping your hips and flipping you on your back. He stands up, ripping the shirt from his chisled form and for a moment, you forgot where you were, the dim light from you bedroom nightlight bouncing off his abs.

He pushes your shirt up and you half sit up, allowing him to yank it from your body, quickly followed by your bra. He drops to your chest, taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking hard, gently biting down on your nipple while his hand grabs your other tit and squeezes it. 

“Oh!” You gasp, moaning when he pulls back and starts to suck little hickeys across your chest. When he’s satisfied with his work, he sits up, yanking your pants open and dragging them down your legs. You decide to play a little and fight him on this, wiggling your legs to make it more difficult. This seems to spur him on and he growls, one hand pushing down on your hips to still you and the other yanking your pants off, his muscles rippling under the pressure. Your panties don’t fare as well and Will literally rips them in half and tosses them over his shoulder, staring down at you with hungry eyes. 

Will pushes your legs apart, holding them in place with his large hands as he kisses around where you need him most, tracing his nose along your inner thigh before he latches on, sucking on your skin and then licking it, watching the hickey rise to the surface. He does this a few more times and you moan his name, gasping when he finally latches onto your clit. You expected him to be rough here, but it was quite the opposite, gentle strokes of his tongue, little taps, and soft sounds vibrating out from him shove you right to the edge. Your legs start to tremble and then he’s gone, lifting his head from you before you had your release. 

“You’ll cum when I say you can.”

A rush of heat races to your cunt and you try to close your legs to relieve some of the pressure that he had built up. But Will pushes your legs apart again, shaking his head. “Legs open. I want to watch you touch yourself. But don’t cum.”

Nodding, you glide your fingers down your naked body, touching yourself in the way that only you know best. Will watches you for a minute, palming himself over his jeans before he takes them off, his boxers quickly following. He’s already hard and leaking and oh you can feel your release coming. If you could just keep-

Will slaps your hand away, so in tune with your body that he knew what you were doing. “I said no cumming. Not yet, pretty girl.” He crawls up the bed, hovering over your body as he grips your wrists, pinning them on either side of your head. Your legs open wider to give him more space and he thrusts in you with one push of his hips and you scream his name, wet enough to accept him but the force of it catching you off guard. He doesn’t give you more than a second to adjust before he’s rutting into you, your hips pounding into the bed, your breaths coming out in short whispers. Will moves both of your wrists to one of his hands, the other coming down to grip your throat. He doesn’t squeeze you hard, just barely any pressure is applied, and he slows his hips for a moment, staring into your eyes as you try to catch your breath, your mind reeling from how good you feel. But through your daze, the message is clear: 

“Mine.”

He says it so quietly, which is in stark contrast with the rough way he fucks you that it takes you a moment to realize what he said. You nod and breathe out a reply. 

“Yours.”

He kisses you gently, his hips stopping for just a moment as he pulls out slowly, pushing in gently and adding in a thrust of his hips when he bottoms out. He hits a spot at the back of you and you break the kiss to whimper, mouth hanging open as he tugs on your lip with his teeth. He continues to fuck you like this, and you wrap your legs around him, pushing him into your harder. He picks up the pace slightly and you can feel yourself start to leap over the edge…But then Will yanks himself out of you, sitting up on your hips.

“No,” he says, his voice a little rough. He scoots back and grabs your legs, pulling you closer to him before he flips you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up. He brings his hand down on your ass with a smack! And you cry out, burying your face in the blanket. He massages the spot after, but spanks you twice more, kissing the spot after the last hit. He nips at you, his teeth grazing across your skin before he sits up, getting into position behind you. He grabs your arms and pulls them behind your back, holding them in one strong grip and with his other hand, he twists his fingers into your hair and pulls your head up, thrusting into you when he does, chuckling darkly when you cry out.

“That’s right. You’re just gonna take it, pretty girl. Be my little slut. Letting me fuck you how I want to.” The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes loudly in the quiet room, interrupted only by your whimpers and moans, and Will whispering dirty things into your ears. By this time, you’re so wound from being edged that you start to cry a little. When Will hears the shift in your tone his hips stop, but you cry out. “No! Don’t stop!”

Hesitantly, he starts to fuck you again, setting the same rough pace he had been before. Your arms are cramping and your head hurts from where he’s gripping your hair, but you don’t care. Everything about this pushing you towards the edge, the way he fucks you, the sounds he’s making inbetween his words, all of it and you just want to cum. Will seems to sense this and says “Beg me to let you cum.”

“Ungh please!” He tugs on your hair tighter, his hips rutting into you impossibly deeper and harder. “Please let me cum, sir!” He leans over you, changing the angle as he pulls your head up, rutting right against both of your favorite spots.

“Cum for me, my pretty little slut.”

And you do. You cum hard, mouth open and spewing random sounds and words, Will’s name tumbling from your lips as your body shakes with the force of it all. Your limbs are on fire, your entire body lit up as he continues to fuck you through it, watching your face contort as you clench around him. A few thrusts later and he cums too, biting down on your shoulder, grunting into you as his hips push into your haphazardly. He releases  your shoulder, dropping his forehead to it as you both just breathe for a moment. He unwinds his fingers from your hair and drops your arms, guiding them to your sides before he grips your hips, pulling out with a grunt. Somehow, you manage to roll onto your back, chest heaving and eyes closed. You’d never cum that hard in your entire life - not even with your own fingers or a toy. 

Will had definitely been holding back and you can’t wait to do that again. Maybe next time, you’ll suggest restraints, having always wanted to try them but never being with someone you trusted enough to do it with. Until now. It’s after this thought that you realize the room is dead quiet. Cracking open an eye, you see Will standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes raking over your body in a very different emotion than what he previously had.

“Will?”

His eyes are watery as he stares at your body. “I..I am so sorry, Robin. I never..I didn’t mean to…fuck I’m so sorry.” He’s looking frantic and you’re not sure why, your eyebrows coming together in confusion.

“I don’t understand?”

“I’ll…I’ll make you a bath, whatever you want. God, I’m so sorry.”

Will pulls on his boxers and races to your bathroom before you can ask him just what the fuck he’s on about, that that was the best sex you’ve ever had. You hear your bathtub being filled and a few minutes later, Will remerges, standing beside your bed and looking down at your still naked body, looking extremely unsure of himself. He hesitates briefly before leaning over and gently picking you up, carrying you to the bathroom where he carefully places you in the bathtub. The warm water makes you sigh and you close your eyes, wiggling down into the warmth. 

“Do…do you want me to wash you?” 

“You want to wash me?”

“It’s the least I can do after…” Will’s voice trails away uncertainly. He picks up your loofah and adds some soap, picking up your limbs like they were made of paper and softly scrubbing at your skin. There are places where you pull back from him involuntarily and you can feel him hesitating after each one. Finally, you drag your eyes open and watch his face, full of concentration on the task at hand, but worry is predominant, along with…guilt?

“Will? Are you ok?”

“I should have never done that.”

You grab his wrist, stilling his movement. “Not done what?”

His eyes don’t meet yours. Instead, they look at the same spots he’s been looking at on your body. “I shouldn’t have let go. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Robin.”

“What are you on about?”

“It’s me. I’m fucked up, Robin. Not right in the head. I went too far and I hurt you and I-”

You sit up quickly, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you place both of your wet hands on his cheeks. When he doesn’t look at you, you press your lips lightly to his. 

“I’m not sorry, Will. That was…I’ve never cum that hard ever. I loved every minute of it.”

“But I hurt you-”

“You didn’t, though. I mean, yeah I’m probably going to be a little sore and you for sure left some marks on me, but guess what? I want it all. The soreness, the marks, all of it reminds me of you. And you are the one thing I can’t get enough of.” You slide your fingers through his hair, resting at the back of his neck. You tug it a little but he still doesn’t look up. A sudden thought crosses your mind. What if…

“Was it enough for you, Will?” That gets his attention. His eyes snap to yours, watery but puzzled. 

“Enough? For me? When I’ve done all of this to you?” He gestures down at your body. 

“I asked you for it, Will. I have no regrets. It was amazing.”

“I left so many marks, so many bruises, I…I…”

“Will-”

He sits up quickly and leaves the bathroom and you try to stand a little too quick, all of the soreness from sex starting to present themselves. Stepping out of the shower, you quickly dry off, pausing when you finally look at yourself in the mirror, now realizing why Will was upset. Your body is littered with marks, bites, hickies, and light bruises are splattered across your skin, making you look like you had been through the ringer. No wonder Will was upset. You quickly grab a shirt off the back of the door that Will had left there when he slept over the last time and pull it over your head before opening the door. Will was still there, trying to find the rest of his clothes, obviously in a panic. 

“Will?”

“I..I’m sorry. I’ll just leave. I won’t bother you again.”

“Will.”

“It’s my fault. I should’ve said no, and I didn’t. I just…you’re so hot and I like you a lot and I just-”

“Will.” You walk up to him and lightly take his hand, squeezing his fingers. He stops moving, staring down at your joined hands. He allows you to pull him to the bed and sits at the edge when you give him a little push down. 

“Can you tell me where you are?” You ask calmly, placing your hand on his thigh and squeezing it.

It takes him a few minutes to reply, a deep breath puffing out from between his lips. “I was engaged before. It was a year or so after I got out. I wanted to marry the girl that had stood by my side during the last couple tours I had. She was great, laughed at my jokes, said she liked my weird thing with numbers, and she didn’t run when I had nightmares. I um…she told me one night that she wanted things rougher. That she knew I could be rougher and that I wanted it. That she wouldn’t break.” Will takes another deep breath, his eyes on his hands in his lap, picking at the skin around his nails. “After, she…she pulled away from me. I could see fear in her eyes. She called me a freak, said that this much…aggression wasn’t normal and she couldn’t…couldn’t look at me the same way anymore. She…she left me, telling me she never wanted to see me again. And what could I say? Her body was nearly all black and blue from me and she…I don’t remember her saying the safe word, but she says she did and I ignored her? I wouldn’t…I would’ve stopped. She didn’t say it…did she?” Will speaks the last words to himself and my heart hurts as I watch a couple of tears plop onto his hands. “Anyway, I promised myself that I would never do that again. I couldn’t…I don’t know my own strength and..but then you asked me, begged me, and I just lost myself in you and I’m so fucking sorry, Robin.” He turns his head up to look at you, tears falling down his cheeks. You cup his face in one hand and he jumps slightly, as if he was expecting you to slap him for some reason.

“William Miller. You are a good man.”

He lets out a puff of air and shrugs, but you call his attention back to you. “And I’m sorry. No, I am. I didn’t know…but I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just wanted you to be yourself, all of yourself, and I knew you were holding back. And honestly part of me-ok, a lot of me- was turned on by what you could be holding back. I have never cum that hard in my entire life and I certainly want you to do that again, but only if you want to. I’ve never trusted anyone well enough to talk about this but…you make me feel safe. Like I can tell you anything. And I know that may sound crazy since we haven’t known each other that long but it’s true. And I’m sorry not sorry, but your ex sounds like a bitch.”

Will laughs at that last statement, wiping the tears from his eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing at your confession.

“You’re really ok?”

“I’m really ok. A little sore, but a good sore. We'll have to do that again."

Will raises his eyebrows, a slight glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You wanna do that again? Really?"

"Uh yeah!"

"Even though it's not…"

"Not what?"

He hesitates, eyes dropping from yours and speaking in such a quiet voice you almost miss it.  "Normal?"

You cup his cheek, gently turning his face up so he's looking at you. 

"I really care about you, Will. Like,  a ridiculous amount. Maybe more, I…anyway,  when you care about someone, and you are together, that includes all of them. Even the darker parts. That doesn't make you any less of a good man."

Will nods, blinking a few times to clear his eyes. "I really…care about you too, Robin. Like a ridiculous amount. "

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "So…will you stay?”

“You want me to stay?”

“Of course. Who else am I going to con into making me breakfast and carrying me around?”

Will chuckles and climbs into bed behind you, pulling you close to his chest, grunting when you wiggle your ass against his now semi hard cock. A few minutes goes by, Will nuzzling his nose into your hair and breathing you in.

“You make me feel safe too, Robin."

—----

>>Chapter 4>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed  @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol  @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics 

Will Miller Taglist:

@innerpaperexpertcloud @glitzalia @bport76 @im-ricks-flagg @fabilei @haleypearce @nowus33m3 @slytherinlyn314

[pumpkinsy0]

PUMPKIN I NEED YOU TO GIVE ME AS MANY REASONS WHY PURLY IS THE BEST SHIP!! MY FRIEND IS TRYING TO CONVINCE ME THAT IT SUCKS AND I NEED TO PROVE HER WRONG

-🍵🧊

this feels like the equivalent of giving the bat signal in the sky for me to come

ANYWAYS LETS GO🚨🚨🚨

shipping papercut is like making a sandwich at subway, u can say it sucks all u want, but my brother in christ, U made it that way, this ship is like one of thee “u can do whatever the fuck u want w these two and u can make it make sense” ship u can possibly have in this fandom, if u dont like papercut, maybe its just UR rendition of it u dont like, pick it up n try it again w different things added to it to see if u like it🙄🙄

this ship is literally at the VERY BASE of it, opposites that compliment each other attracting and high school sweethearts and ur telling me ur not at least a lil interested🤨🤨AND I WASNT KISSING W THE ARTISTIC LIBERTY U CAN TAKE W THESE TWO, they can literally be enemies to lovers, that aloof couple trope, fake dating that turned real, u can even make ur own way on how they got together, u can pick and choose its like an all u can eat buffet, ur not rlly “trapped by canon” here

these r literally two dumbasses together like all the time, just imagine the dumb but sweet things they find themselves doin, and the ppl they annoy, just have a heart

if u like angst, curly was in the reformatory for 6 months after ponys life was quite literally changed forever, curly doesnt quite understand his own emotions, pony tries to see the good in the world while curlys always in trouble, AND THERES OTHERS IF U JUST DIP UR TOES INTO SHIPPING EM, the angst potential is RIGHT there🗣️🗣️

at the very base of this ship, theres nothing wrong w it, theres no weird age gap, they wouldnt be abusive towards each other, and ik some ppl have issues w this but also, but its a rare “not dating within the gang” ship, so u would HAVE to go out of ur WAY to make it weird, literally nothing wrong w this ship

if u love the relationship pony has w the gang, this ship can definitely help u expand on ponys relationship w everyone as a whole and u can show off just how protective the guys can become when it comes to pony in his own romantic relationships, what other ship u know is doin that🤨🤨BARELY ANY OF EM IF U DID NAME SOME🗣️🗣️🗣️

honestly same thing goes w the shepards, theres no other ship where u have angela and tim’s relationships w curly being explored through any other ship

while pony and curly r friends during the outsiders, its obvious they arent THAT close to each other, and so what i find interesting about this ship is that u can imagine their own little relationship actually building up and the trust in each other growing, as time goes on, i just think its cool to see them actually flourish, just make something entirely new because of the other and with each other, in a different way from other ships in this fandom

im a literal suckerrrr for cultural hcs so i love when theres cultural aspects actually shown with this ship i think its so cool bc it can get pretty intimate, like curly showing and introducing pony to parts of his culture???? so intimate actually SO underrated, and thats rlly only something i see done w the shepards and it rubs off on this ship as well and i love it 1000/10 (while we here can i convince u of haitian shepards🤔🤔 /lh)

they have shared experiences!!! yes they r opposites attract but they r also just some guys who r put in the same situation, trying to navigate life and protect each other, together, and even in their personal lives, theres things that should push them away from the other but it doesnt, they r this fandoms ship equivalent of the indomitable human spirit and thats all bc they r stupid lil dudes together

are u not a sucker for a guy whos pretty much been closed off emotionally a good chunk of his life finding someone to share his life w and finally finding learning to chillax once in a while w that person and that person alone cause theyre special to em?? boooooo🧱🧱🧱🧱🧱thats such a good trope

this is like the only ship where u actually have “rival” gangs interacting w each other,,,WHERE IS UR SENSE OF ADVENTURE

every shipper of them is literally so cool, like literally, ive never met a shitty shipper of these two, shipping them is like having a vip pass, and its not even like a huge group of ppl, its a small community, we r like a quiet village, unlike SOME SHIPS HERE🙄🙄

ANYWAYS i rest my case, ur just bein a lil haterrrr

if this aint convince ur friend that they arent at least a lil good, the problem isnt the ship,,,its ur friend,,,drop em immediately, but if this did??? welcome to the cool club

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Another Day in Paradise, Chapter 4

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- light Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: E for eventual smut Content warnings (Series): It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point? Religious trauma. reader has a name/is a oc.

Content warning- Chapter: None

AN: Eventually maybe someone will read this shit. Still riding the new fandom crack train.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

~~~~~<3

Amber hid in her room the rest of the morning and had herself a good cry. It was something that was becoming more common as she felt safer. Eventually, a knock brought her out of her wallowing though she couldn’t say how long she had cried for.

Charlie was at the door, a plate with a sandwich and some chips was placed on a try as well as a glass that looked to contain juice. It was so perfectly wholesome and out of place in hell.

“I thought you might be hungry.” She said as Amber stepped aside to let the her into the room. 

“Thank you, you didn’t have to.” Amber said rather than admit that yes, she was starved. It was near lunch time and she had ran back to her room with her tail quite literally between her legs before having anything for breakfast. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Charlie said, setting the tray down on the end table by the bed before sitting down next to where Amber sat. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Amber couldn’t meet the girl’s wide and ever eager eyes and instead picked at the chips. Princess or golden retriever hotel owner, the woman was simply too good either way. 

“But you did,” Charlie insisted, “You took a risk. You gave it an honest try. You shared something so important to you. You could have taken the easy way out like they did but you didn’t. That means something and I am so, so proud of you for it.” 

That surprised Amber. Charlie knew. She knew they were half-assing their activities. She knew. But she cared, encouraged and loved them anyway. How could a being like Charlie have been raised in hell?

“Does it bother you,” Amber asked, “That you’ve only lived in hell?” 

“I mean, I’m curious about things top side, sure. But this is my home and I’ve had such a great life here. I mean, I know I’ve been privileged. There’s so much more to hell than just what you have access to here. But even this ring of hell can be pretty great. You can have a life here too, you know? A good one.” 

“I guess.” Amber shrugged.

“You’re already doing so good!” Amber smiled at Charlie’s encouragement. “You found somewhere safe, you’re making friends and t’s nice to see you not being so scared. I want you to feel safe here, I want you to have a life here. Inside the hotel and out.”

Silence settled as Amber ate. Charlie was happy enough to just sit with her for the moment. 

“Why?” Amber finally asked, when her food was gone and the glass was sitting in her hands. “Why are you so invested in helping me? Isn’t hell supposed to suck? Isn’t it supposed to be punishment? But here you are, insisting on helping.”

“I don’t know.” Charlie admitted, shrugging. “Sure, this place is intended to be a punishment for Sinners but who says it has to be? And you just don’t seem like you belong here. I can’t imagine what you did to get sent here.”

Amber laughed, “I’m far from sinless.”

“Sure, no one is.” Charlie admitted with a shrug. “But a bunch of little sins surely doesn’t get someone down here. And if it does, it shouldn’t.”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter?” Amber stood up, not sure how to run from the conversation when she was in her own room. It was getting to be too much. 

“I’m sorry- I know most don’t really like to talk about what they did or how they died. It’s kind of taboo here and I overstepped.”

“It’s fine,” Amber lied. 

“What was your favorite thing top side?” Charlie asked, standing as well and making her way to the door. 

“Other than my daughter?” Amber mused as she thought about it. “Listening to the radio in the early morning, out on the porch with a cup of coffee. Before anyone else woke up. Before the day woke up. Before the day’s bullshit started.” 

A knock on the door started Amber out of her memory. Charlie had a wide smile as she enveloped the much smaller Amber in her arms. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It sounds beautiful.” 

“I should get that.” Amber mumbled into Charlie’s shoulder as the knocking came again, this time accompanied by a voice. 

“Anyone hooome~?” Alastor called in a singsong voice from behind the door.

“I should really get that.” Amber repeated, trying to ignore the way fear flooded her. “I don’t want to upset him.” 

Charlie ducked out of the room with a wave as Amber opened the door to Alastor. “Dearie, did you forget our plans already?” 

“No, I just- I didn’t know when.”

“Now.” Alastor answered, thumping his cane on the ground and leaning on it. “Is that,” Alastor wiggled his finger at Amber, “Acceptable to go out in?” 

“What?” Amber looked down at the over sized shirt she was wearing over leggings. “Is there something wrong with this?”

“It could be better.” Alastor said simply before deciding, “But I suppose it’s good enough for now.” 

“We’re just going to pick up the things from the tailor, right?” Amber asked, slipping her feet into the simple low heeled shoes Alastor had gotten her. They were more comfortable to walk in, rather than the heels and boots Angel had insisted on. Sneakers just didn’t seem to be a thing at the stores either had dragged her to.

“Among other things,” Alastor answered simply. “Come along now.” 

Alastor started down the hall without waiting for her. She was left scrambling to catch up to the one person she didn’t want to spend an undefined period of time being drug around the city with according to their whims. 

She didn’t know if she needed a coat or an umbrella or how the weather in hell even worked. It rained but the rain didn’t look pleasant. She’d seen people dissolve to the bone in the rain while she huddled under whatever shelter she had been able to find at the time. The weather had always been warm when she had been on the streets but Alastor always wore a overcoat. 

Going out wasn’t something she was used to and oh boy, was she overthinking it. 

She managed to catch up to him at the elevator, slipping in with Alastor before the doors closed. He had made no effort to hold the elevator for her. As soon as the doors opened onto the lobby, Alastor’s long legs carried him swiftly out. Amber was left scrambling to try and keep pace with him, struggling to stay within a few paces behind him. 

He had to know she was all but jogging to keep up. There was no way he wasn’t hearing the way she was panting by the time they reached the bottom of the hill or the rushed clicking of her heels against the stones contrasting to his smoothe relaxed steps.

“Now my dear, how should a lady carry herself?” Alastor didn’t even look back as his pace slowed. 

“Kind of hard when I can’t keep up.” Amber mumbled, trying to pull herself together according to his damn whims.

“Fix yourself.” Alastor commanded as he looked back at Amber. 

She pulled the hem of her long shirt and ran her hand through her hair trying to make it look like she hadn’t been near running to keep pace with his insanely long strides. Back straight and strong. Shoulders pulled back. Neck long. Chin up. Stand tall. Breathing slow and deep. 

It felt foreign. It felt wrong. It felt strong. 

It felt good.

“Very good.” Alastor remarked simply, continuing on his stroll at a much more relaxed pace.

Amber was able to keep within a few paces of him, trailing along behind him as he cut through fairly peaceful streets. Sure, there were corpses here and there, there were drug deals going down where the occasional alley shot off the main road. Monster sinners crossed the road rather than share the sidewalk with Alastor and eyed the woman who was in their eyes brave enough to share her time with the feared demon. 

Amber didn’t know what to do with her hands while walking in this new stiff posture. The day before, she at least had Alastor’s arm to busy one hand. She didn’t have a cane to fiddle with like him. She tried tucking her hands behind her back like he did but it felt stiff and awkward. Clasping her hands in front of her his felt better but still awkward, it reminded her of the timid life she had lived. 

In the distance, she could see the tailor shop. 

“Now, go get your package.” Alastor stopped, glancing at her before dissolving into the shadows, leaving her alone. 

“What?” Amber looked around and couldn’t find any sign of him. Oh hell no.

He took her out of the hotel and fucking left her alone. Defenseless and alone. Shoulders sagged as she debated if she could make it back to the hotel without having an unsavory encounter of some sort. Eyes fell to the ground as doubt swan through her mind. 

No, she couldn’t continue this way. At the very least she needed to complete the task Alastor had set her out on. Who knows what would happen if she didn’t at least get the clothes. 

“Step one, get to tailor. Step two, get clothes. Step three, I don’t fucking know.” Amber took a deep breath and again fixed her posture. Eyes up. Head up. One step at a time she propelled herself forward, down the sidewalk and toward the shop. 

Sinners didn’t cross the street for her. Some catcalled and propositioned but none actually touched her. A few sinners came close to touching her, reaching out to wrap and arm around her waist while trying to offer her something or another but she was able to sidestep them. 

She tried to pretend Alastor was walking with her. Oh, how she hadn’t expected to lean on the idea of him for some confidence. It was hard to wrap her head around how he made her feel safe while also making her feel the farthest thing from safe.

The air of confidence she struggled to pull around her was nearly totally false but it was something. Though it was illusion alone, it carried her as each step took her closer to the tailor shop. Just a block away now. Then a few feet. 

Her fingers trembled as she reached out for the railing as she prepared to ascend the stairs. It was here that she paused and looked around. In many ways, this was just another city street. 

Could she make a life here? Could she have some independence here? What a strange idea, to exist independent of those around her. When had she last been independent? Had she ever been sucessfully independent? She didn’t think so. 

Alastor was nowhere to be seen. Amber didn’t know what would come next but she wanted to believe she could get back to the hotel again, on her own if need be. 

Why he was helping her, she couldn’t fathom but he was and his lesson had been vital. What other vital lessons could he teach her, if she was willing to trust him?

Clean clothes, a change in how she carried herself and she was left largely alone in the same area she had once been accosted, chased and terrorized at. She was sure it helped that she had been seen with Alastor to some extent though. 

Closing her eyes, she tried to channel the way actresses would glide up stairs in the films she had watched in her life, not that she had gotten to watch many. Smooth steps as she made her way up to the porch and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. 

With a deep breath, she entered the shop.

“You made it!” Alastor’s singsong voice called out, rich static coloring the tone as Amber all but jumped out of her skin. “Good job!”

The small sheep demoness had packages bagged up and siting on the counter. She looked positively terrified to have Alastor lounging in her shop as he waited for Amber to make the walk. 

“How did you-?” Amber clutched at her chest as her heart hammered against her ribs. 

“Collect your bags, Dearie. I’ve got things to do, places to be and people to maim. We simply have to get going.”

Amber did as she was told, scurrying over to the counter and collecting the bags with a meek word of thanks to the shopkeeper. Any air of confidence she had managed to collect on her way in was gone, startled right out of her by Alastor. 

Alastor said nothing as he lead her out of the shop. She raced behind him as he descended the stairs. There was no way she could guess which speed Alastor would walk at and part of per mentally prepared to nearly run to keep up with the much taller man. 

Instead he waited for her at the base of the stairs, making her look ever more a fool as she stumbled to a stop in front of him. He looked down at her with eyebrow raised and hummed his weird musical hum. 

“This simply won’t do for the meeting.” 

“What meeting?” Amber wanted to go home. She wanted to go where Alastor wasn’t so she could get her bearings.

Alastor snapped his fingers with a flair and air rushed around her. Elegant red fabric draped itself over her. The flowing circle skirt danced around her legs, cutting a soft line a few inches below her knees. The neckline was high, it nearly felt like it was choking her but the back of the dress dipped low, leaving her feeling exposed in the least scandalous way possible as her hair tickled the exposed skin. Her tail fit perfectly through a hole that she was pretty sure wouldn’t be able to accommodate the fluff when it came time to remove the dress. 

“Did you just dress me up like a doll?” Amber spoke sharply before she had a chance to consider her tone or who she was speaking to.

“And there you have it, again she finds her claws.” Alastor laughed, tucking her hand around his arm to rest on his forearm as be began to lead her down the street. 

“Why are you doing this?” Amber dared to ask while he walked her swiftly down the street toward the heart of the city. 

“Boredom, as I said. Don’t you listen?” Alastor tapped her ear rather harshly with the microphone head of his cane. “These ears are for more than just decoration, are they not?”

“They work,” Amber flung her ears forward and back in a attempt to somehow swat the microphone away without having to outright challenge the much more powerful man. “But that dosen’t really tell me why you’re treating me like a pet.” 

“Getting braver!” Alastor chuckled but didn’t answer. “Good job!” 

Amber yanked her arm from where it was tucked around his, stepping away to put distance between them. “Seriously. Why are you helping me? I know Charlie believes in redemption and Angel just seems nice but you-?”

“Me?” Alastor pointed to himself, static thick in his voice again as his neck cracked, head twitching to an unnatural angle for a moment. “Do tell me what you think you know about me.”

“You’re powerful.” She stated plainly, deflating. “And creepy. Sadistic, maybe.”

“You complement me so!” Alastor all but preened, placing a clawed hand to his chest and standing tall before leaning into her space again. “Do keep going.”

“You could kill me with a flick of your wrist, probably wouldn’t even feel bad about it-” She continued, stepping away from him every time he inched closer until she almost fell off the sidewalk. 

“I wouldn’t.” He said though she didn’t know if he was confirming he wouldn’t feel bad about killing her or that he wouldn’t kill her at all.

She didn’t dare ask for clarification.

“You don’t get anything from helping me but what? A momentary entertainment? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Isn’t our afterlife little but a series of momentary entertainments to break up our hellish existence?” Alastor countered before his posture changed, standing tall again and ordering her to stay put as he dissolved into shadows.

“What the fuck.” Amber said to the empty space he had been. “What the actual fuck.” 

[welldonebeca]

The Livestream 

Summary: Lizzie features into Ben's OnlyFan's stream.

(Professor Ben fucks his little bimbo for his fans.)

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x Lizzie (OC)

WC: 1.2k words

Warnings: Polyamory. Fluff. Discussion of fantasy. Discussion of Sex Work, in a way. Exhibitionism.

Lizzie frowned as she left her car, glad to be home after a gruelling shift.

Production assistants were the interns who happened to graduate. That was it, there was no easy way of saying it.

She was paid to do everything the big guys didn't want to do and had to suck it up.

But it was a good experience, and people were nice enough to her, and no one ever threw a coffee at her, so it was alright.

Beau had also convinced her it was just the first step into a long journey. He also told her that she didn't need to work if she didn't want to, but Lizzie did want to work.

She was with the boys for over five months now, nearly half a year! It should feel weird to date three men at once, but it really wasn't. It was quite nice.

Lizzie stopped at the door of the house, met with a pile of Amazon boxes piling on the porch, a mountain just as tall as her. Even more, maybe?

She picked up one, and the name on the address didn't make her wonder for very long what it was about.

"Ben," she called, pushing a few boxes out of the way to open the door, and picked some, kicking the rest of them in so they wouldn't block the door anymore.

"Yeah?" he called from away.

Lizzie put the boxes down.

"You got mail," she giggled.

Lots of it!

Oh, he had to be responsible for half of the Amazon proceeds in their town.

Her boyfriend stepped up into the living room, barefoot and shirtless.

"You can pay for prime, but still won't get an iPhone," she rolled her eyes.

Ben scoffed, grabbing her by her middle just as the put her bag down.

"Why would I need an iPhone?"

He kissed her lips, both sweet and hungry.

"You know the government tracks you on that thing, right?" he pulled back.

Ben picked up the packages, and she rolled her eyes playfully. Thankfully, he was too old school to get his own computer, always using his brothers' or Lizzie's, or she would have to deal with worse conspiracy theories from her silly boyfriend.

"You're most likely to be tracked by Facebook," she corrected him. "Or Alexa."

"Which is why we don't have that thing here," he picked up all of the packages.

He walked up with them as if they were nothing.

"What did you even order?" she followed him.

"It's a surprised, baby girl," he walked up the stairs.

Her eyes widened in excitement. Were the boys planning something? Or maybe it was just Ben planning something?

For her??!

"Ben!" she followed him, giggling like an excited child. "What is it?"

He just shook his head, shoving the boxes in his room, and booped her nose once.

"Can't tell you yet, it would ruin the surprise," he said simply. "How about you go clean up and rest, you've been a hard-working little intern."

She pouted.

"Assistant," she corrected him.

"Intern with a pay cheque," he shrugged, walking into his room and closing the door.

Lizzie pouted more and gasped when he locked the door, leaving her outside.

"But Beeeeeeeeeeeen!" she whined.

"Go rest," he called out.

She huffed, crossed her arms, and stomped angrily into her room to change.

Oh, he would see. When Dean and Beau came home, she would tell them all about how mean he was with her!

Lizzie tossed her clothes away, too cranky now, and put on a big comfy shirt from Dean before coming down, and smiled a bit when her eyes caught the sandwiches someone had left behind for her.

She at it, still huffing a bit, and strode back right to her bedroom, ready to go check on her emails, when her eyes caught something.

Ben's door.

Open.

She walked inside quickly.

Lizzie stuffed her last sandwich into her mouth.

His room looked normal, though with a bunch of open packages, and she almost gave up before she saw his walk-in closet, spread open and all full of costumes.

Pretty girl costumes that looked exactly her size.

Right on the first surface, a notepad.

She rushed to it, skipping the outfits, and opened it, half giggling.

Ideas. A lot of them.

Schoolgirl, lifeguard, maid, princess, bunny-

"Didn't I tell you to go rest?" she heard behind her.

Lizzie gasped and clutched the notepad as Benny looked down at her, a single eyebrow of his raised.

“Well, I... ate...” she raised a hand, brushing the sandwich crumbs away from her face.

“And you’ve ruined my surprise,” he pointed.

She pouted.

“It’s not ruined!" she corrected him. "I just... am confused.”

Ben opened his hand to her, pointing at the notepad with his chin, and she pouted before giving it to him.

"I love how dim you can be," he clicked his tongue. "Such an innocent little thing."

Her cheek burned in embarrassment, and he gave her chin a little scratch, almost as if treating her as a puppy, and his eyes lit up before he pulled the pencil from behind his ear and wrote something down.

Ben picked her up sweetly, walking to their bed, and sat on the edge of it with her on his lap.

"Do you remember," he set the notepad and pencil down, moving his hand up and brushing her hair back. "What I said I do to make extra cash? And how you wanted to help me out?"

. . .

"The Livestream (Ben x Lizzie)" is a Patreon Exclusive sequel to "The Triplets". To read it and the other sequels, "patience is a virtue (Dean x Lizzie)" and "the pictures (Beau x Lizzie)", subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and I post nearly every day.

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth​​​ @amythyststorm33​​​ @shaelyn102 @yknott81​​​ ​​@maximofftrash @kgbrenne​​r @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 ​​​ @mogaruke ​​​ @shadowhunter7 ​​​ @musicalcoffeebean ​​ @megasimpleplan4ever ​​​ @deemoriarty ​​​ @05spn18 ​​​ @malindacath ​​​ @kdcollinsauthor ​​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112 ​​​ @widowsfics ​​ @frozenhuntress67 ​​​ @averyrogers83 ​​​ @notyourtypicalrose ​​​ @nerdypinupcrystal ​ @giruvega ​

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The Triplets: @happyt0exist @ladysparkles78

[grigori77]

Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 97

Are they ... are they NOT doing a sponsorship plug this time? Just straight to the announcements? Interesting ... not complaining, mind ... more time for GAME, after all ...

Well then, so it's just STRIGHT INTO THE GAME, then ... okay then ... maybe that's a GOOD sign ... O.O

Yeah, that was A LOT of failed teleportations ...

Stright into an Initiative Roll ... wonderful ... cue Wizzkids plug!

An Essek sandwich? I wouldn't say no ... XD

Ashton's going to RAGE ... he charges in and just immediately starts swinging! Yeah, I should imagine 30 would hit ... and now he's been sprayed with acid blood! Of course he has ... and now it's STUCK TO HIS HAMMER!!! Fuck ... so he tries to BEAT IT OFF ... splat! Oh yeah, that just DESTROYED IT.

Great, they're swarming already ... might not have been the smartest move to just run staright into 'em, Ashton ... now they're going fot Laudna ... holy shit, Matt is rolling BALLS right now, ALL THREE attacks fail to gain purchase on her! XD But a couple of them do manage to bite Ashton ... eurgh ...

Fearne casts Flaming Sphere on the big thing! She torches the fucker ... but she's doing it at a higher level so it may be about to get weird ... oh boy ...oof ... roll a D20 then, Ashley ... 14? Phew ... she's safe ... bloody Wild Magic ... then she hides out again ...

Orym uses his fancy boots to jump over Chetney and rush in behind the monster ... Goading Attack! Yeah, Wee Man ... Matt fails his Wisdom save ... whoa ... did Liam REALLY just roll a Nat1 he COULDN'T reroll? Holy shit ... very first time for this Campaign ... oh well ... Tripping Attack! Wait ... this thing can REGENERATE? Boooo! Then he disengages and it gets an aAttack of Opportunity ... and HITS HIM!!! Crap! Thankfully he manages to clear his Strength Save so it doesn't smash him on the spot ... thank the gods for that shield ...

Essek glides into the fray and starts weaving a spell ... a Gravity Fissure? Holy fuck, Hot Boi! Okay, so ... that's doing good, but also thoroughly perilous for the group too! Maybe this wasn't the SMARTEST move right now ... don't suck everybody into a bloody mini Black Hole!

So it's the Monster's turn ... here comes the ridiculously huge hammer ... oh shit, CENTRE MAW!!! It bites at Orym ... crap! 24 points of Piercing damage ... and now it's FUCKING CHEWING HIM!!! Meanwhile it makes a swing for Dorian ... fuck, that just batteres Dorian hard enough he gets knocked CLEAN THROUGH the nearby building ... ouch ...

Dorian picks himself up and sets off his Winged Boots, then flies over to the Monster, then casts a 5TH lEVEL LIGHTNING BOLT!!! Holy shit ... Imogen, meanwhile, coordinates with him and does the exact same thing! Cool ... Matt fails both saves! Sweet! 10 D5 Lightning damage from EACH OF THEM!!! 40 from Dorian, 42 from Imogen! Holy fuck! CRACKADOOM!!! Thor's in the House!

Oh crap ... what did Imogen do? Laura has to roll a D100 ... Wild Magic strikes again ... 4? a Fireball explodes RIGHT ON TOP of Imogen? Holy shit ... Laudna manages to make her save, at least ... Laura: "At least I'm not a sheep." Yeah ...

Chetney unleashes Turmoil and casts Shatter against the Monster ... 20 Thundr dmage halved right up its butt ... then he starts to circle round as cautious as he can for a better vantage point ...

Laudna decides to try something NEW, unleashing Void Puppet on it ... that is some FREAKY SHIT right there, Dead Girl! Oh yeah, that spirit effect is just HORRIFYING ... now she dumps a Fireball on as many of the crawlies as she can ... BOOM!!! Using a Sorcery point to Empower, she lands 38 points of Fire damage on each of them and annihilates THREE of the fuckers ... and now the tent's on fire ..

Ashton triggers a Hyper-Rage and charges the Monster, leaving WEIRD streaks and after images behind him ... while Taliesin elbows Liam in his funny-bone, Ashton inflicts 25 points of Gravitational damage on it and shoves it hard backwards ... then he leaps on top of it to swing his hammer HARD down to land another SMASHING hit ... BOOM!!!

Fearne pops out Mister and chucks him close to Laudna, then throws a Scorching Ray at 3rd Level at the Monster ... one miss THREE hits! Sweet! 17 points of Fire damage, plus 7 more thanks to Mister ... and it does NOTHING to the creature? Shit! It's immune to fire? NOOOOOOOO!!!

Orym takes another 19 points of piercing damage from the maw ... then pulls a Misty Step to pop OUT of its mouth and run up its arm, then goes swinging ... he proper carves it up, doing some genuine damage ... it's like carving through dead meat? Yuck ... one last hit and he gets the HDYWTDT!!! Yes! Down it goes!

Oh ... so there's SOMETHING moving off in the distance somewhere ... is it a potential threat? Hmmmm ...

Yeah, might be best to put the tent-fire out ...

Motivational Speech? Nice one, Dorian! 4th Level ... that's 10 temp hit points to five of them and temp advantage on saves ... cool ...

GO FOR THE TOWER!!! FAST!!!

Not particularly safe, then ... but it's a hiding place, at least ...

Weird fur-less oversized wolves ... charming ... with eyeballs on the end of theit overlong tails? Freaky ...

Crap ... something else is coming from another direction? Great ...

Oh yeah, a Short Rest might be a good idea ...

Weird gorilla-like things? Also creepy ...

There's something horrible on the ceiling grabbing things? Oh my FUCKING GODS that is nightmare fuel ... O.O

Pass Without a Trace ... group Stealth check with advantage ...

Oh yeah, the gigantic sinkhole ... flying would likely be helpful to avoid THAT shit ... oh yeah! Dorian could TOTALLY carry Orym, that would be IMMENSELY helpful. Also it'll be REALLY fun for the shippers too ... XD

So this was a hole from something being blasted up and out, then ... lovely ... oh, they're going down INTO IT ... great ... O.O

The smell of ASSSSSSSS ... LOL

Tingly, creepy, oppressive ... just WRONG, basically. This place is NOT a good place to be ...

The Occultus Thalamus ... yeah ...

That is ... A LONG FUCKING WAY DOWN ... O.O

Awwww ... remembering FCG ... please don't, I'm not strong enough ...

Touchdown, then ... yeah, this place is a mess ... but it's also CLEARLY been disturbed ... another leftover Vanguard camp, it seems ... and something weird ... breathing in the dark distance ... oh, that's just PEACHY ...

Is that blood? Hmmmm ... sniff check for Chet ... not fresh, then ... it's a smear from something being dragged off into the dark ... charming ... that's not, like, FOREBODING at all ...

Hello Pate ... immediately he's admonished for being SO LOUD ... yeah, he doesn't really HAVE an "inside voice" ... oh yeah, he can talk in her head instead, that's better ... time for scouting, then ...

And Matt calls it a break ... okay then ...

Yeah ... this place really does give us the collective creeps ... oh ... an open door? Hmmmm ... this is where the blood trail is leading, too ... lovely ...

Some kind of storage chamber ...

Big glass containers? Hmmmm ...

Dorian's gettign awful far ahead ... maybe that's not, like, SUPER smart ...

Ah, so this is about to become virgin ground for Essek? Great ... and his knowledge has some holes, too ... hmmmmm ...

Remembering Caleb ... yeah, he's a hell of a guy ... :3

Insight Check? Really, Ashley? Oh, WHISPERS!!! Intriguing ...

Oh, so clearly somebody's been through here since and opened it up ... yeah, looks like this is the way, then ...

Chetney checks for traps ... nothing of note ...

Aha ... children's hospital colour theory ... thanks for that, Tal ...

Yeah, looks like this might be the smarter place to check for traps ... is that stone fixed? Movable? Should we be suspicious?

The wooden chair ... yeah ... LOL

Push the stone ... the door's open ... nothing happens ... and they''re all still obssessing about the stone ... this bunch, they're so paranoid ... I love it ... XD

Liam: "Any velociraptors hiding out in here?" Matt: "What are you looking for? Velociraptors?" LOL

Boiling tar? Oh lovely ... best avoid THAT shit ...

Oh, so the stone's an arcane lock ... okay then ...

Carrying on, then ... it's opening up ahead ... and there's that smell again ... metallic ... somewhere up ahead ... loads and lods of ancient corpses littering the floor ... and lots of dangling chains hung from the ceiling ... with more bodies hanging from several ... great ... O.O

The hanging bodies are FRESH ... great ... Vanguard, looks like ... seemingly suffering a similar fate to the last batch upstairs ... great ...

Yeah, it would probably be4 too much wishful thiniing for one of THESE poor buggers to be Ludinus, wouldn't it ...

Oh, like this could be a TRAP, then? Rogue Aeorian tech? Hmmmm ...

Wait ... WHAT THE FUCK?!!! Pate is just suddenly GONE. Shit!

Form of Dread! Yeah! Mama's ANGRY!!!

Hunter's Bane ... Chetney sniffs for undead ... something here is FIENDISH ... great ...

Religious or Arcana check ... 16 Arcana ... the chains seems to have been conjured THROUGH the stone? Oh that's just GREAT ...

Spiderclimb ... smart ...

Oooh ... Essek has more fancy tricks up his sleeve ...

Ah, I see ... so question a corpse, then? Hmmm ...

Here we go, then ... Speak With the Dead ... cool ...

"The whispers in our head"? Oh, that's just ... AWESOME ...

"This started with the engine room"? Oh, that's interesting ... is that some kind of clue? Something about that rings a bell ...

Oh, Fearne's summoning her demon bae Tevan ... trying to be as discreet as she cane about it for Dorian's sake ... yeah, that don't work too well soon as the massive intimidating infernal smoking hot BADASS appears ... "The pact begins." Yeah ... great ...

Crap ... HE KNOWS Dominox ... great ... a "great enemy" from ancient times? Awesome ...

Laudna: "Do you have any bros you can call on? Now might be the time." Tevan: "... there is a bit doing on."

Essek is clearly more than a little flabbergasted by this whole business. XD

Orym (observing all of this going on around him): "Metal ..."

Whoa ... is Chetney POSSESSED?!!! Is Dominox getting into his head? "The bad wolf"? What? What the blue FUCK is this creepy Stephen King freakiness?

He can't see his friends anymore ... oh, that's not good ...

Oh sweet fuck ... Chetney, WHAT DID YOU DO?!!!

THIRTEEN? Fuck ...

Laudna can't get through to him ... not good ...

Orym touches Chetney's shoulder and HE FEELS a blade stabbing into it ... fuck ... hew responds very much IN KIND ... and claws into Orym ... SHIT!!!

Oh fuck! He snapped out of it! How ... how the hell did he do that? WAS IT real? Is it this place or did that GENUINELY just shake some buried memory loose in him? I don't like it at all ... this is all SO BAD ...

Shit ... yeah that is a GOOD FUCKING POINT, Ahston going off like that would be a REALLY BAD THING ...

Tevan is not much help right now, clearly ...

Dorian: "And we have the power of friendship! Which is why we'll WIN!!!" Bardic Inspiration! Yeah, fix that shit for 'em, Dorian!

Grim Psychometry? REALLY?!!! Right now? In THIS hellhole?

The hooks are simply facilitation, they're not the agents here ... interesting ... pure abyssal energy? Oof ... it's TOO MUCH to even interpret, clearly ...

Dorian's investigating ... oh, that's interesting ... the chains are just LYING there on the ground, pregnant with possibility, like they're WAITING ...

Trying Speak With the Dead again ... one of the "crazies" this time ...

"The Pinion of Service"? That's how Dominox was captured. An abyssal soul anchor ... shackled to THE ENGINE? Oh WOW ... that's interesting ... and now we know WHERE THE ENGINE IS. Cool. If the seals are intact Dominox is dormant ... well that's surely a big giveaway, then ...

Dominolx "feeds on insecurity" ... Imogen: "Oh gods ..." NO SHIT!!! O.O

DORIAN has to throw a Wisdom save? OH FUCK NO!!! Not now! 16? Hmmm ... is that GOOD?

He sees his brother Cyrus in one of the hanging corpses ... and it starts talking to him ... AND THIS is where Matt calls it for the night! SHIT!!!

Fuck ... once again, the very worst kind of cliffhanger ... O.O

Oh wow ... so THIS is where they're gonna pick it up on the Live Special? That is SO COOL ...

[scoops-aboy86]

♠️♥️ once again! It's Halloween time and for the past month Steve has been chauffeuring the kids around for whatever they wanted (all with attitude of course) and he can't help the annoyance he feels dealing with them, especially Mike. Sometimes he and Eddie get together and talk about what little shits they are, and Halloween night the two get the idea to get a little revenge. All in good fun of course. They all gather at Steve's house and the two make the plan to get the kids (teens now wow) to leave their candy with him while Eddie distracts them and to basically fool them by making them think he ate it all. Of course he has backup candy bags (the good stuff; full size candy bars), but now he has to figure out where to dump their actual candy. He can't hide it because that's too obvious and he technically has to pretend to have eaten it all so Steve concludes to actually just eat it (a horrible idea really, but this was a last minute prank and the joint he smoked an hour ago doesn't help either).

With Eddie and the kids gone he gets started: flicks on a scary movie and settles into the couch, all six candy bags nestled by his side. Chocolates and gummies, licorice and skittles, little bags of treats slowly popped into his mouth. One after the other, Steve methodically unwrapping, chewing, and swallowing. After awhile the taste gets a little old so he cracks open a coke. He's halfway through the third bag when his stomach cramps, gurgling loudly from all the sugar and fizz. He shimmies a bit before unbuttoning his pants and continuing with the plan, telling himself it's all for the sake of revenge.

And again, he keeps going, lost in his own gluttony as he tries to pick up the pace before they get back. He's finally down to the last bag when he hears the van pull into the drive way and he bolts up, bloated gut groaning and sloshing. With clumsy hands he grabs the bags and bolts up to his room, locking the door, hiding the evidence and determined to finish the sixth bag. He can hear them in the living room and he's barely chewing as he shoves the candy down his throat, chugging coke to wash it all down.

With one last gulp, he's done it! But with it gone, and his gut too loud to ignore, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and he's positively potbellied. Unbuttoned jeans tight where his gut lays, his polo shirt having ridden up from where it once covered his deep set belly button, lips smeared with chocolate. He couldn't suck in if he tried 🙊 happy halloween!

Oh my god this is so funny, and my first thought is MIKE what did you DO? But it would have to be all of them, for him to target all their candy bags. (Not Erica’s, though. She’d legit slash his tires, and Eddie’s too for aiding and abetting.) But nothing genuinely hurtful, six parts because I like fluff and half a dozen because that would make this a pretty lame revenge. 

Oh! Oh I know… Added some cool (read: kinda nerdy) homemade Halloween costumes, because Eddie can sew and Steve’s is pretty easy, so it’s a little different from what you laid out. 5608 words! Thank you for the prompt, pal, this was a fun one. 

🔞

Always one thing after another with these goddamn kids, Steve swears. Sure, it’s not uncovering deadly monsters and government plots anymore… but they’re teenagers now, so it’s still always something. 

Today it’s wax fruit, a fake Oreo, and a plastic pickle snuck into his sandwich (that he had made, how the fuck…?) that looks like Mike must’ve stolen from one of Holly’s old play sets. 

And now, to top it all off, Dustin pretended to hurl and got him with fake vomit. 

It’s a rough April Fool’s day. 

But like, at least they aren’t actively making fun of him for the weight he’s gained since the Upside Down ordeals had ended for good. Everyone laughs just as hard when Mike gets Will with a wax apple, and that kid is still a string bean. 

“Mike needs to branch out from pranking people he has a crush on,” Eddie mutters darkly later that night, when it’s just the big kids having some good old-fashioned off duty babysitters time around the pool. 

Steve, confused, is about to ask what he means from behind his (fake pickle free) sandwich, but Robin coughs on a mouthful of beer so instead he has to pound on her back until some of it comes out her nose. 

“Jesus Steve, did you have to thump so hard?!”

“I thought you were choking!!” 

Robin sticks out her tongue and pushes him into the pool, and in his flailing attempts to avoid his fate Steve manages to snag Eddie and drag him in with him. 

Then Nancy sputters “Steve, again?” while laughing so hard that she can barely breathe. It reminds Steve of how he’d dragged her into the pool on purpose the first night they’d—

Steve’s cheeks flame immediately. He’s only actually told Robin how he feels (thinks he feels? is starting to feel?) about Eddie, but Nancy is smart and she knows him, he’s not shocked that she’s noticed. So he has to splash both her and Robin, obviously, before they give away anything. 

Unfortunately, Eddie takes the opportunity to latch onto him like a barnacle and pull him over, so Steve misses and douses Argyle instead, and—

—Steve still remembers, come October. He wants to get them back, but to do that successfully he’s going to need backup. Tough, with both Robin and Nancy off at college and Jon and Argyle back in California, but not impossible.

He swallows down his nerves and asks Eddie. No big deal, they hang out together practically every day these days. Practically best friends. Except… Steve hasn’t exactly told him the reason he doesn’t take girls out on dates anymore. 

“A revenge prank, you say,” Eddie murmurs, hands in front of his mouth and fingertips drumming together in intrigue. He’s sprawled in one of Steve’s kitchen chairs with one leg over a wooden arm like no one ever taught him how to sit like a human. It should be ungodly uncomfortable, but the dude looks perfectly at ease. Weirdo, Steve thinks affectionately. “I like it. Do you have anything in mind, or are we brainstorming?”

“Brainstorming,” Steve confirms, and they relocate to the living room and get to smoking about it over bowls of the spaghetti bolognese he just finished making. 

Eddie’s condition for helping is that they plan matching Halloween costumes, and since they both know the boys are pulling their old props out of closets and attics to suit up as the Ghostbusters again, it’s not difficult to decide on a theme. 

“No no no, we can’t be the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster,” Steve protests with a laugh, waving his hand through the smoke in the air. Since he’s currently holding the joint, the motion paints all new swirling shapes before them. 

“Why not?” Eddie squawks, and steals the joint back before it can ash anywhere unfortunate. 

“Because you have the hair to play Sigourney Weaver, but I could never pass for Rick Moranis. It totally wouldn’t work, man.”

“Dude, work with me here! What else are we going to be, Gozer and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?”

“I…” Steve pauses. He’s seen Ghostbusters, and remembers the Gozer the Gozarian costume from the end of the movie. Can he turn down an opportunity to see Eddie in a nude body stocking and heels? “… Yeah, okay.”

Apparently not. Can he survive it? Remains to be seen, but he’ll find out eventually. 

“Wait, really?” A disbelieving grin spreads across Eddie’s face, making both dimples pop. “You’d put on the little hat, sailor’s collar, and neckerchief for me, Stevie?”

And it’s not that Steve didn’t register the other half of the deal, but he doesn’t really mind. High as he is at the moment, his hand drifts to the belly he’s put on since high school—the munchies keep hitting him in waves and he’s already finished most of the would-be leftovers from the pot in the kitchen, so he’s a little bloated right now. He giggles and gives himself a pat. “I mean, why not? I’m in shape for it, aren’t I?”

The pat knocks loose a burp that sneaks up and out of his mouth as soon as he’s finished talking, but Eddie laughs so brightly that Steve forgets to be embarrassed. 

“I’ve got it,” Eddie gasps once he’s pulled himself together again. “Steve. Steve, you could be the one hundred foot marshmallow man summoned to destroy… their Halloween candy.”

“Destroy it?”

“Yes! It’ll be your revenge for all that fake food! I can be a distraction, while you confiscate all their hard-earned, tooth-rotting treats. They come back—oh no, they’ll weep!”

“Weep?” Steve snorts. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“They’ll weep, Who stole our candy? Who could have done such a thing? With much gnashing of teeth. And you make your appearance, maybe smear some chocolate sauce around your mouth to really sell it, and say, That’s what you get for all that wax fruit.”

“I guess I could do that,” Steve says slowly. When Eddie offers him the joint again he accepts, taking a hit absently as he mulls it over. “Kinda mean though, stealing their candy. Waking all over the place to get that stuff is a lot of work.”

Eddie shrugs. “Get ‘em candy from the store. The full-size bars and shit. Then once they’ve learned their lesson, they can have that; everything’ll be fine and you get your own trick-and-treat stash. Oh—” he flails with excitement at another idea, and Steve can’t help the way it stirs butterflies in his already full stomach to see all that enthusiasm on his behalf—“but before you do, if Dustin gives you shit, you gotta say something like, What, are you so sad you could puke, Dusty-buns? That’ll show him.”

It makes Steve laugh, a warm feeling growing in his chest to know that they’re good enough friends for Eddie to come up with zany schemes on his behalf. He already knows he’ll go through with it, if Eddie is serious. 

Several weeks later it’s Halloween, and the plan is set. Everyone (minus Erica, who’s trick-or-treating with friends her own age instead) is coming over after making their rounds through the neighborhoods, and Eddie will take them all to the haunted corn maze at one of the local farms. Steve, meanwhile, will hide their candy and pretend to have eaten it by the time they return. 

It’s a great plan. Eddie comes over around sundown to do some pre-celebrating in the form of hotboxing Steve’s bedroom before all the kids in Hawkins start ringing the doorbell at any house with a front light on. 

And Steve feels like he’s been hit between the eyes with a brick when he opens the door to Eddie’s knocking, because wow. 

That is Eddie. With his hair up. Wearing a nude bodysuit covered in plastic baubles and white feathers. When he blinks, his eyelids are dark red with eyeshadow, just like Gozer’s eyes in the damn movie. And all Steve did was fish out a few elements of his old Scoops uniform—not the one he’d been interrogated by Russians in, he and Robin had burned both of those outfits after Starcourt—and put them on over a white sweater and white pants. 

Eddie leaps across the threshold, strutting around in… oh god, he is wearing heels. Steve has to look up slightly to meet his gaze, and it makes him want to lean in even more than he usually always lowkey does. 

“Gozer the Gozerian,” Eddie howls, baring his teeth in a feral grin as he continues to announce, “Gozer the Destructor, Volguus Zildrohar, the Traveller has come!” He jabs a finger towards Steve demandingly. “Choose, and perish!”

Somehow, Steve manages to keep his composure—maybe from all the practice he’s had. He puts his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows. “I thought I’m the one destroying stuff tonight. Isn’t that the Marshmallow Man’s whole job?”

“Aw, Stevie,” Eddie starts, looking him up and down and… getting distracted for some reason. 

Steve glances down at himself, worried that maybe he’s gotten something about his sweater, but no. And he can’t see anything on his pants either, unless it’s just under where his belly pooches out over the top of his pants and makes it hard to see—he’s made his peace with that, but it makes him nervous now. “So, uh, are we gonna smoke or what, man? Do you even have pockets in that, um… outfit?”

Whatever it was that had snagged Eddie’s attention, he shakes himself out of it to shoot Steve an exaggeratedly put-upon pout. “Sir Stay Puft, you dare question a god? Of course I have pockets.” He reaches towards where the over-layer of fluffy decoration is thickest winding up his torso—the left side, where Steve knows his scars are also the most prominent, even after a year and a half. Turns out there’s a cleverly hidden zipper pouch beneath it, and Eddie produces two roll-ups and a zippo with a cheeky grin. 

So they’re definitely both decently stoned by the time the kids come by. The four original Party members are in their Ghostbuster suits, as expected: Will as Winston, Dustin as Egon, Lucas as Ray, and Mike as Venkman. El has her short but growing out hair curled and a guitar case slung across her back (presumably because no one had seen fit to let the kids borrow a cello, which was for the best). Max, in her wheelchair, is green from head to waist and styled to look like Slimer on top of the hotel maid cart from the movie. 

“Oh shit,” she crows when she registers Steve and Eddie’s costumes. “Okay, you nerds are definitely outnumbered in terms of ghost power now. Looks like I chose the right side.” 

The three of them exchange high fives, before Steve insists on getting pictures. “You know your mom will love it,” he says pointedly to Dustin. “And since she cooks me dinner more often than any of you—”

“I cook for you sometimes,” Eddie pipes up. Which is true. But mentioning Mrs. Henderson’s cooking has already reminded Steve’s high brain that he hasn’t eaten much since Eddie arrived, not wanting to get spills or crumbs on his glaringly white outfit, so Steve just waves him off, distracted. He feels his stomach give a quiet little grumble. 

“Yeah yeah, I know you do. I’m talking to the twerps.”

“We’re not—”

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly over Mike, clapping both hands together, “come on people, pictures! Everybody! Let’s go!”

They manage to get a few shots of the entire group using the timer feature on Steve’s parents’ fancy camera (that they’ve never used). He has no idea if any of them will be any good from the way he can hear Eddie muttering encouragement for everyone to strike weird poses right before the flash goes off, but at least they’ll be funny. Poses are much more encouraged for the rest of the photos, featuring the Ghostbusters battling their different ghostly opponents. El seems a little annoyed that she doesn’t have anything in particular to do, and thankfully no one suggests that she try to act out Dana possessed by Zuul—that’d be a little too close to home. 

So the last couple shots are of El fending off all three ghosts with her ‘cello’ case, delightedly shouting “Get away from her, you bitch,” no matter how many times the boys try to explain that yes that was Sigourney Weaver, but in a different movie. 

And then—

“Okay,” Eddie says loudly, clapping his hands and winking unsubtly at Steve, “who’s up for the haunted corn maze? Gozer is granting you lame little mortals a ride too and from, otherwise my associate Mr. Stay Puft here will be free to step on you with impunity—”

Ten chaotic minutes later, Steve is alone in a house full of candy and an empty stomach. He rubs absently at it while dumping all the kids’ candy bags out on the kitchen island counter. As he goes, he makes backup bags to send them home with—plain brown paper, the same ones he always used to take his lunches to school in—and matches every  fun-sized bar he dumps out with a full-sized bar he drops in. 

If he hesitates on a few of his favorite kinds of candy, no one has to know. Mostly, though, his thoughts are a mix of Claudia Henderson’s lasagna and wishing he were at the haunted corn maze with Eddie. He’s taken dates to the haunted maze before, it’s not that hard to find a dark corner where no one would realize it’s a guy he’s trying to woo, especially with the form-fitting Gozer costume thrown into the mix… But, well, they’ve spent a decent amount of extra time together while plotting this—read: getting high and congratulating each other on being so devious and smart—and that will have to do for now.

When alternate bags are all done, he grabs a Coke from the fridge and slurps at it while sorting the remaining candy into different bowls: one for just chocolate, one for nuts, one for nuggat, one for toffee, one for sour, and one for the rest. And then… he takes them all out to the living room couch, along with a new six-pack of Cokes. Fully aware of what he’s doing, but still floaty enough from the weed that he’s not really sure when he made the decision. 

The plan was to stash the stolen candy and share it with Eddie later, but he’s hungry. Probably won’t finish it all, anyway. There will still be some—and even if there’s not, he can always buy more. Doesn’t care right now, he’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten since, like… lunch. 

And, fine, yes, his weight has really gotten away from him, especially lately. He’s spent all summer whenever he wasn’t working lounging by the pool in his backyard, working on his annual tan while completely unbothered by danger beyond forgetting to apply enough sunscreen. Relaxing. Snacking. Drinking, sometimes beer but most commonly pop. He gets to do this now, he’s earned it, and he’s really enjoying himself. 

Steve settles himself amongst the candy bowls with a VHS in the player and a hand on his belly. It’s so soft and squishy, he usually ends up touching it one way or another these days; now, he feels all over the way it spills into his lap a little, kneading at it like a stress ball. With his other hand, he reaches for a Snickers bar and melts into the couch as it hits his tongue. 

Most of the trick-or-treat candy is small for each one to fit in his mouth in one go, and anything larger is a challenge that he meets with happy enthusiasm. 

After that initial bite, he starts with his least favorites, wolfing them down to get it over with and washing each mouthful down quickly with a Coke chaser. When he gets to the stuff he likes okay he lets himself slow down, still going at a steady pace but allowing himself to really taste and only popping a new Coke can as a palate cleanser when his mouth feels thick with chocolate and other layers of sweetness.

He’s no longer hungry at this point, but he’s not full, either. Maybe a little pinched though, so he sucks his fingers clean, shifts around a bit and leans until he can get at his waistband, and unbuttons his pants with a sigh. Stroking the red lines of his tummy as he reaches for a Three Musketeers, barely aware that it juts out a little more every time he frees it from his jeans these days. 

This is where he pauses to revive the tail end of the second joint he and Eddie had started just before the kids came over, sinking into the high and further into the couch with a pumpkin-shaped bowl balanced on his soft chest. He pours the little packets of M&Ms and Skittles into his mouth at the same time, just to see how it tastes, and it’s weird but he doesn’t hate it. Does that with the rest of them to try and decide if he likes the combo, and whines a little (he’ll never admit it) when they run out before he can reach a conclusion. The pumpkin-shaped bowl is empty. 

As Steve gets to his favorite candies (these in a regular white bowl, it matches his outfit) he picks up speed again. Somehow the movie is almost over, he’s hardly even watched it, and there’s only so much time left before Eddie’s van rumbles up into his driveaway again. He’s unwrapping the next two candies while still chewing, barely taking breaths between bites, trying to hurry and relishing every second of his impromptu and very unhealthy feast. 

He’s so enraptured with the unending parade of sweetness on his tongue, the constant chewing and swallowing and chewing and swallowing, that he almost misses the telltale sounds outside. (The movie is over, nothing of interest showing on the TV screen, when did that happen?) Frantic, he sweeps as many wrappers as he can out of his lap before going to stand up. It takes him a few tries, he’s so sunken into his spot, and when he finally manages it, red-faced and puffing and buzzing with adrenaline and sugar rush and the remaining high, he has to put a hand under his full, heavy belly in order to move around comfortably. Not quite cramping, not quite stuffed, just… a really satisfying stretch. 

But guess who doesn’t have time to enjoy it! God, he fucking hates being rushed these days. 

Eddie has a key. They’ll let themselves in, so all Steve has to do is get to his bedroom with the last of his stolen haul and two remaining Cokes from the six-pack. He gets there, barely, before he hears the front door swing open, hustling so fast up the stairs that the motion keeps jostling burps from between his chocolate-smeared lips. And then he’s in, sagging back against the closed door. Candy bowl clutched up by his chest and pops set on the floor nearby to get one open and bring it to his thirsty mouth. 

Okay, so maybe his exercise regimen has gotten a little bit lax lately. Maybe all he usually does is walk between his bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, and his car. Maybe he still sweats just as much despite getting around a lot less, because it costs him more effort than it used to…

No time to think about that, Steve tells himself dazedly. He needs to finish. The last of the candy is already unwrapped; he pushes the empty wrappers aside and grabs a handful, undiscriminating as he crams it in his mouth. One mouthful, then a second with hardly time to swallow, breathing hard through his nose. The treats act as a natural gag for his whimpers, fullness finally catching up to him, squirming on his padded ass with a muffled groan as the sensation sends a bolt of lighting straight south. Another handful, that’s basically the last of it, and he washes it down by chugging desperately at his Coke. Finishes it, claps a hand over his mouth to contain an inevitable belch—luckily, it’s covered by the start of indignant shouting from the living room. 

And he knows the scene he’s left. Trick-or-treat bags scattered haphazardly around the kitchen, empty. The living room couch littered with empty bowls and empty wrappers. Destruction at the hands (and mouth) of Mr. Stay Puft.

His jaw hurts, but there’s only a little bit left. Just a little more, and he finds that he wants it. Wants to finish the challenge… No, the prank, this is… to get the kids back… He feels so hazy between the pot and his overfull state, tipping the very last of the candy into his mouth and chewing with his mouth open, head tipped back against the door, exhausted. And then dutifully reaches for the last can of Coke, opens it, and pours that down his throat too. Breaks away from the lip of the can with a weak cry and another series of burps, even starting to hiccup which makes him whimper and clutch at himself, overheated and churning gut too loud to ignore and too tight in his skin, or maybe in his clothes, or both, he just—

“Steve?” Eddie calls through the door, sounding a little uncertain. “Karen just picked up half the kids and Joyce got the other half, I gave them all the replacement candy already. Are you… You good in there?”

“Eds,” he pants, groans, hiccups. “Je—hic—Jesus, I’m so.” He carefully lays both hands on either side of his distended belly in an attempt to soothe it. “I, I did it, I ate—urrrrrrp, fuck—ate all of it. Did it, Eddie. I’m so… Feel like I’m gonna explode…”

And he does, an overheated tingly sort of feeling washing through him in waves, his heartbeat pounding in his stomach and his ears and his dick. Not the first time it’s happened, the way he eats, but he’s gone all out tonight and the sensation of being ready to pop has seeped from his stomach to also encompass his hard-on. Part of him wants to keep going, but he doesn’t have anything else, couldn’t possibly fit any more down his throat, but he wants to do something.  Needs it. Needs…

“Eddie,” he groans, “he—hic—elp me.”

He can feel Eddie trying the door, but with Steve’s weight leaning against it there’s no way it’ll open. “Uh, I’m trying, I can’t…”

Laboriously, Steve kind of… rolls himself to one side, enough to haul himself onto his knees. He has to pause there, and again when he drops down onto his hands, and again after he crawls forward the barest few inches. Eddie tries the door again and it swings right into the meat of Steve’s ass, slapping against the tight denim and making Steve cry out, making him wobble and sway with a fresh wave of arousal that he absolutely didn’t expect but can’t help reveling in. He wants to drop down right there, he’s so tired and achingly horny, but knows instinctively that he can’t land on his belly like that. So he soldiers through, digging deep just to finish crawling to one side and slump against the plaid wallpaper instead. 

He breathes shallowly and waits for Eddie to come help him. 

The first look Eddie gets of Steve makes his eyes damn near pop out of his skull. Steve looks positively pot-bellied, spilling over his unbuttoned, unzipped pants like that, his belly button half uncovered and deep. Couldn’t suck in if he tried. He has chocolate and traces of candy-coating color all over his face and smeared on his sweater from all the times he’d thought he’d sucked his fingers clean but not quite, rubbing whatever was still on them into the fluffy knit. Messy, telling smudges at the bottom hem where he’d absently tried to pull the shirt down throughout his binge. It didn’t work; there’s a chocolate-smudged lip of far more than a mere muffin top bulging out the bottom, resting on his thighs. Jesus H. Christ, it almost looks like he’s doubled in size since Eddie last saw him a few hours ago, was there really that much candy in the kids’ bags?!

Eddie’s shoe knocks against an empty can as he enters the room, sending it spinning, and he supposes that’s his answer. It must be the combined efforts of candy and carbonated syrup water that have Steve so bloated, fizzing away in there. 

When he’d first walked in a few hours ago and seen Steve in costume, his breath had caught in his throat mid sentence. Super embarrassing, but what was he supposed to do? One minute they’d been talking about costumes, so stoned and loose-tongued that Eddie had suggested they be the goddamned Gatekeeper and Keymaster—characters that had canonically fucked, just left of onscreen! Next, it was weeks later (and he hadn’t actually blacked out all the time in between, it just felt that way for a second) and his current best friend and longtime crush opened the door in a tight sweater and pants that looked painted on, wearing a jaunty little hat atop his magnificent head of hair. The words well hello there sailor had lined up on his tongue like pirates ready to walk the plank. He’d had to think very hard about how many times he’d accidentally stabbed himself with a needle while sewing the ‘ghostly’ accents onto his costume, just to avoid popping a boner right there in Steve’s foyer. 

There’s just so much of Steve these days. So round, and all of his clothes perpetually tight. And Eddie’s been jerking off to the thought of this happening ever since they came up with this plan, imagining how the siren call of all that candy might make Steve’s mouth water, get his stomach rumbling, make him think that it wouldn’t hurt to have just one then taking another and another and another, insatiable… He just hadn’t expected it to actually happen.

“Eddie,” Steve groans again, looking up at him with pleading, bloodshot eyes. “I’m so full, n-need your help.”

“What can I do?” He drops down into a crouch in front of him immediately. “I’m right here, Stevie. What do you need, sweetheart?”

Okay, he needs to cool it with the pet names. Luckily Steve is already pawing at himself, looking so blazed he might not have even heard. “M’too, m’too hot Eds. Gotta get this off, get… off…”

Jesus H. Christ. 

So Eddie helps him out of the sailor collar and no longer pristine sweater. He tries not to stare but his eyes go wide when he realizes how much it was compressing. Steve groans in relief as it comes off and his entire upper half seems to puff out a little bit more, all covered in thick chest hair. Eddie wants to dig his fingers into it, into all of it, but he has to stay focused. 

Next are the pants, which Steve whines for Eddie to do and then whines more as he’s forced to lift his heavy ass, rock back and forth as Eddie drags the unforgiving fabric down, huffing and puffing between hiccups and burps and mewls of discomfort. Eddie’s dick is about to burst off and start running laps around the room for fuck’s sake, his hands are shaking he wants to touch so badly. Soothe away the stomach ache, tell him how amazing he did, finishing all that candy. Murmur in his ear, ask if that makes the revenge so much sweeter…

To make matters worse, the jeans take Steve’s boxers with them, elastic in the waistband already stretched to the point of uselessness, and Eddie can see so much. Too much, for his composure, as Steve’s cock slaps up against the underside of his belly. 

They both moan at that and Steve turns his head to look at Eddie full on with reddened eyes, tremors running through him that only give him more tantalizing friction against his hairy gut and prompt his hips to rock faster. He’s so blissed out that he doesn’t even break eye contact, just reaches blindly to grab Eddie’s hand and guides it down between his legs, rings and all, where he’s already slippery with precome and sweat and half sliding down the wall to help with holding his own belly out of the way. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, captivated by the desperate heat in Steve’s gaze. He strokes, reverent but quick. “Holy shit, holy shit Stevie…”

“Eddie,” Steve moans. His eyes roll back, his entire head going with them to thunk against the wall. “L-like that, fuuuck—hic—Oh god, keep, keep doing that, more, Eds, more, I—”

Eddie dives forward and shuts him up with a desperate kiss. He already knows that Steve is going to cause him to ruin this damn Gozer costume he worked so hard on—in the hopes of impressing Steve, actually. Which he must have done, from the way Steve kisses back like he wants to devour him, like even after all that candy Eddie is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted and never wants to be without again. 

Someone has definitely been impressed, and maybe Eddie will have to revisit the possibility of a god or something when he can think again because kissing Steve is heaven. Just… absolutely worth all the pining, even if it never happens again. 

Then Steve goes almost completely slack, breaking the kiss with a wail as he comes in thick, pulsing ropes over Eddie’s fist. His only movements are his legs (thick, biteable, trembling so hard to either side of Eddie’s hips they fall only to jerk up in little spasms as his toes curl) and his mouth (plush lips bitten and messy, twisting into shapes of wordless ecstasy). 

And Eddie has seen Steve relax, seen him indulge… seen him eat steadily through a large spread of snacks while lounging by the pool all summer in a Speedo with a sleepy, content look on his face, but this is the first time he’s really seen him let go. Lost in pure bliss. 

He’s barely thinking when he brings his come-slick hand up, thumbing through the chocolate in the corner of Steve’s mouth before sinking the digit inside. Coming himself, the instant after Steve eagerly closes around it and sucks, licks, drools all over his hand to get it all. Shuddering harder when Steve grips weakly at his wrist and continues laving over each finger one by one, slow but thorough, eyes open and dazed but tracking Eddie’s face. 

Until they’re both still, other than Steve letting out the occasional drowsy hiccup. Eddie’s fingers smooth over his parted lips, receiving faint kitten licks now and then as though Steve just can’t help himself. His other hand cradles the side of Steve’s bulging fullness, gentle against the duality of soft and immovable, in awe that he gets to touch. A part of him is still reeling that this happened at all, that he gets to see Steve so sated and sleepy and bare—except for one sock that’s managed to stay on his foot. 

Jesus H. Christ. Steve’s naked and they’re in his bedroom and they didn’t even make it to the bed.

“Do you, um. Want to lay down?” Eddie whispers. He can feel his face growing hot from the lameness of that question… Steve is practically on his back where he is, enough that he might not be able to see his feet. 

Steve nips at his pointer finger, blinking lazily with a little groan of contentment. “Does that mean I have to move,” he mumbles, but gamely begins to sit up. Eddie, from his crouch, shifts immediately to the side to help him, supports Steve’s back as he huffs his way towards semi-upright against the wall. “Urp—mm, thanks Eds.”

“No problem.” And Eddie doesn’t know why he’s whispering like he’s in a fucking library instead of kneeling in Steve Harrington’s bedroom with jizz sticky and cooling on the inside of his fucking body suit, but he doesn’t want to break whatever spell or dream that’s allowed this to happen. Wants to hold onto Steve a little bit longer, coaxing out little groans of contentment through belly rubs. 

Steve gives Eddie the sweetest smile, sleepy and sated. “Felt so good. Still feels good. Did you…” A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. “Was it good? Was I good?”

And Eddie just can’t let that doubt linger another second. “You were perfect, sweetheart,” he replies immediately, rubbing slow, soothing stripes along Steve’s side. “Fucking amazing. Move over, Mona Lisa, there’s a new masterpiece in town and his name is Steve Harrington.”

That earns him a laugh, cut off quickly when Steve clutches at his belly with a groan. “O-overdid it. Mm… ‘S fine, ‘s just… a lot.”

“Certainly looks like it.” He leans forward and presses a kiss just north of Steve’s belly button, can’t help cradling it with both hands and rubbing soothingly. “Let’s get you up, okay? Get you in bed.”

Soon enough Eddie has him cleaned up and tucked in. 

“Stay?” Steve sighs, already more than half asleep. 

So Eddie shucks his costume and climbs under the covers behind him, chuckling as Steve sluggishly reaches back and tugs Eddie’s arm over himself, demanding to be snuggled. 

And that’s more or less how they wake up in the morning. 

“Eddie,” Steve says through a yawn, subtly rubbing his naked ass back against Eddie’s naked front. There’s a teasing note in his voice as he continues, “I’m hungry.”

Secure now in the knowledge that this is neither a dream nor some kind of trick, it’s a morning treat that Eddie just can’t resist.

Permanent tag list (ask to be added): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @tangerinesteve @sofadofax

[lady-lamb21]

Three Degrees in Monaco (Chapter 1)

word count: 2.7k

When he’d first told me that he wanted to go to Europe and see his family, I was thrilled. Theo doesn’t often allow himself to stray from his day’s monotony. He calls it his “extraordinary work ethic,” but I think if I weren’t in love with him, I’d probably argue that it’s more a gnarly concoction of laziness and fear.

When he’d first told me he made all the right calls, bought the right tickets, and was scheduled to jet off for the summer, that was when something started to bug me. I’d smiled, squeezed his shoulder, and put on the same sing-song voice my mother used to use when I would return from the front yard and give her what I liked to call a “garden gift.” So, this is what it feels like to get a handful of dirty, wriggling worms dumped into your lap.

Except, no. I should have been elated, not in part, not even mostly. Entirely and wholeheartedly excited for my friend. My best friend. Yet the thought of hearing his voice through a poor connection for the next three months was the only thing I could think about. That, sandwiched between my guilt and some other gummed-up feeling I can never quite interpret, was the start of the distancing; the not picking up the phone, the saying no when I could’ve and really should’ve said yes.

“I swear to god, if you tell me you still have a ‘shit-ton of laundry to do,’ I’m gonna lose it.” He’d laughed when he’d said it, but not the kind of laugh that means he’s found anything particularly funny. He never sounds mad even when he’s scolding, but if I could have seen his face, the crease between his brows, there’d be no doubt about it; he’d lost his patience with me.

“If you keep pestering me into taking up more of your time when I know you still have to pack, I’m gonna lose it! How ’bout that, hm?” I’m desperate for the right laugh because the right laugh means he’s not suspicious. It means he’s a clueless boy who’s not going to make me say goodbye. But he isn’t, and of course he will.

“Alright whatever, I need to talk to you and I’ve only got two days before I leave. Are you really gonna tell me you can’t come over for an hour? Just one hour?”

I’m so itchy in my clothes all of a sudden, and I want to tell him to leave me alone, have a good time, and never think about me again. I’m antsy to be an overly dramatic Hollywood starlet and make it all about me. But I don’t. Not out loud, at least.

“Okay, fine. But if I have to go to work on Monday in dirty tights, I’ll kill you.” There’s the laugh.

“I don’t think you’re gonna have to worry about that. Be at my place at six.”

I have to physically resist the urge to remind him that it’s not really his place, and that he has a far more generous sister than he often deserves. I’m sure he’s heard it enough already and the last thing I should be doing now is starting a fight.

When he opens the door, his embrace is familiar yet overwhelming all at once. I don’t listen to his small talk as we make our way through the kitchen, past the dining room, and up the stairs to his bedroom. I do, however, notice that it’s strayed from its typical catch-up questions and taken on an uncharacteristically lecturing tone, likely in response to my recent avoidance of him. I shouldn't be surprised by it. Our friendship dynamic has never been that of a cat and mouse. We talk about everything. Almost everything.

“So,” he starts. I suck in my breath and give a nod. Here we go. “I have some news.” Not what I was expecting, though still not inherently reassuring.

“Yes?”

“You know I’ve been planning my trip. . .”

“Uh huh?”

“It’s a pretty big trip, I mean, my whole family will be there. Well, not my sister but, you know.” Yes, I do.

“Yeah?”

“So, I’ve decided something.” Christ.

“Jesus, yes Theo! What’s your fucking news?”

The laugh returns. “Relax. I want you to come with me. Well, scratch that actually, you are coming with me. That’s all.”

Wait. “What?”

“Called your mom the other day. Said you wouldn’t mind. besides you’re not gonna keep working over the summer anyways, right?”

He’s smug beyond his years.

“So?! Maybe I do mind?! Maybe I mind very much!”

“C’mon! One last go, before school and all that. Plus, you totally don’t mind.”

“Theo!”

The cockiness is something I’m all too familiar with. However, I’m slightly taken aback by the persistence, like he’s desperate for me to go along. Even when he’s telling me what to do, he’s still asking. But he is right. One last go. And I don’t mind at all.

———

I don’t think I’m a very desirable travel companion. I don’t enjoy flying, though my distaste has little to do with any type of irrational fear. It’s something I would’ve liked to have sorted out a bit more before jetting off to college, but here I am the summer before. . .It’s really the entire physical experience. The cramped seating, the toilets, the tiny space shuttle-esque windows, so on and so forth. What’s there to like?

There was the phone call to my boss—the lie about some fictitious family member being struck with an even less legitimate fatal illness. There was the fact that for the entirety of the forty minutes it took for me to leave a part-time job—only five days before I was already planning to—I was thirteen again. I was crouched in the back of his sister’s coat closet with him, making horrendously executed prank calls, gagging at the Newport smoke stitched into her boyfriend’s coat, and clutching my stomach as it burned with our laughter.

There was the sleepover that we’d had the night before in order to be up and headed to the airport on time. There was the inky early morning sky, his bedroom window and his ninth-grade watercolor project that had earned its place on our school’s website that spring. There was his tired smile once he’d joined me upstairs from the living room couch, a jesting “and off we go” accompanying the expression. There was the “Give ’em hell” his sister had given us from the dimly lit kitchen table as we’d stiffly shuffled our suitcases into the hallway, accompanied by an overexaggerated kiss on my cheek, and the realization that I was in on a joke that wasn’t very funny.

There was the carry-on bag he’d yanked from my grasp as we clambered out of the taxi.

There was the mediocre airport breakfast sandwich alongside the somewhat mediocre—albeit endearingly so—conversation.

“My mom is gonna tell me I need a haircut, bet you five bucks,” he’d muttered through a mouthful of turkey bacon. After finally boarding, it wasn’t long before I drifted off. I woke up sometime in the final few hours of the flight, my head tucked in the crook of his neck over Nice and my stomach somewhere in my throat. I suppose there’s a decent amount to like.

———

I like to think I make up for my dormant presence on the plane during the train ride to Monaco. I’m a planner, a fact of which I’m both very proud and incredibly resentful. You don’t get many invites to exciting late-night excursions when you’re a planner, but you’re trusted, which feels like it means more. Sometimes. Whether I like it or not, it’s in my nature to bring apple slices with peanut butter, a booklet of crossword puzzles, and about four different playlists depending on how the scenery shifts throughout the ride. Theo is my favorite crossword partner, but only because he’s way worse at them.

About thirty minutes into our two-hour journey, he’s gone quiet, no longer bobbing along to the Paul Simon phase of our travel soundtrack. He’s terrible at pretending to pay attention to something. He doesn’t realize it but his eyes are his tell. They glaze over and gaze just beyond your face, almost over your shoulder. Self-conscious about the broadness of my own, I don’t entertain his disinterest in me for long.

“Leave the iron on?”

“Hm?” He looks at me as though I’ve just appeared from behind a tree.

“You leave your iron on back home, or something?”

“I don’t have an iron.”

As if you couldn’t tell. The blue, faux-satin button-down his aunt sent him last month for his eighteenth birthday already looks like a drugstore popcorn shirt.

“Where’d you go?” I try again, talking like a person this time.

“Nowhere really, just thinking.”

“About . . ?”

“I just, I don’t want her to ask about Anaïs . . . you know?”

I pause the fast-paced drums filtering through my earbuds as he removes the one I’d given him from his left ear.

“You know they’re probably gonna ask.” I’m trying to be sensitive, but he knows better than to think I’d lie to spare his feelings.

“But she’s not really asking. She’s just, like, waiting for me to say something she doesn’t like so she can explode.”

“I know.”

I do. His mother is painfully obvious when she knows what she wants and even more so when she doesn’t get it. Though I’ve only met her on four separate occasions, this has remained my consistent observation. The first was at kindergarten pickup. She hadn’t been hard to spot in a plum purple maxi skirt, flashy parakeet green earrings, and a bright red lip. Theo had grabbed my arm and all but dragged me to her, proudly introducing me as his new best friend. We’d only met the day before.

Our next two encounters were at funerals. The first was for Theo’s grandfather, a man I’d later come to adore. He’d taken over the kindergarten pickup after Theo’s mother had apparently gotten into a bit of a “tiff,” as he’d called it, with our head teacher. At his service, she had commissioned me—freshly twelve—to deliver the programs and point out his paintings along the back wall of the church to the incoming attendees. I thanked him in my prayer for the bracelet he’d gotten me in Cannes when I was nine. She gripped my hand once at the wake, over Aperol Spritzes.

The second funeral was for Theo’s uncle, who wasn’t really his uncle at all. He was the best friend of Theo’s father’s cousin and I’d only met him once at a dinner. When I first introduced myself, he’d placed his hand just a bit too low on my lower back. At his service, Theo’s mother hadn’t said one word to me, the only acknowledgment of my presence being a terse nod as I walked through the church’s side entrance. I sat in a back pew and skipped the Spritzes.

The last time I had seen her was two years ago, the day his parents decided to move back to Monaco. Apparently they’d been mulling the idea over for a couple of years by that point, but he’d never said a word of it to me. At eighteen now and looking back at our sixteen-year-old selves, I don’t think either of us would have been able to stomach it had it been said out loud. Anaïs’ miscarriage had been the catalyst. I remember that afternoon, when he appeared at my front door in a frantic state, out of breath from his sprint down the block. He choked out a horrifying recount of walking in on his sister in the bathroom—finding her hunched over and feverish on the cold, increasingly red tile—and immediately calling his mother. The three of us waited in silence on their porch for her to return home. As soon as she had, we piled into their 1997 Toyota Previa, with me sitting on the floor, Theo’s mother running reds all the way to the hospital. No one knew that Anaïs had been pregnant. She was nineteen. For the first time, I felt I’d learned something about Theo’s mom that maybe she hadn’t known: even the deepest love, while seemingly everlasting, is conditional.

———

“Hey, marmotte. . .”

“Hm?” I wake up only to find myself tucked back in his neck. How I’ve already managed to completely fatigue myself again, I’m not sure.

“Wake up, this is us.”

The Monaco-Monte-Carlo station is exactly as I’d hoped it would be and more. Sitting just slightly above the surrounding administrative area, it has a perfect, head-on view of the water. The buildings neighboring the coast are a patchwork of neon yellows, greens, and pinks, bounded above and below by a crisp blue sky and a bluer ocean. A rusty cliffside cradles the edge of town on one side, slicing through the harsh, high altitude wind, leaving those down below with nothing but a gentle breeze.

I’m taken out of my trance upon our exit as a vehicle emerges smoothly from behind the cliff. The roofless monorail slithers above the shoreline, between the rooftops, as if heading out to sea.

“I think I remember that?” He says it like a question, and a sad one at that. Theo was only three when his family left Europe for his father to join the American manufacturing boom. I know he loves our city, but I’m also painfully aware of his resentment for it. New York was not where he was meant to stick around, but upon being asked to choose, he’d stayed.

“Is there a bus we’re taking?”

Having interrupted his hazy train of thought, he turns from the coastline back to me wearing a challenging smile. “You can’t tell me you’re still tired, all you did was sleep!”

I grumble my way around a noncommittal answer, but gladly take his outstretched hand anyway. I shouldn’t complain, and I can’t as soon as I see his face taking it all in. It sends a flood of something wonderful through my system watching him ask for directions, speaking in a language he only ever gets to use on the phone. He tugs me behind him, taking long strides as if he were already completely familiar with his surroundings after just one point of an index finger. It’s just under a thirty-minute walk to his parent’s house, but we stop at the nearest ATM for a quick currency exchange about halfway through. I’m suddenly regretting my dedication to German in junior high, but there’s something about the way he’s teasing me today that I don’t mind.

“Are you hungry yet?”

I’m surprised he’s asking only five minutes away from the apartment. Surely his mother will be forcing her cooking on us as soon as we arrive. “You don’t want to wait until we get there?”

“Nope.” He’s not looking at me when he says it. The nerves have set in. Fair enough.

Generous as I am, I allow him to lead me slightly off course in search of somewhere to grab a quick bite. We settle on an espresso bar just slightly southwest of our destination. He’s gone quiet again, barely sipping his coffee in favor of watching the ripples forming in the cup.

“They’re gonna be excited to see you more than anything else.”

“Hm?”

Good grief, Theo.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I try again, a bit gentler this time. “They’ll just be happy you’re home.”

“Not worried. . .” he tapers off, but gives me an anxious little smile, as if to thank me for spelling it out. He’d foregone holding my hand once we’d become sure of our route. However, he takes it again in the moments leading up to our arrival, gripping my fingers tightly. It’s the only noticeable change from his otherwise calm exterior as he guides us through the congested foot traffic. My stupid mind doesn’t stop drifting between our intertwined hands and what we surely must look like to passers by. Get a grip.

Arriving at the square feels somewhat like entering the eye of a storm. It’s almost silent in comparison to the busy streets bleeding into its center. The complex’s front door is an orange-stained Canarywood with a dainty, metal handle. We walk into the vestibule and up the creaky, winding steps to the second floor. One more to go and we’re presented with a narrow hallway and another series of doors similar in design. Six, eight, and finally apartment ten.

He knocks twice.

Plum purple maxi skirt.

“Ah! Bienven– ah, tu as besoin d'une coupe de cheveux, mon fils!”

———

Hi! This is the first chapter of a short story I wrote back in my sophomore year of college for a fiction workshop class. It touches on themes of love, loss, family, friendship, substance abuse, and coming of age. If you liked it———let me know! I'd love to post the rest in the future if anybody would be interested. If you didn't like it———you and my fiction workshop have that in common... but thank you for reading it nonetheless <3

-I

P.S. One girl in my class was particularly pissed off by her need to Google Translate some bits. Apologies ;)

[valkeakuulas]

Hi there. If you’re so inclined, I’d love to indulge my current Echo/Rex/Fives obsession. One of these would be nice :3

13. ❛ bend over the desk love ❜

18. ❛ do that again, please. ❜

26. ❛ I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it ❜

Thank you

Hahahaa, I actually decided to use two prompts since wasn't able to pick just one. 😂

I haven't really used them in actual dialog, more like taken them as inspirations and set the mood of the fic based on them. Hope you don't mind that. :3

26. ❛I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it ❜/ 18. ❛ do that again, please ❜

Rex groaned, low and deep, when Echo carefully bit his collarbone, teeth worrying the thin strip of skin at the same time as Fives' hands pushed his shirt up, fingers gliding over the muscles.

It would've been loud enough to warrant attention if not for the loud music blasting from the speakers floating around the dim club. As it was, Rex's voice was lost beneath the deep bass and lyrics, sung in a language he didn't know.

Then again, the singer could've been using plain Basic and Rex wouldn't have been able to understand them, not with how fast his brain was melting underneath the wandering hands and clever hot mouths that seemed to be everywhere at once.

Sandwiched between his ARCs, Rex locked his knees in place when Fives' nails scratched the line of hair disappearing into his pants, teasing the waistline, and Echo licked and sucked the bit of skin he had just abused.

Panting, Rex tilted his head back, resting it on Fives’s shoulder as he stared for a moment at the ceiling, lit partially by the flashing strobe lights. It reminded Rex of the fact that they weren’t in the relative safety of the barracks. Instead, they were behind some weird, decorative wall that cut this part of the club from the main area.

The spot was nowhere near inconspicuous; Rex could see beings passing them mere meters away.

He licked his lips and opened his mouth to tell Fives and Echo that they really should relocate but then Echo pushed his thigh between Rex’s, forcing them open. Rex jerked forward, hands flying to grab Echo by the shoulders when the strong leg pressed into his groin, into his half-hard cock.

In the place of words, another deep groan passed from Rex’s lips.

Rex more felt than heard the pleased rumble Fives made and the hands relocated themselves on Rex’s hips. The bastard used his strength to move Rex, making him rock against Echo, while Rex’s other bastard finally stopped using him as his personal chewing toy and captured Rex’s lips into a deep kiss with tongue and teeth.  

The friction sent sparks of lust all over Rex, his already elevated heartbeat quickening. He couldn’t stop himself from whimpering against Echo’s lips, clinging onto the strong shoulders and it took embarrassingly little for Rex to start riding Echo’s thigh.

This time Rex could feel the vibrations originating from both of the ARCs chests, pleased with how easily Rex gave in, like he always did when it was just the three of them.

Rex was all but gulping for air when Echo finally released him. He gasped in surprise when Fives pushed him forward, pinning him against Echo. The movement forced Rex higher on the thigh, the feeling of both of their cocks pressing into him making Rex’s toes curl inside his boots.

The two ARCs leaned forward, sharing a messy kiss over Rex’s shoulder.

They looked so good, so beautiful that Rex twisted and fumbled until he could hold onto both of his lovers. He would never tire of watching Echo and Fives kiss, the sight of them together making Rex’s heart swell with emotions so strong it was almost scary.

His admiration came to a halt when one of Echo’s hands squeezed between them, opening the fastenings of Rex’s pants while Fives started to push them down to reveal more skin for them to fondle. The two of them didn’t even pause their making out, their hands never bumping into each other, almost as if there was a mental link between the two.

Once again, Rex knew he should protest this but then Fives’ fingers found his length at the same time as Echo palmed his ass.

And once again, Rex voice was lost underneath the roar of the music.

[sunsafewriting]

Keep Your Arms In - 1 Do A Flip extended cinematic universe

basically just extra one-shots sets in and after do a flip.

excerpt:

Diego forgets about the lie almost as soon as they leave the grocery store. He’s got other, more important things to think about, like how late he can convince Ava to let him stay up, and whether he’ll be able to get a tattoo like Shannon’s one day. 

Ava’s answers to his questions are, in this order: nine-thirty, and yes, one day, but for now, they can hit the mall kiosk that sells temporary tattoos. 

It’s not until they’re back at Ava’s place, unloading their bags, that he remembers their capsicum. 

“I don’t want to eat that,” he says, wrinkling his nose. 

“Nor do you have to,” Ava promises. “I’m going to try it, though. And you’d better start brainstorming vegetables you will eat, because otherwise you’ll get leprosy. Wait, that’s the wrong one. It’s the sailor one, isn’t it? Scurvy.” She taps her temple. “And Sister Frances thought Pirateology wasn’t an educational text.”

He watches her wash the capsicum, chop a chunk off, and pop it into her mouth. 

“Hmm, okay, that’s not winning any awards from me,” she declares, wrinkling her nose. “Nevermind, you were right. Capsicums suck.” 

“See?”

“It’s no broccoli, that’s for fucking sure.” She pauses. “Should I swear in front of you less? Now that I’m a responsible adult, and everything.” 

Diego shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

That ship has probably well and truly sailed, but they Google it anyway, just to be safe.  

For the next several months, Diego lives a blissfully capsicum-free life. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner at St Michael’s are mostly the same, day in and day out, even if the options have become slightly more nutritional since Mother Superion arrived and overhauled everything. 

When he’s with Ava, they experiment with all sorts of different foods — some he finds he likes and some he finds he doesn’t. It becomes a tradition of theirs. Ava doesn’t have enough money for them to do anything really crazy, but picking out something from the grocery store that neither of them has ever had before is always affordable and always fun. 

It’s still just their thing, even once Beatrice is there, because Ava has never wavered in her promise to keep the things he wants to be just Ava and Diego as just Ava and Diego. But at a certain point, it feels stupid to keep doing it without Beatrice, when like everything else, it would probably be even more fun with her. 

Also, he’s kind of excited to show her their notebook, which is the closest thing he and Ava have ever managed to meticulous record-keeping. 

He presents their ledger while they’re having lunch at Ava’s apartment on a Saturday — the three of them sitting cross-legged on the floor in the living room, because Ava maintains that sandwiches shouldn’t be eaten at a table, that such formality is an affront to the spirit of the sandwich. 

“What’s this?” Beatrice asks, when he hands her the notebook. 

“It’s all the different foods Ava and I have tried this year. And whether we think they’re yuck or not.” 

“Writing it down makes it science,” Ava says wisely. “Learned that from MythBusters. ” 

Diego’s dogeared the page of their most recent entry, and Beatrice opens the book there, reads their review of pineapple upside down cake.

“Is it perhaps slightly unfair to penalise the cake for tasting burned when that’s not an inherent quality of pineapple upside down cake?” she asks, dragging her finger across the line where Ava’s written their criticism. 

“It’s like the Olympics,” Ava replies. “Doesn’t matter how good you are, it’s all about what you bring to the arena on the day. We can only judge based on what’s in front of us.” 

“Also, we got distracted making giant soap bubbles,” Diego explains. “And we had the oven on too high.” 

Once they’ve tried something and it’s gone into the book, Diego doesn’t usually think about it too much anymore. There seem to be repeats of things he really loves and not of things he hates, but he doesn’t really, properly think about the fact that this means that Ava and Beatrice remember .

Or, at least, he doesn’t think about it until the day that they’re cooking together.

Ava’s ducked next door to help Camila with her fire alarm, which won’t stop going off, so it’s just Diego and Beatrice in the kitchen. 

He watches, with moderate to extreme dismay, as she pulls a capsicum out of the grocery bag she’s brought with her. She washes it thoroughly in the sink, just like the zucchini before it, and then slices it up. This time, though, rather than dumping all the slices into the bowl, she offers him one. 

“They’re your favourite, yes?” she says. 

Diego’s chest tightens suddenly, unexpectedly. He can count the number of people who’ve ever bothered to learn his favourite anything on one hand without even needing to use all his fingers. 

But Beatrice only thinks capsicums are his favourite because he and Ava are liars and he doesn’t even understand why they lied, but they did, and now Beatrice is being so kind to him, and her kindness is in capsicum form and it’s like God is punishing him for being deceitful. 

The piece of capsicum looks red and evil — but Beatrice is smiling at him, and he can’t let her down, so he accepts it, thanks her, and shoves it into his mouth. 

It’s wretched, spicy and cold. Still, he swallows. 

“Let me know if you want more, okay? Once it’s in this, you won’t really be able to taste it.”

Diego tries not to let the relief show on his face.