#jon's face in response is so so perfect

[vaginalsauce]

dolled up

warnings

Unprotected p in v, pet names (lover, dear, sweet love, pretty thing, honey, princess), fingering, sweet and lovey Jon, couples first time, semi-public naughty stuffs and teasing, oral, m!receiving, daddy Jon

A/N

Omg this was so fun to write, I kinda got carried away oops

For my little pookie bear @spookynoods

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Jon sat quietly on your couch, beer in one hand, other wrapped tightly around your shoulders to keep you close to him.

You had been dating for quite awhile now, and had gotten pretty comfortable with each other, but there were still limits either of you dared to cross just yet. The furthest you both had ever gotten was making out and Jon copping a consensual feel or two.

It was new for him, having someone there for him, instead of there for his money or drugs or sex. You two could sit in silence, and still be so absorbed in each other. Needless to say, he adored you, and he wouldn't do anything to make you angry, or uncomfortable, or upset.

After the constant reluctance to let him spend money on you was when he really started spending money on you, only because he just thought you deserved the world and more for being such a pure and loveable human.

But you felt horrible, not touching him in the ways you knew he desired in the bedroom, just because you weren't ready for that big step in your relationship.

He swore on his life that he didn't mind waiting, he just wanted you to be okay and comfortable. But you knew that he was a man, and you just couldn't help but feel bad for pushing the event so far away.

"Jon, honey, you're okay here for awhile if I run to my room, right? Just want to get fixed up a little before we head out with your boys." You turned to look at him, propping your chin up on his arm as you awaited his response.

He only nodded, placing a kiss to your forehead with a weak smile. His head was hurting again, probably hungover. You got up, taking his beer away from him and making your way to the kitchen. You grabbed a bottle of water and some pain medication, and shortly returned to the couch, handing him both.

"Take the pills with some water, and try and get some rest for awhile. I'll be in my room, just yell if you need something."

He looked up at you with a face of pure adoration, and extended an arm that would grip the back of your neck and bring you into a lazy but warm kiss.

"Thank you, lover." He hummed before doing what you directed, eyes wandering over you as you made your way to your room.

Once you reached said room, you gently closed the door, and began rifling through your closet to find the dress you had bought. It was tight, short, low cut, and revealing, a stark contrast from what you usually wore. And of course, to go under it, a pair of matching red lacy underwear.

You had decided for awhile that the night was going to come soon, and with going to a bar so the men of the band could see and meet each others women being the excuse to dress up, you had the perfect opportunity.

You quickly stripped and redressed, looking in the mirror for a solid five minutes to make sure everything looked okay on you. You moved to your desk, propping the lamp and mirror up just right as you started on your makeup.

Once the makeup was finished, you moved onto teasing and curling your hair, which took longer than expected, and your head snapped when you heard the door open.

You smiled and relaxed as you watched a groggy Jon lean against the door frame, another beer in hand. He smiled at you, before coming in and taking a seat on your bed.

"What're you getting all dolled up for? You got a date that I don't know about? Do I have to kick someone's ass?" Jon took a swig of his beer before his eyes began to wander over your dress in realization. "Shit, sweetheart. . . You're really starting to worry me, now." He teased, before watching you stand up.

"Am I not allowed to look pretty?" You gave a playful huff, putting your hands on your hips with a faux pout. Jon chuckled, pulling you closer to him by the backs of your thighs, and resting his hands on your waist.

"You're always pretty, dear. Just wondering why you think you've gotta get all fancy on me to think you're pretty." He pressed a kiss to the fabric on your stomach, before you leaned down and pressed your forehead against his, giving him a peck on the nose.

"You're very cheesy, old man." You grinned, before grabbing your bag and shoes. Jon was quick to follow you, pushing you down into a chair so he could kneel and slip your heels on for you. It wasn't new for Jon to tie your shoes or anything of the sort, and you always thought of it as sweet.

Once both of your heels were on and buckled, he pressed kisses to your knees before standing once more, catching a glimpse of the red lace on his way up. He shot you a confused look, which you brushed off.

He took your hand, and led you out of the apartment.

*********************

It wasn't long before everybody was seated at a red decorative booth, three other girls sandwhiched next to all of the men. While everyone was busy talking, you placed a hand on Jon's upper thigh, giving his leather a light squeeze. He carried on his conversation, but you could tell it threw him off guard by the way he paused for a short second.

The arm that was previously wrapped over your shoulders had found its way under the table, taking your hand and moving it into your own lap. It worried you, but your worry was quickly replaced by a fluttering feeling in your stomach when his hand rubbed it's way up from your knee to your inner thigh, and you let out a shaky breath.

Once Alec had taken it upon himself to leave Jon out of the conversation, Jon leaned over and pressed his lips to your ear.

"What are you up to, you little fox?" He muttered, his free hand bringing a glass of vodka to his lips once he pulled away and taking a slow drink, and it made your own mouth burn at the sight, but you couldn't help but find it impressive.

"I'm not up to anything. You don't want me to love on you in public?" You tilted your head in pretend-innocence, saccharine dripping from your tone. Jon chuckled and shook his head.

before resuming his conversation with Richie, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "You teasing me right now? Pretty bold for someone who isn't ready for that yet."

Your legs had crossed, and you lightly began rubbing your foot against Jon's calf. He gave your thigh a squeeze in an assumed warning.

His voice seemed to deepen while talking, and you could tell he was getting antsy. Your hand just barely ghosted over his crotch, and his hips raised a little when you brought your hand back to his thigh, desperate to have you touch him there again. He huffed in annoyance when your fingers tapped along the outline of his cock in his tight pants.

And that fast, he pushed your legs apart and cupped your clothed heat with his large hand. You almost let out a moan, but you were quick to swallow it when you noticed the sharp glare that Jon shot your way as another warning to keep quiet.

The rubbing on Jon's thigh faltered as he applied a bit more pressure to your core, fingers trailing along the lace. He looked over to you, and you had never seen a more desperate and lust-filled look in his eyes.

"Hey, kids, me and y/n are heading out, we made reservations." And with that, Jon grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet and leading you out the door. He called a cab over, and told him the address of your apartment building.

"At 11:00 at night?" Richie questioned, but shook it off.

When the two of you climbed in, his lips were quick to attach to your neck, kissing and sucking gently from your jaw to your collarbone. Your hands raked through his hair, and you let out a shaky whimper.

His marking seemed to go on forever, just licking, sucking, biting, kissing in all the spots he knew you liked until the cab pulled over in front of your stop. Jon pulled cash out and put it in the palm of the driver, muttering a small 'keep the change.'

You two raced to your apartment, hands intertwined. It wasnt seconds after you closed your front door that Jon had his hands on your hips, pulling you into the neediest kiss you've ever had with him.

"Shit, you planned this all out, didn't you, sweetheart?" Jon's hands trailed from your hips up to your tits, kneading them gently in his palms as he watched you struggle to focus and nod. Your fingers slipped through his belt loops to pull his hips harder into yours, and he let out a low groan.

He grabbed your hands and pulled them away before wrapping an arm, around your waist, ushering you to your bedroom.

Jon pushed you onto your bed, lips reconnecting with yours. He brought his knee up to nestle between your thighs, pushing against your cunt.

He felt his insides turn into flips when you began struggling to kiss him back, hands wrapping over his neck as you began to lightly grind yourself against his knee.

"Sweet love, you're already so squirmy for me? Thought this was your idea, trying to tease me in public like that?" Jon pressed his knee harder into you, and you brought your hands down to try and tug his shirt over his head, but he caught them and pinned them over your head. "Huh uh, you don't get to get impatient on me, princess."

You let out a whine, But Jon paid it no mind as he slowly peeled and stripped your dress off of you, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin. Once you were left in your lace, he pulled away to admired your bruised neck, your swollen lips, the way your hair was sprawled out under you.

"Jon, I need you so bad, please touch me." You begged, trying desperately to pull him back down to you. Jon gave you his cute little smirk before pulling off the bed completely.

"Gonna work for it, honey?" He gave you a little head tilt, and you crawled over to him slowly, before sliding off the bed and landing on your knees in front of the standing man.

Your stomach sank and all you could think of was how your mouth watered, so desperate to taste him. Your hands raced to his belt, fumbling with the buckle before managing to get it loose.

Jon slipped his hand down to help you, finally managing to tug his pants down enough for his hardening cock to spring out towards your face.

You were hesitant, and you looked up to him with a pleading look in your eyes, just begging for instruction. He took a hold of your hand, placing it at the base of his cock. You watched him shiver, and it boosted your confidence tenfold.

You gave his dick a few experimental pumps, only for his hand to come down and brush your hair from your face.

"C'mon, spit on it baby, use your pretty mouth for me." His thumb found its way to your lips, pushing past them and into your mouth, and you hollowed your cheeks around his thumb. His eyes never left your face, and you felt his cock pulse in your hand.

Once his thumb left your mouth, he used the string of saliva for his cock, and pushed his hips towards your mouth while your lips were still parted.

You took him into your mouth, his hand tangling in the back of your hair to guide your pretty face along his cock.

"Fuck," Jon groaned out. "just like that, so good f'daddy."

The new nickname for himself set your insides aflame, and you felt yourself involuntarily moan around his dick. His grip in your hair tightened, and his hips stuttered as he began to thrust himself into your mouth, taking the job upon himself.

You snaked your hand down to rub your clit through your underwear, but Jon yanked you off of his cock as soon as he noticed. "Hands behind your back, baby, did I say you could touch yourself?"

You did as he said, too embarrassed to verbally answer his question.

"Words, pretty girl, did I say you could touch yourself?" He asked once again, taking his dick in his hand and slowly rubbing himself to the sight of you below him, hands behind your back, all marked up from his love bites.

"N-no. ." You mumbled, bringing your face closed to his dick an an attempt to get him in your mouth again.

"No. . What? C'mon baby, speak." Jon rubbed your cheek gently, encouraging you to address him properly.

"No, daddy, y-you didn't." You huffed.

"That's my girl, so precious." And with that, he pushed his dick back into your mouth, hand back into your hair, but allowing you the free reigns to move yourself up and down his cock. You flattened your tongue against the underside of his pretty member, feeling the pulsing veins pushing on your tastebuds. "God, your mouth is so perfect, perfect hole for me to use."

You moaned at his words, looking up at him as he pushed you all the way down his cock. When he hit the back of your throat, you coughed and gagged around him, but kept yourself there purely to see the way his face contorted in pleasure. He pulled you off his cock again, letting his hand slip from your hair to your throat, squeezing the sides gently as he pulled you to your feet.

"Back on the bed, sugar." He hummed, pressing you back into the bed. His quick hands tugged the pretty red underwear down your legs, his jaw clenching at the sight of your dripping plush. "Fuck, baby, you're soaked. You really that needy just from sucking daddy's dick?"

You covered your face with your hands, but Jon only undid the clasps of your bra, throwing it across the room with his own littered clothes. He leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his eye contact with you not faltering.

"Jon-! Oh my god, please--" Jon grinned against your breast, pulling off of it with a loud pop from the suction.

"Want me to fuck you? Is that what you're whining for?" Jon chuckled as you nodded your head quickly, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him close. "Alright, sweet love. You ready f'me?"

Jon gave his dick a few sloppy pumps before guiding his tip to your hole, just resting there, enjoying the feeling of your clenching cunt trying to suck him in deeper. You let out a loud cry, tears beginning to spring from your eyes as you bucked your hips towards him. "Please, daddy please. I need it so bad."

Jon leaned down to your face, forehead resting against yours as his lips just barely brushed your mouth. You pushed forward, trying hard to kiss him but he pulled away, flowing with your movements, his lips returning to hovering over yours. You let out a choked sob, hands coming down in fists onto the bed. A long string of pleas left your mouth, and you felt the hot tears streaming from the corner of your eyes and down the side of your face.

"Ohhh, sweet girl, so desperate, so pretty crying like that just for me. Can't even speak clearly." Jon began to push into you slowly, pulling out after only pushing himself in a little. Your hands flew up to dig into his arms, nails drawing reddening lines across them.

Every time he pushed in, he'd go just a little deeper, chuckling at how pretty you sounded choking on your moans for him. He rested his mouth next to your ear so you could listen to his pants and low groans as he finally began fucking you, pace relentless, as of someone flipped a switch inside of him. Your back arched and your stomach and chest pressed against his.

Loud moans were drawn from you with every thrust, and you were positive that all the apartments surrounding you would file a complaint.

"Oh, such a good slut f'daddy, c'mon. You were so desperate for me to fuck you, take it, little girl." Jon brought his hands up to squeeze your tits, gently pulling on them and squishing them in his large palms. He felt you tighten around him and he let out a sultry moan, moving one of his hands to your neck, pressing lightly aga8nst your airways. Your eyes were rolling back, and the feeling of being so light and air-headed in that moment was enough to make you see white.

You practically thrashed in his hold, and he was quick to grab your hips and begin pulling you back into him, chasing his own climax as he watched you experience your own. The sweet moans that were escaping you caused Jon to still inside of you, his stomach tensing up as he released his seed deep inside of you.

Pressing a long and passionate kiss to your lips, he slowly pulled out. When he pulled away, he wiped the hair from your face. He almost felt bad about how rough he was with you, a small frown forming on his face as he looked over how fucked dumb you were.

"You with me, lover?" He got off the bed, giving a weak smile when you lazily nodded. "Let's get you to the bathroom then, yeah? Toilet and then bath." Once you nodded again, he took you up against him, helping you to walk to said bathroom, your legs shaking, feeling like jelly.

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[bruciemilf]

Okay so civilian AU where the batkids don't want their dad dating Clark (not because they hate Clark, they love him, they just don't want their dad Dating) but they don't outright say it because Clark makes Bruce happy, so they just. Commit micro aggressions.

Clark gets turned around in the Manor? Jason has a snarky comment about how "if you can't even find your way around a house, how do you expect to find your way around Gotham?"

There's a bomb threat while they're out at the mall (it's Gotham) and Clark’s slightly panicking. Dick helps calm him down, but not without the patronizing comment of, "the first bomb threat's always the hardest. You're not going to last long here if you still get so freaked out about bomb threats—it's best if you just go back to Metropolis."

Clark asks why Cass resorts to sign language only when around him, like stops mid-sentence and switches to sign when he enters the room. Cass looks innocently at him and signs, "I only speak around people I'm comfortable with and I know will stay."

Damian just flat-out ignores him. Clark can't even say anything because Damian’s just Like That. Titus chews up all Clark’s clothes? "I'm not responsible for my dog's habits, Kent."

Clark tries and fails to articulate a business proposal on the behalf of WE Tim comes to rescue him with a sympathetic but pointed comment about how, "it's okay, not everyone knows how to pitch proposals. In upper-class society, it's a necessary skill—even Steph knows, and I doubt she's ever set foot in WE, but it's fine you don't know, really! Just...stay away from my company, will you? It's a family affair."

Clark Knows they don't like him, but the comments are isolated and innocent enough that he can't point anything out without it seeming like he's nitpicking.

- batposts (on anon because I'd rather you didn't see my main)

WHEEZE POOR CLARK - this tastes so much like the bitterness I had for my mom's first boyfriend. Let me tell you me and my brother invented a new layer of hell for that man.

OH OH OH - Clark thinks the batkids are invincible, they're Bruce's perfect baby angels (quoted from the titan dad himself) but he quickly realizes that's not the case at all.

Like, maybe Tim says something snarky during dinner, something intentionally smarmy about the class difference between clark and Bruce and isn't it wonderful they lasted so long despite being so different?

And Clark doesn't even blink at that, he's used to Tim being Tim, but Bruce? " What did you say, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne?"

An ivory red lits Tim's ghostly pale painted face on fire. " Um. Jay-"

" Don't look at me, man."

" Dick-"

" Eşti pe cont propriu, cretinule. (You're on your own, moron - I like to think Dick only ever insults his siblings in Romanian)

" Steph?"

" No habla little bitch."

" Dami?"

Damian stares at him, silently squishing his cheek againts a fuming Bruce's forearm. Needless to say Tim doesn't have desert or coffee for a WEEK and Bruce has a long talk with his kids.

Counterattack: Clark's kids do the exact opposite. They just snatch Bruce, OUR DAD NOW, CHUCKLEFUCKS, and dip straight up.

When they actually DO meet, let Jon look at Dami glowering at him, because NEW BABIES? IN THE NEST? NO- and just laugh.

He laughs. That's it. " Okay, first of all, you're adorable and I love everything about you. "

Conner is straight up like,

hey Jason, right? You don't have to worry about Bruce anymore, dude. I'm kinda planning on moving in? So you can move back out. I know for a fact you have the best room in this overpriced box and I plan on taking it. Haha, just messing! Seriously though, move out. I got this.

[frogs11]

Jon Davis x reader

cw: smut, rough/violent.

just a lil one shot w female reader.

Your boyfriend was quite unpredictable at times. he’s able to hide his emotion, but when he wants to show it he will. Like when he looks up at you from where he sits, eyebrows raised, mouth still open from the ‘huh’ response when you’d said his name, or it was how his look changed. there’s something different now, his gaze is no longer under you, it’s on top of you. looks of curiosity changed to looks of need. desperate.

“Jon what are you doing?” you gasped, back pressed against the kitchen table, his body against yours, hand cupping your jaw. God how you loved the feeling of his large hands on you, and how you craved his eyes on you.

“y’ know, i’ve been thinkin’ about you all day” he lightly kissed your lips, pulling back to look in your eyes once again, a simple nod from your end gives him the right-of-way. no time is wasted, your body was now lifted on top of the table, his lips crashing against yours, his hands roaming your frame.

“Jonathan please” you moaned as your head was pulled backwards with a strong grip on your hair, his lips met your neck searching for your weak spot, once it was made known he’d found it with your squeal he lightly bit and tugged at your skin with his teeth, a hand roaming under your shirt, groping your tits.

Jonathan flips you over on your stomach, swiftly pulling your shorts down and slapping your ass. he pushes your face into the table, you hear a buckle being hastily undone and a zip noise before feeling him lining his cock up to your dripping cunt before pushing in. lewd noises leave both of your mouths as he bottoms out in you. sparks igniting in your stomach, waves of pleasure surge through your body as his speed picks up. his hips bouncing off of your ass. your body shaking under his, you felt like jelly under him, everything going limp and letting him use you.

he flips you back over on your back still crashing his hips against you at a painfully harsh manor, the tip of him hitting your cervix hard enough to make your eyes roll back. his sounds were whiny and needy. your name mixed with praises and growls of degrading things like ‘dirty fuckin’ slut’ which you took note of since he enjoyed saying it.

“baby i’m s’ close” you cried, arching your back.

“no, beg me first” was a dreaded sentence.

you whined in protest. “i don’t want to!” he grabbed your face pulling you closer.

“i didn’t fucking ask, get it done.” he growls in your face, kissing the lone tear on your cheek.

you still protested this, not wanting to feel the humiliation of it. this earned you a slap, leaving your cheek bright red. “dumb bitch”

he pulls out of you, picking you up and taking you to your room. he pushes you down on your bed spreading your legs and finding himself between your legs. your hand reached down holding his hair back as he kissed and bit your inner thighs, leaving small bruises. “god you’re so beautiful” he kissed your clit gently before his tongue licked under your hood and then nibbled on. you threw your head back violently, arching your back and closing your legs.

“my god Jon, don’t stop please” he laughed at this, humming against your sore clit.

he stopped making you whine. he swapped places with you laying back on the bed. “cmere’ pretty girl” you blushed crawling on top of him.

“so perfect” you melted on top of him, lowering on his dick. your lips crashing against his.

you rolled your hips on him for a break after riding for so long, he groaned against your neck, you were desperately chasing your orgasm.

“Jon, can i cum please?” you begged him, aggressively rolling your hips on him, his fingers ran through your hair.

“go ahead baby, im gonna too” he kissed you harshly.

you felt a pressure build in you, it was like a balloon filling with air, your heart sped up along with your breathing until it stopped. the balloon popped. you whined his name while feeling him pound into you harder until one final thrust, filling you with his cum.

“god i love you” he combed through your hair with his hand. you were collapsed on top of him, nuzzling closer to him.

[tomhollandnet]

Tom Holland Reveals Behind The Scenes Details of 'SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME'

Read the full interview from 'SPIDER-MAN NO WAY HOME: THE OFFICIAL MOVIE SPECIAL' On-Sale February 28, 2023

Spider-Man: No Way Home rocked the Marvel Cinematic Universe, bringing together Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland for the first time ever and all the Peter Parkers faced a multitude of villains from across the Multiverse. Now, coming February 28th, Titan Books brings Spider-Man No Way Home: The Official Movie Special to fans to go deep into the making of the epic film.

This deluxe collector’s volume features interviews with Tom Holland (Spider-Man/Peter Parker), Zendaya (MJ), Benedict Cumberbatch (Doctor Strange), and returning Spider-Men Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield along with behind-the-scenes interviews with the teams responsible for the movie’s stunts, costumes, and ground-breaking visual effects.

You can get as sneak peek of the book here with this exclusive excerpt of Tom Holland's interview about the making of Spider-Man: No Way Home!

TOM HOLLAND

Tom Holland is back in the dual role of Peter Parker and Spider-Man – but this time he’s joined by two other web-slingers. The actor discusses what the earlier Spidey’s movies meant to him and reveals why Spider-Man: No Way Home’s stunts are bigger and better than ever before.

What came into your mind when you heard that Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield were joining you in No Way Home?

I didn’t believe it at first. Jon [Watts, director] pitched me the idea and I thought, “That’ll never happen. There’s no way they’ll be able to figure that out. They won’t agree to do that, it’s just not going to happen.” And here we are! Then we had an amazing [first] day, where we all had our suits on and we all sort of swapped stories about how you put them on, how you take them off, where the zippers are and all that sort of stuff. It was kinda crazy.

The earlier Spider-Man films had a big influence on the Super Hero genre, didn’t they?

Loads. Those guys are powerhouses. It was amazing for me to be there with them, because I remember going to the cinema to see [Tobey Maguire’s] first film and the second and third one. And I remember I watched [Andrew Garfield’s] first film when I was in Wales shooting a film… I remember saying in an interview years ago that my dream role would be to play Spider-Man. And to be there with those two was mind-blowing. To get to know them both and to sort of bring back this perfect full circle story… I was just, honored to be a part of it really.

Did they influence your version of Peter Parker and Spider-Man?

I’m all original me, mate! No, I mean I could talk for hours about it, but I remember seeing both of their films when I was younger and just being so mesmerized by the idea of being Spider-Man. For me, it was taking that childhood dream and putting it into my version. Kind of remembering how it felt as a kid to watch them do it, to remember how excited I was, and to put that into my Peter Parker.

I have seen [Andrew Garfield’s] first Spider-Man more that any film I’ve seen in the cinema. I must’ve seen that film like five times… For me, it was just that quirky ad-libbing that he did, which is so fun. I could talk for ages about it. There’s aspects of both of them in my character, but for us it was just about making him as young and as relatable and as sweet and innocent as possible. Because what happens to him is so horrible, it means that he’s able to deal with it on a much more personal level. I guess the idea for us was to just make him as relatable as possible so he is every person’s Super Hero rather than one type of Super Hero.

It was interesting in rehearsal. [Tobey Maguire] would talk about something that he had clearly through about while making his movies movies and [Andrew Garfield] would talk about something that was clearly something he had thought about but I had never thought about. It was so interesting to think about the character in that way. I think about it in my own way, so it was nice to hear their take on the way they would handle a certain situation.

[daddyhausen]

Can I request restraining Jon Moxley’s wrists and teasing him but he breaks loose because you did a terrible job at tying his wrists?

yesyes of course love !

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• amateur — jon moxley •

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{ masterlists } | { aew masterlist } | { jon moxley masterlist }

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{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, fem!reader, submissive/dominant dynamic, restraints, daddy kink, thigh riding, edging, cock riding, rough sex, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, male + female orgasms, squirting, creampie, cockwarming

{ word count } —1.2k

{ genre } — smut

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{ taglist } — @boutmachines @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @thebestintheworld @chrisdickinson @cuzimacomedian @wardlow @sammiejane22 @april-jeanette-wagner

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

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he sat idly, in wait. in an uncomfortable folded chair positioned in the centre of your shared bedroom. the winter chill ghosted over his already bare frame, goose bumps rose to his frozen skin, normally the sensation would not bug him, but tonight it seemed to irk him more than ever. jon was not a patient man per say, never has been, yet the longer you stood behind him, in a desperate attempt to bind his wrists together, the more his impatience and arousal grew. 

yet he said nothing, remaining silent for the moment, rather enjoying the sensation of your warm breath against the nape of his neck, a soft grunt of frustration leaving your lips in your struggle, one of which make him smirk to himself. he merely sighed in wait, the sound more condescending than you’d like to admit to yourself.

“jon, sit still…” you muttered with sight annoyance at the way your boyfriend's wrists would twirl against the rope, struggling to get the knots to stay tightly in place. he offered a small huff in response, rather amused at the scene playing out behind him. 

“how long does it take to tie a knot, doll” he taunted, cerulean blues peering over his shoulder to watch, he must admit, your inept handiwork. staring daggers back in his direction, still not a word leaving your lips in response. he merely raised his eyebrows, a cocky still still plastered across his lip, simply turning his head back to face the wall. 

a small, elated gasp left your lips, as to what you determined was an unbreakable knot that kept his wrists bound, jon feigned struggle against the ropes, but that was unbeknownst to you. quickly you stripped yourself, the soft shuffle of you ridding yourself of your clothing, to the thud of said material hitting the carpet below, it had caught his attention. you made your way around him, hovering over you like he had done a million times. he stared, pupils blown and mouth hung slightly ajar. icy grey eyes scanning your frame meticulously. starting from your chest, your perfect breast, naturally full and round, hardened nipples being warmed by his breath. his gaze continue downward, to your stomach, still marked by his lips, now a faded yellow, almost golden brown hue, your stomach, while not exactly flat, it rounded slightly at the bottom, all women have it, and its natural, he knew that, but goddamn if it wasn’t the most sexiest thing to him. plus it was a big bonus for his breeding kink. he’d love nothing more than to watch your stomach grow with his seed. eyes still travelling down, to the axis of your hip and thigh, trailing down to in between, your cunt glistening with sweetness under moonlight, he could practically taste you. 

“so…” he began, steely irises now peering up to meet your gaze one more. “are you gonna ride my cock or what?”

his arrogance was playful, you knew that much, as he slumped back into the chair, his cock already hard at the sight of you bare before him. you simply giggled in response, positioning your hands upon his shoulders slowly lowering yourself on his thigh. 

“not yet, daddy” your words muttered into the crook of his neck, the sound reverberating against his skin. you began to slowly buck your hips, your sweetness already glossing his thigh. it was not the fact you were fucking yourself on his thigh, it was the fact that he could not touch you while doing so. he’d love nothing more than to wrap his arms around your waist, slamming you down onto his thick cock.

“fuck…” he grunted, adoring the way your dripping folds rocked against his thigh, the side of his cock just barely grazing the outer of your own, the sensation only phantoms of the stimulation you could provide him. you steadied yourself against his chest, hips jolting whenever your clit met his tight at a particular angle. 

god his was going insane right now! from the lack of contact on his behalf, to the way you were grinding against his thigh, soft pleas and moans for release, thighs shaking with each movement you gave, he could feel the soft pulse of you cunt against his skin, so wet, so warm. 

“you love this, don’t you daddy?” you queried, craning your neck back to meet his gaze, hands wrapping around the back of his neck, staring seductively into his eyes.

“i’d love it even better if you were riding my cock, doll”  he only stared back for a moment, revealing his arms, now having freed himself, very easily might i add, from the restraints used to bound him moments prior. your eyes widened in shock and horror, so much so that you had completely halted your movements, effective edging yourself.  how the hell did he manage to undo the ropes?! you were sure, a hundred and ten percent sure you had tightened them to prevent this sort of thing from happening!

his hands fell to your waist quickly, rather harshly prying you from his thigh, your cunt practically dripping with want. he pulled you into his chest, holding you there for a moment with one hand as he used the other to position his cock at your entrance. 

“amateur…” he remarked smugly, slamming you down onto his thick size. although you were unfazed by his condescending comment, you were relieved to be once again filled to the brim with his cock, despite how much you wanted to cum on his thigh. 

his arms still held a death lock around you waist, his hips bucking upward, roughly fucking up into you. your mouth hung open, what were once soft moans, now echoing loudly in his ears. an animalistic growl fell from his lips, having to bury his head into your shoulder to suppress his moans and quiet himself. not necessarily because he wanted or needed to be quiet, more or less because he wanted to hear you scream, hear you cry out his name while you cum all over his cock.

you could barely speak, mind to fucked out to even think coherent sentences let alone speak. a cacophony of moans rung out throughout your shared bedroom, a mixture of yours and his, bodies crying and screaming for release. his speed increased and with that so did the force of his thrusts, completely bottoming out and hitting your cervix with every movement. 

you cried out in pleasure, sweetness coating his cock much as you wished you would of done to his thigh, still he remained relentless, slamming into you with such force that left you a shell of your former self, completely fucked out beyond knowledge. with a low grunt he buried himself inside your walls for the final time, his thick cock fucking his hot seed deep inside your warmth, sweet cunt pulsing around his length. 

he left your body shaking with such wonder, mind and skin buzzing with lust. you collapsed into his chest, with heavy breaths, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes. he kept himself buried deep within your void, his breath also starting to falter as he came down from his own high. 

“now have you learnt your lesson about tying me up, doll?” he panted, beads of sweat gathered at his hairline, slowly rolling down his temples. you gave him a weak nod in response, body still held a light shudder, comfortably pressed up against his chest.

“good girl”

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

[denimjacketgf]

jonmartin 42? from the love list

42. Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

oh thats perfect for them yes

- - -

With a step that lurches like missing a stair on the way down, they're back in the real world.

Martin blinks around him. Everything is close and dim. The air he inhales is musty, and the ground under his feet has given way from empty sand to dark, uneven stone. He stumbles, confused, but then—

Hands, tightening around his own, one catching onto his elbow and steadying him, the other warm and firm against his own palm.

"Martin?"

Martin looks up — up past the hands, steady and real and scarred — to see Jon, mouth twisting in a confused frown, worried creases around his eyes, between his brows, eyes soft and set with such an open, vulnerable concern.

Somehow, Martin feels himself smile. "Jon."

And then it's like something snaps.

Jon exhales like all the breath has been punched out of him, and the next second he's throwing his arms around Martin, crashing into him with all the force of a small, bony pickup truck, nearly knocking him right back off his feet.

A little breathless, Martin is helpless to do anything but reciprocate, bringing his arms up to wrap around Jon.

When Jon just winds his arms even tighter around him in response, Martin melts, a little bit. He lets his eyes close and drops his face down into Jon's hair, hiding there until the whole world falls away to just this, just the steady rhythm of Jon's breath in his ear, the press of his fingers digging into Martin's back so fiercely it's like he's trying to curl up and live there.

Jon hugged him before, in the Lonely. It wasn't like this: it was delicate and fast, a reassurance but a stopgap. A holdover. Martin doesn't think either of them wanted to stay in the Lonely any longer than they needed to, so that was all it could be.

This, though, is all encompassing, and after months and months with no Jon at all, it's a lot to take in.

When they pull apart, Jon doesn't let him go far. He takes Martin's face in his hands, something that looks suspiciously like tear tracks shining on his own cheeks as he searches Martin's face with a wild, hungry desperation.

Martin swallows around something thick and sweet. "Jon?"

"I missed you," Jon says. And then, more adamantly, "I missed you, Martin."

Oh. "Oh."

"I..." He shuts his eyes, takes a breath. He's shaking; Martin can feel him shaking they're so close. "Please don't go away again. Please."

It takes a few tries for Martin to find his words. He squeezes Jon's wrists where he's still holding onto Martin's face like it's something precious. "I won't," he assures him, "I won't."

Jon shakes his head. "I-I can't lose you again, okay?"

"Okay," Martin agrees, helpless in the force of such blindingly earnest devotion. "I'm not— I'm not going to go anywhere. N-not without you."

That seems to work. Jon's shoulders relax, and he slumps forward, hands sliding down from Martin's face to his shoulders. Martin can hardly stand it. The air between them feels thick enough Martin could cry. Or maybe he just wants to cry, but he doesn't think he should, yet. There are still too many unknowns, he needs to keep his head.

So Martin holds his hand out, smiling shakily. "Deal?"

Slowly, Jon blinks down at his proffered hand. Spends a handful of seconds just. Staring. He does take it, but instead of shaking, he slips it between both of his own, uses the leverage to pull Martin forward, and presses their lips together fiercely.

Martin inhales sharply through his nose, and for once he doesn't feel the sting of salt and mist. This is probably the opposite of keeping his head, but it might be the most human thing Martin's done all year, so.

So Martin kisses back, lets his hand find safe harbor at the nape of Jon's neck, between his fingers, in the warmth of him.

When Jon pulls back, he sighs like it's the first real breath he's taken all day. His voice shakes, but he nods, ever so slightly. "Deal."

Martin pulls him back into his arms. This is the wrong moment for indulgences, but after a year and a half of sharp, crushing solitude, he doesn't think either of them can wait. They can have this one moment.

Eventually, though, he has to break the spell. He shifts, slightly, away from their embrace. "Jon?"

"Mm?"

"Where, uhm. Where are we?"

"Ah..." Reluctantly, Jon pulls back, just far enough to take an awkward look around. "S-somewhere in the tunnels, I think."

"The tunnels..." Martin nods. Better than being back in the Panopticon with Jonah, or up in the Institute, or with that— that thing that had taken Sasha. It's just them here, at least. "Right."

"I-I think we're safe here... for the minute."

"Okay. And... Do you know how to get out?"

"Yes." For once, Jon sounds sure. Confident. It's a nice color on him. "I told you. I know the way."

"Right, yeah." Martin's throat feels tight, all of the sudden, when he remembers the gentle awe in Jon's voice when he'd said let's go home. "W-we should... We should go, right?"

Jon hums, nodding regretfully. "Probably."

Martin slips his hand back down into Jon's, threading their fingers together, squeezes gently. "We can go back to mine," he offers, softly, "regroup there? Have a-a bit of a rest before we..."

Before they have to face whatever comes next. Martin doesn't even know what that might be, but he'd like to be somewhere safe, somewhere with Jon, when they figure it out. Maybe he'd even like to kiss again, to be somewhere they can find new ways to comfort with a touch.

Jon manages that last part just fine right here, though. He squeezes Martin's hand, and just that is a comforting touch.

"Alright," he agrees, turning and tugging on their joined hands to get them into motion. "We'll go to yours."

Martin falls into step beside Jon. Despite everything, he feels lighter than he has in ages. "Lead the way."

Jon huffs. "It's your flat."

"Yeah." Martin shrugs. Between them, he swings their hands, because he can and he's allowed to and he wants to know how it will feel. "But you said you know the way. And I can't get us out of these tunnels."

"Right." Jon smiles, tossing Martin a look that can only be described as fond. "Then I suppose we'll find the way together."

Martin likes the way Jon says together. He likes the weight of his fingers on Martin's knuckles. Softly, he agrees, "together, then."

And so they walk on, hand-in-hand, together.

[quandaryqueen]

Mad Little Fucks

Jonathan Crane X Herbert West-like S/O

... I thought that this was a good idea. Probably out of character as well.

Herbert West, mad scientist, riddled with god complex and megalomania, one of many love of my life, is from Re-animator.

🧡 Instant mutual respect and interest towards one another's work. Hell ye, comrades in science. Nothing sexual here, no siree. Only science!

🧡 Jokes aside, he truly is intrigue by your curious little concoction. Bringing the dead back to life? Such an ambitious feat to carry. He'd say impossible, but as a Gothamite, he has seen shit. There you were proving him right, as you scurry like a mad lad for scraps of evidence and new breakthroughs, stopping at nothing and those who try to get in your way will be eliminated.

🧡 How you'd jump at the opportunity to get your hands deep in dirt, utilise your surrounding to get what you want, how unafraid you are... He finds it admirable. Adorable. Just an absolute opportunistic dork who lights up at the sight of possibilities.

🧡 How long will he develop the feels for you because of your intense passion and continuous attempts to perfect your serum, though the road was bumpy and the trials were difficult, you grow ever so persistent in every failure? Slow burn. A romance with Jon, regardless of who ever is the reader, it's always a slow burn.

🧡 Your collaboration would be the stuff of nightmares. Dead people, fear, reanimation, chemicals, syringes, gases, just a pair of unhinged, unstoppable, unbelievable union of comrades in science! And he loves it. The pleasant pinch in his gut whenever he sees you engaged in your work... Or you in general.

🧡 "Doctor L/N, I see that your recent concoction didn't succeed in your eyes?" He notes the absence of the specimen you were tending to on the makeshift autopsy table earlier.

"You don't have to sugarcoat your words, Doctor, I'm no Nygma." You looked up from your journal to playfully narrow your eyes at him, before you scribbled away. "The recent specimen was... Uncooperative."

Jonathan chuckles in response, eyeing your bloodstained clothing. "I see that."

The Scarecrow's gaze falls upon your countenance, admiration softly shading his eyes to see the passion burning within you despite the countless failures you face.

What you do was no easy feat, well he could say the same for his experiments, but of course you have your own field of science. You needed to acquire bodies, fresh ones. In need to discover which mixture would work, the dosage. And based on your collection of journals where you list your trials and errors, he'd say you have gone quite a journey through attempting to defy death. No matter how many times you were stuck between a rock and a hard place, you manage to slither away just in time.

"Jonathan?" He snaps from his reverie, the sound of his name on your lips making his face flare with the flames of fluster. "Something wrong?"

"N-No... Not at all."

You were doubtful that he was telling the truth, but you wouldn't pry. Mentally shrugging, you continue with your work.

🧡 Would help you with your scientific endeavours just as you'd help him with his.

"This one's dead. Heart attack just about now." He steps aside to offer you fresh meat on the slab.

"Thank you, Doctor." You smiled over your shoulder before equipping yourself with a syringe filled with the glowing green liquid. "Administering tem cc's to the patient..." You whisper to yourself, sticking the needle in the patient's neck before pressing the plunger.

Gently tugging on the syringe, your analytic gaze remain on the man on the slab, keeping active for any small movements. A minute has passed and you weren't even sure if you've even taken a moment to breathe yet. What could have possibly gone wrong? The body is fresh, Jonathan guaranteed it, heck, he didn't need to, you saw it with your own eyes how his fear toxin worked so effortlessly! You were considering whether you should add another dosage, but those were one of the last--!

"Boo!"

You jumped from where you stood when you felt Jonathan suddenly jerks behind you, roughly placing his hand on your shoulder. He began to laugh to see you snap from your reverie and by the time you gathered your bearings, you turn to glare at him as he too collected his bearings.

"You should have seen your face--" the humour in his eyes drains, as he pales at the sight of something behind you.

Not wanting to take a wild guess, you turn to your back once again to see your experiment working. However, before you can observe the specimen further, he thrashes and swipes at you. Jonathan pulls you back and holds a protective hand in front of you, whilst he readies his scythe.

You watch as the test subject thrash and rip it's vocal cords out with his excessive yelling, his nails digging and scraping into his scalp and pulling his hair out. Once he lays his sight on you once again, it lunges forward with his bloodied hands aiming to claw your throat out when Jonathan came with a swing of his scythe, lodging the blade into the undead's neck.

Jonathan wasn't aware of you glaring at him for subjecting your experiment through this pain, when all you needed was to make an observation out of your first success in a while. The reanimated man stumbles back with the scythe still stuck on his neck, he pulls it and tosses it away. Having been attracted to Jonathan after the Doctor's attack, the reanimated grabs Jonathan by his shoulders and attempts to take a bite out of him. The Scarecrow can only struggle in the undead's grip, evading the attacks bestowed upon him whilst you watch.

I mean... You could just watch and observe just what the reanimated creature you created in motion, the man wasn't this string when he was... Well, alive. Your serum must have tapped into boosting his strength, the only downside would that be of their lack of consciousness... Or are they still conscious? Was it attacking blindly? Does the fear toxin still have an--

"Y/N!" Jonathan yells out of desperation.

... or you could save your friend.

Jonathan was at the brink of death, his eyes wide at the fact that the monster had finally adapted deem it effective to grab Jonathan by his wrist. But before your magnum opus could latch his teeth against Jonathan's neck, you came with a warning in the form of a buzz of an electric saw. Red blossoms on his chest, some of it splattering all over Jonathan's shirt and the corpse collapsed, revealing you standing with an electric saw, hands soaked with red.

"What was taking you so long?" Jonathan pants, resisting the urge to grab you by the neck.

"I was..." You watch him collapse on his bottom, panting heavily beside the once again corpse. "Making some observations."

"Observations my ass! I could've died!"

"But you didn't, did you?" He narrows his gaze at you when you offered him your red soaked hand. Nevertheless, he takes it and you helped him up to his feet once again. "I must admit, this is a breakthrough! If only I could have inspected him closer, I could have-- LOOK OUT!"

"WHA-?!" Jonathan practically jumped out of his skin, his neck snapping to glance at the corpse you were pointing at and in his frazzled state, he didn't notice it was a joke until you started to laugh beside him. Once collecting his wits, he glares at you... But he supposes this is payback.

He will get you back, just you wait.

[midnightreid]

Overflow | Jonathan Byers

Summary: Jonathan's frustrated, tired and over it. And when he takes it out on you, you just can't let it pass. So you help him relax, on the side of the road, like he never has before. Gender-neutral reader with no mention of anatomy!

Warnings: Smut, 18 + only! Oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, sub! Jonathan, dom! Reader, pet names, risky setting, creampie, angst! No mention of reader anatomy!

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is quite angsty, and it takes like 700 words to get to the NSFW part, but I really like this piece, defs an angle I've not taken before!

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE JONATHAN SMUT!

Jonathan was always kind, always sweet and always shy. Sure, he had some moments of rage, boldness, and sass when he got lost in his emotions, but he was always the shy and quiet boy you loved.

But not tonight. Tonight he was annoyed, short-tempered and harsh to those he would usually treat with kindness. Tonight he was moody, and not what you expected when you met him for your fortnightly date. He didn’t mean to be like this tonight, didn’t mean to snap when you asked a simple question, but his new school was tiring him out, his mum was stressed and things at home between El and Will hadn’t been going smoothly, so Jonathan had hit his limit.

He could hardly focus on the movie the two of you were watching on the hood of his car at the drive-in, you in between his spread legs and nestled under a soft blanket he kept in his trunk. He could hear your small bouts of laughter at some of the jokes, the gentle sighs you let out as you relaxed against him, and the faint sounds of other people watching the movie. But he still couldn’t relax, even though this should have been a perfect night.

“Hey, are you okay? You want some of the popcorn?” You were looking up at him, the screens glowing image on your face as you offered him the bag of popcorn that sat on his lap, and he just shook his head, brown hair falling over his eyes.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need any popcorn.” He didn’t mean to be short with you, and he certainly didn’t notice the frown that formed on your face when you heard his tone, but you let it go, thinking maybe he just was tired. His body was still tense behind yours, and even as you pressed some small and delicate kisses to the places you could reach like his hands and forearms, Jonathan still couldn’t get that irritated look off his face.

It was late when the two of you were heading home, the car ride silent as he drove down the desert roads. Normally Jonathan would have some music going, or he’d be talking about the movie or some new book he’d read, but instead, he just stared straight ahead.

“So…you want to talk about why you’re so moody tonight?” Your question took him by surprise, and for a small moment he looks over at you, hands shifting on the steering wheel. You’re looking right at him, watching him as he tries to respond, lying through his teeth.

“There’s nothing wrong. I don’t know why you think that.” He’s still short with you, tone frustrated and cold. He doesn’t look over to see if you believe or not, because he knows you probably don’t, but he does wince slightly when you throw his response back in his face.

“Sure, Jonathan, and I’m growing a third head right now. C’mon, baby, why are you lying to me?” You’re pouting, and he knows you’re upset at his behaviour.

“Look, it’s none of your business. You don’t need to know and I’m not going to tell you. So can you just butt out of my life for a minute?” He knows instantly that he’s crossed a line when he looks over at you, a picture of shock that quickly turns to anger and hurt.

You don’t say anything back to him, just turn to stare out the window as he drives. Jonathan wants to reach out, take your hand and apologise, but he doesn’t think it’ll fix it. So he just drives, the lights of the car glowing against the asphalt.

“Stop the car, Jon.” Jonathan doesn’t question your order, simply pulls the car over to the side of the road behind some trees. You get out, shutting the door behind you and he follows you, anticipation rising. It’s not a cold night, but goosebumps rise on the skin of his arms, and he watches you make your way to the front of the car.

“You know, normally I’d just think you’re having a bad week, a bad month maybe. But that doesn’t justify you speaking to me like that. I’m your partner, Jon. Now, either you accept that or I can’t help you.” You’re waiting for him to answer, and he just nods, looking at you with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’ve just been so stressed recently with college letters and my family. I haven’t had a break in ages.” You’re moving closer to him, hands on his shoulders as he finishes speaking. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against yours and sucking in a breath. “I guess I just need to relax a bit.”

“I think, if you want to and if you’ll let me, I can help with that, baby. You want that?” He’s nodding, hands coming to rest on your waist as you smile slightly. “Words, Jon, I need you to be sure. Remember, it’s fine to say no.”

“Yes, please. I want you to help.” You have him like putty in your hands now, and you nod in acceptance. Then you’re kissing him, soft and sweet at first, hands gentle against his neck and in his hair, and he nearly loses his breath, senses taking a moment to process the smell of your perfume and the way your fingers curl in his hair. He deepens the kiss, the tip of his tongue running along the seam of your lips, and you let him take control for a few moments. The kiss is delicious, like everything you’ve wanted that evening. He’s so firm, so strong and needy against you that you let out a small giggle when he goes to put his lips on your neck.

“Woah, baby boy. This is about you. Now hands on the hood please.” He looks at you, some wariness in his eyes but he complies anyway, hands flat against the metal of the car. You kiss his neck, being gentle at first then nipping at the skin in the way he adores. Your hands are under his shirt, gliding over warm skin and a lean chest, feeling him shiver against your touch. His eyelids flutter when you move to kiss over his collarbone, and even though he wants to put his hands on you, hold you against him, he knows he can’t, knows he has to be good to get what he wants.

You’re making your way down his body then, fingers reaching for his belt buckle and zipper so you can undo his pants. He doesn’t help you, you don’t tell you he can, so instead he just watches, already so needy that you can see a small wet patch on his briefs.

“I was thinking, maybe the reason you’re so pent up and frustrated, is because you haven’t had a release in a while.” You kiss against his hip, and he lets out a shaky sigh. “We haven’t seen each other recently, definitely have had any alone time together. But don’t worry, pretty boy, you let me just make you feel better, okay?” He nods his head, at a loss for words as you’re stroking him through his briefs, but you didn’t expect anything else.

Jonathan lets out a whimper when you finally take him out of his briefs, pumping him slowly while you look up at him. You’re on your knees in front of him, lips pressed to his thighs and then to his hips and stomach, giving all the love to his pale skin as he watches, teeth clenched in pleasure.

You take him in your mouth then, and Jonathan can’t help but moan, bending over slightly as you swallow around him. His hands never leave the hood, just like he promised, and you’re so proud of him. Even though you’ve given him a blow job dozens of times before tonight, he never gets over them, never gets over the feel of your hand on his hot skin, the wetness of your mouth and the way you gaze up at him while you suck down his dick. It’s nearly overwhelming, and he’s aching to do something.

“Fuck, sweetheart, please!” Unsurprisingly, Jonathan is already close to coming, but you won’t let him. You pull off then, leaving him leaking and just on the edge of orgasm. He wants to scream, to curse and to beg you to finish, but you’re moving before he can.

“Now, you have a decision to make, Jon. Either, you can come in my mouth, or I can ride you until we’re both coming. Make your choice, sweet boy.” He whines, but the look you give him makes him quiet quickly. He doesn’t have to think hard about the decision either, because as much as he loves your mouth, he’s much more in love with the idea of being inside you, of feeling your wet heat and watching as you move on top of him.

“Inside you, please.” You nod, kissing him fiercely and letting him take control again as he furiously removes your pants and underwear. You’re already ready for him, wet and open and so warm when he touches you right where you want him. But you’re not ready to give him all the control, and you push him down to sit against the hood, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around your neck.

“Remember, Jon. You touch when you’re not supposed to, and neither of us will be getting to come tonight.” He nods, and places his hands back on the hood, cold metal against warm palms. He’s so close, and when you slip him inside, he nearly let's go right then. But he keeps his composure and lets his head fall back so you can kiss his neck while you adjust yourself.

And then you’re taking what you need, bouncing on him and letting your walls squeeze him tight, hands against his chest to help you balance. He’s watching you, eyes glazed over and so in love and so high on the pleasure he can’t help but watch where you connect, where his pre-cum leaves trails on your legs. He’s whimpering, whining, making the prettiest sounds for you as you continue to bounce on him. It’s the most delicious thing he’s ever seen, and even though there are car drivings past and the two of you are only protected by a row of bushy trees, neither of you care at the moment. You just want to get to the edge, to tumble into that abyss that’ll leave each of you content and high flying.

“That’s it, baby boy, you nearly there? Nearly at the edge for me?” Jon ducks his head into the crook of your neck, and you let your hand tangle into his hair, angling his face so you can kiss him, draw the breath out of him and have him hanging off that edge for you. His hands leave the hood of the car, but you can’t care anymore, because he grips your hips and pulls you down onto him.

He’s rough, but it’s exactly what you need to get what you want, and once he lets out a loud moan against the skin of your neck, you know he’s right where you need him.

“There we go, pretty boy, come for me, let me make you feel better.” You’re coming with him, the grip of his fingers on your ass biting and so nice against the pleasure that suddenly engulfs the two of you. You can feel him spilling into you, pumping hot cum right where you need him, and he watches as you come against him, shaking slightly in his arms as the night air nips at your skin and amplifies the feeling of pleasure racing through your veins. You collapse against him then, out of breath but thoroughly satisfied. Sure, you’re both sticky and sweaty and it’s not the most comfortable position to be lying in on the hood of an old car, but you could care less. Jonathan’s laughing then, smiling widely and holding you tight.

“You know, honestly didn’t think just having some sex would make me feel better.” You let out a chuckle, and look up at the smiling man. “Remind me never to take you for granted again, even if I’m being an asshole.”

“Oh, I can do that, Jon. Now, a slight issue, I don’t really wanna drive home covered in come and dirt.” He laughs again at this, but nods his head and gently slips out of you and gets up off the car.

“I’ve got some tissues in the glove box, just stay there for a minute.” Jonathan grabs the tissues and cleans himself up before putting his briefs and jeans back on, and then moves back over to clean you up, wiping the tissue over your thighs. “You want to stay at mine tonight? Hopper and mum are out on a date, and I don’t think they’d care about having an extra person for breakfast.” He extends a hand, helping you from the hood and helping you redo your pants, then walks you over to the passenger side of the car.

“Sure, you know how much I love Hopper’s pancakes. Now come on, Byers, you might get lucky when we get back to yours if you hurry up.” He can’t stop grinning, and before he starts the car, he steals a final kiss, with all the love and adoration poured into it that he can manage.

Neither of you are perfect, no one knows how to handle their emotions for every moment of the day, but he knows now that you’re the perfect cure, that you’ll always want to help him, especially when he’s overflowing with emotion. And it’s okay if you sometimes have to remind him of that, because you honestly wouldn’t mind more moments like that night, up against the car hood with his whines in your ear and his hands gripping your hips. Anything to help your pretty boy out.

PLEASE REBLOG FOR MORE JONATHAN SMUT!

Tagging: @eddiemunsonbby @katsukis1wife

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

"Happy Birthday to you, doll!"

A very lovely, lovely birthday to my dear friend @itsmalachitenow, featuring her two favorite batman rogues Scarecrow and Mad Hatter! She's one of my favorite people in the world, so please join me in wishing her a wonderful day. As a note this is very personalized with her self insert Lyric Adagio.

TW: NSFW 🔞, dollplay, oral, penetration, hypnosis, plot with porn, x self insert

That morning when Lyric Adagio woke up, she noticed the large bed she shared with her two lovers was empty. Did they both get up without her? A pleasant smile played on her face. They probably wanted to let her sleep, given today was her special day. Despite what anyone else might think, her boys did treat her so well. 

In the other room she could hear the whistle of the Mad Hatter's teapot and smell pumpkin pancakes on the stove. Oh, they were definitely setting up for her birthday. Jonathan Crane, also known as the Scarecrow, made the best pancakes. Perfectly fluffy and the pumpkin was deeply comforting. She stretched out her arms and yawned. 

The cold of the hardwood floor under her feet gave her just enough jolt to look around. Next to the bed was a pill organizer and a bottle of water, which she quickly used to wash down medication for the morning. 

Their home… an eclectic and almost haphazard mix of three different aesthetics. Alice in Wonderland motifs galore, along with video game and movie merchandise and somehow the occasional glimpses of the Southern Gothic. It worked for them. It made her smile every morning, a constant reminder of their presence even when they had to be apart. 

Not today, however. This whole weekend was going to be all about her. A planned dinner out with her loved ones and friends and the rest of the time? Private time to two of the most infamous of the Rogues Gallery, all to herself. 

As she entered the kitchen and dining area, she could see Jon finishing off pancakes in a pile and a thing of bacon about to be put on. Jervis was pouring tea in three separate cups at the table, a grin on his face as he spotted her. 

The moment the kettle was set down, he was running to her and twirling her around. His voice rang out sing-song, "Aaaaaa very happy birthday to you!"

"To me?" Lyric giggled.

"To you!" He stopped just short so she could get her breath, "Oh Alice, I'm so pleased we get to celebrate yet another year of you… existing!"

"Hm?" Jon called out in monotone, yet a smile played on his face, "Is today some sort of special day?"

"Pooh-pooh, Marchie!" Jervis blew out his cheeks in protest, "You know perfect-ly well! None of us are exempt from the time spell."

"And now you're rhyming." He flips the last pancake onto the side plate. 

Lyric was practically jumping on her toes, "Aw, but Jon, my heart is in a swell! You know that's his cutest tell. He can't be the Mad Hatter and rest just on his laurels!" 

Jervis couldn't help the giggle that came from his throat, clapping his hands in delight, "Very good, Alice!"

Jon quickly turned, spatula in hand, "Don't you encourage him! …happy birthday, my dear." The mock frustration on his face quickly melted away to a warm smile. He held his arms out to her as she approached. 

"Did you take your morning medication?" Jon asks as she leans in for a kiss on his cheek. 

She grins, "Yeah, Doc, I did." There's an amused chuckle in response. The first time she had gotten discombobulated from forgetting night or morning medication, Jon took it upon himself to ask when he was home. It was one of several subtle ways he told her how much he loved her. 

Another was the way he would make her plate to always include a tad extra food, even if she wasn't going to eat it. He knew what it was like to have food scarce or kept away from you. It was a feeling he'd never wish on someone else. And so, his loved ones would always have more than enough. 

Jervis sat in the seat across the table from her, chin in his hands and his tongue sticking out just a tad, "There's already milk on the table. I know what you like!" And she'll watch as he puts far too much sugar and cream into his. Though… hers isn't much better. 

"The reservations are clear for tomorrow night, by the way." Jon called above the sizzle of bacon, "And everyone cleared their schedules." It made him happy to say it. Just for you, dear. They all want to be with you on your day. 

"Even-"

"Even the Cheshire Cat, yes!" Jervis interrupts.

Lyric mixes her tea and comments, "Oh man, I thought Edward was going to be out of town?" 

"He was until he heard he got his dates mixed up. You know how that man is with dates." Jon rolls his eyes and jokes, "The illustrious Riddler- the genius Riddler- amazing at everything he touches but can't be bothered to keep track of the days when he hyper focuses on his work." The only time that man ever paid attention was when he was forced to- like in Arkham. 

Lyric smiles. He canceled plans? The others really do all like her. She tries not to cry into her cup of tea. It took a minute for the rest of them to warm up, but… old friends and new friends and her parents. All together. 

"I'm so happy." She sighed, "The only thing is that's gonna be so many spoons."

"Which is why today is about relaxing, pet!" Jervis cooed, "No flare-ups on our watch!" 

Lyric felt her shoulders relax as Jon put a plate of food in front of her. He sat down between them, briefly bowed his head and then started to eat. She wondered briefly if this meant they weren't going to do anything today. Which was fine, she understood why, but… she was rather hoping they were going to do something, even if it was small. 

Jon, as if sensing this, had a sly smile on his face, "I think we should open presents after."

"Presents?" Jervis and Lyric both chattered. 

"Wait, why are you excited?" Lyric asked. 

"Because, dear Alice…" Jervis grinned, "I know what your present is." The look on his face sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. 

A nervous laugh, "I am excited but also afraid!" 

"All I could ever hope for, dearest." Jon flirts.  

Certainly, it gave her reason to finish up breakfast, tea, and then brush her teeth. Get situated on the couch in their modest living room to wait for her presents. Midnight, the taxidermied crow, watched with glass eyes from a nearby bookshelf. There was that sparkle in her eyes that attracted them both at the various times they first met. That wonder she met the world with. 

Jervis stood there with a larger set of boxes in his arms, meticulously wrapped with hand-tied bows. Meanwhile Crane dug into a nearby cabinet, moving various things out of his way to pull out a bundle- book shaped and wrapped in newspaper and twine. Jervis made a movement with his hand for Jonathan to go first. 

“Age before beauty.” Jervis jokes. 

Jon sniped, “Where in the world did you even hear that? One of your reality shows?”

“I do not WATCH-” If Jervis hadn’t been holding things, his hands would have gone to his hips. 

Satisfied with the reaction he managed to get, Jon handed the bundle to Lyric, “You said how much you like hand-made gifts. Both of us decided to partly do that this year.” 

Trying to stifle a laugh at their banter, Lyric took the present in her hands, delicately pulling away the twine in her lap. As the newspaper fell away, she could see a leather bound book, the binder sewn by hand. The binding was thick and sturdy, obviously recycled. As she flipped through, she realized these pages were of perfect quality for sketching. 

Her eyes were wide, “You made me a new sketchbook?!” She was quick to get up and wrap her arms over Jon, the book tight in her hands. 

“It was a new venture, certainly,” He kissed the top of her head, “I managed to purchase some inks as well that I think you’ll have fun experimenting with. Either for writing or sketching.” Out of her line of sight, he gave a thumbs up to Jervis, who began lining up his presents along the living room table. He grabbed up the newspaper to toss to the floor for now. 

As Lyric turned back around, she looked over the boxes with curiosity, “Is this where I should be scared?”

“Positively frightened.” Jon learned to whisper in her ear, hand on her shoulder. The tickle of air on her ear made her shiver. 

Biting her lip, Lyric sat down in front of them, and Jervis plopped down on the couch next to her. Jon managed to slink his way behind them, with his lanky arms draped over the back. She went to the smaller boxes first- ribbons for her hair, stockings, some very comfortable but still sensual lingerie… And a pair of women’s oxford shoes. Lace up, black and white with a small chunky heel. 

She knows what’s in the largest box. 

Jervis is positively brimming with anticipation next to her, “You’re going to relax today- We had just the thing! Doll you up… and put you on a string.” There’s a dark tone to his voice, not playful like he normally would be. It’s sultry, inviting. She can feel him edging closer to her. 

The box opens and her hands immediately go to the soft fabric of a blue-green dress. She’s careful not to grab at it in a way that’ll wrinkle it. Jervis wordlessly assists to stand and take it out to show her. 

“Jervis… It’s beautiful.” She sighs, smiling at all the details. There’s cotton lace patterns along the bottom and accent edges, poofy skirts and frilly long sleeves. When he turns it around, she sees the faux ties in the back hiding a zipper to ease her way into wearing it. A lovely combination of her tastes and sensible fashion for her body. For a moment her eyes close as she pictures herself wearing it. She can feel Jonathan weaving his fingers lightly through the hanging strands of her hair. 

His voice is lower, more graveled, “Shall we begin treatment?” She recognizes it. It’s the voice he wears when he dons the Scarecrow mask. Unfortunately for her, it’s also a weakness in which he’s keenly aware of. 

“How do you want to do this, dear?” Jervis licks his lips as he asks, “With assistance?”

Lyric thought about it for a brief moment. She knows why he’s asking. Whenever he used any of his skills and devices of the mind, he always managed to whisper in her ear that her muscles felt light, like air. It allowed movement and positioning that normally would leave her aching afterwards. Yet he would never just assume she wanted to be put even slightly under without asking first. It showed how their relationship had developed over time the longer they’d been together. 

She nodded, “Just a little.” One of her eyes winked and she made a motion with her fingers indicating a small amount. Jon’s hands went flat over her shoulder in reassurance. 

Jervis, even in his casual wear, kept a pocket watch on him at all times. Just in case. Gold, with an engraving of the white rabbit from the original book illustrations of Alice in Wonderland on the back. This particular watch was an anniversary gift from her. The moment it was opened and she saw the black and white of numbers, and could hear the ticking of the second hand- her mind already began to relax. 

“Oh, Alice, dear Alice…” Jervis cooed, “We’re sure to find something to fit your palate. Relax and we’ll tell those muscles to mollify- Any pain you feel we will therefore nullify.” Immediately Lyric feels any tenseness in her muscles wash away like water on the beach. 

The smile on her face was soft and happy, “That feels nice, thank you.” It was through dedicated practice that it was effective this quickly. At this point she practically hopped and skipped over extra steps with grace. 

“What a pretty little doll we’ve found.” Jon’s voice has gotten close to her ear, helping tilt her chin with his hand. 

Jervis compliments, “Yes… But we simply must dress her in something more fitting, don’t you agree? This simply won’t do!” 

Lyric could feel the flush go to her cheeks and ears as they spoke. Trying to “behave” and not break the character. The Mad Hatter stood in front of her, holding out his hands for her to grasp so she could be pulled to her feet. Her feet were slightly shaky from being too relaxed, something Jon helped to manage by swiftly moving from behind the couch to her side. 

“Thank you.” She said, getting her balance, “It’s… been so long since someone has found me-” 

Jonathan smooths a palm over her cheek and laid a soft kiss on her lips, “Shhh… You’re alright now, dear. Nothing can hurt you now that you’re ours.” 

“Yours?” Lyric asked. 

“Oh, yes!” Jervis added, “Completely ours in every way! Let’s start with this shirt-” Giggling with excitement, Jervis moves to pull the young woman's shirt up over her head while Jonathan holds her by the waist. Her nipples perk with the cold air, which he moves to fix with his hands massaging over her breasts. His mouth opens to kiss her on the mouth, his tongue moving to taste her. 

“Patience.” Scarecrow reminds them both, “We’ve barely just begun.” 

The other man is clearing his throat, “Y-yes, quite!” 

The trio of them grinning and smiling, they guide Lyric to the bedroom, laying her softly on the bed. Jonathan unceremoniously pulls off her pajama bottoms and presses himself between her knees. Staring down at her. Observing her reactions. He thinks how beautiful she is with her hair splayed around her head. The warmth in her eyes. Softly he grasps her hands to help her sit up as Jervis brings in the stack of present boxes for them to go through. She can’t help but lean in closer to a clothed Scarecrow for warmth. His arms wrap around her back and shoulders as their partner sets up the “game.” 

“Hmmm you’re so cute like this.” Jonathan whispers, “So difficult to wrap our doll up when we could have you just… like this...” 

Now it’s Jervis tutting them, “Patience! Here, love.” His movements are slow as he slips white lacy underwear up her legs. Lyric pulls herself up on his shoulders so they can be pulled up over her hips. The light brushing of Jervis’s thumb and she realizes the underwear has no crotch, thin straps on either side of her pussy leaving her showing. She whimpers but tries to keep still as they pull over a matching sheer bralette on her top. Jonathan went to tweak her nipples as he felt the fabric. 

“This one is perfect.” He says to Jervis, “She looks like an angel.” 

Jervis sighs dreamily, “Isn’t she, though?” 

At that she couldn’t help but give a nervous laugh and look down at the bed. It wasn’t new things they were saying, but… every time they did, she felt so special. Jonathan grasped her chin in his fingers to look at him and to kiss him, Jervis kneeling onto the ground with stockings. Lyric couldn’t help but gasp at Jonathan's mouth as their third began laying kisses over her thighs, her knees, her calf- Soft cotton easing its way up one leg and then the other. When she could look down, she saw a looping blue ribbon accenting the top of them, just underneath the frills. 

Jonathan helped to straighten the fabric over her thigh and ghosted his face along her jawline, “Pretty as a pinup.” His statement was followed by a dry laugh. There’s definitely a box somewhere with scintillating photos of her that he snuck in during stays at Arkham. He helped her lean on him to get to her feet, both men staring her over. 

Jervis takes the opportunity to grasp her in his arms and kiss her rapidly over her neck and shoulders to the point of having her laugh. His fingers crept down just above her pussy, teasing but not quite touching her clit. Her soft moans echoed in the room as Jonathan unzipped the dress and loosened the ties so she could step in. Jervis almost pouted, no longer having the easy access as he had to back away. The colorful fabric skirt slipped over her waist, poofing out over her hips. As the sleeves fit over her arms, the look was almost complete- She looked like a fairy tale princess. One of the harder parts of this sort of play besides the sexual tension was they always made her wait to see the whole thing until it was done. 

“My lady,” Jervis held her shoes in front of her as Jonathan finished tying the dress in the back. He couldn’t help but kiss her leg again as she stepped in and he tied the laces. 

Jonathan kisses the side of her neck, pulling her hair away, “Dolls are to be cherished and loved, isn’t that what you said Jervis?” 

A soft giggle as he stands, patting his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve said that many times! I’ve always wanted one to pamper… We’re almost done dressing up.” He motions with his hand towards the mirrored vanity in the room. It was antique, something the boys found for this exact sort of scenario. 

It was here they sat her down on the small bench in front of it, facing away from the mirror, hands pulling her hair away from her face. Soft brushes that felt like silk glided over her cheeks to apply blush. Jonathan's wiry fingers dabbed on lipstick slowly to match the curve of her mouth. He moved behind her to tenderly brush her hair as Jervis applied a dab of nude eyeshadow to the corners of her eyes. She was getting the full treatment today and she knew it was their way of truly making the day all about her. A ribbon weaved through her hair behind her ears and was tied in a bow atop her head, completing the look. 

As her eyes glimmered, Lyric was slightly turned around on the bench until she was looking directly in the mirror and able to see herself clearly. She could hardly contain her excitement at the view in front of her. With a slight wobble, she managed to stand up on her own two feet to see the entirety of what they had done. Her hands went to the skirts and swayed them back and forth. 

“I think she likes it.” Jonathan said, his finger crooking into one of the ribbons in the back of the dress. 

Jervis went to tilt her head up, “I think so too! But now what shall we do? We’ve brought our doll home… we’ve dressed her up-” 

“I was thinking something of a reward. For us.” The Scarecrow began to circle her, “And surely we can pamper her in other ways.” 

Lyric’s knees pressed together where they couldn’t see. Something about it- the way they talked about her like she wasn’t in the room, listening to everything. She knew what came next. Her body practically leaned into Jervis as his hand went to the small of her back and his lips found its spot in the crook of her neck. 

“Well doll?” Jonathan’s brow queried, “Why don’t you show us how else we could pamper you?”

The young woman’s hands shook as she grasped the fabric of the skirts in her hands, trying to remain cool and collected even as Jervis dragged his tongue along her skin. With a shaking breath, she lifted the dress in its front just high enough to see her wet pussy on display. Just as she could see Jonathan lick his lips in a crass gesture at her, she suddenly felt Jervis move one of his hands to paw at her between her legs. Not quite pressing in, his thumb moving gingerly over her clit as his fingers explored between her slit. She grasped onto his arm for anchor as she moaned. The skirts fell over to hide his hand, but he continued. 

Jonathan clicked his tongue, “I was still looking at that, doll. Don’t you want to please me as well? Or is your brain too clouded with pleasure to think of much else?”

Before she could answer, Jervis plied a finger inside of her and his teeth grazed into her shoulder. Her voice came out choking, “Yes- I- I-” Her hips moved in time with Jervis’s ministrations, the anticipation bringing her ever higher. The scarecrow assisted by first yanking the skirt up to put in her hand- Then he took her lips to his to overwhelm her. Every moan and whimper she gave him just made him harder through his pants. 

As his body brushed against hers, she could feel it against her bare skin. For a moment she wondered how this was going to go before Jonathan suddenly backed off. 

“I think Jervis should have you first.” There was a smile on his face she didn’t quite trust. 

Yet, Jervis, panting hard against her skin, agreed, “Yes, yes, don’t you fret, you’ll have your turn soon enough yet. I want to taste our pet.” And with that he and Lyric went to the bed, him remaining clothed as he pushed her to fall on her back on the plush comforter. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyric could see Jonathan setting himself to sit one leg over his other crossed on the vanity bench. Staring. A closed mouth smile betraying how much he was getting off on this. The Mad Hatter was quick to push Lyric’s skirts back up and press her legs apart with his hands. With a moan, he went to kiss her thighs before moving to her pussy and diving right in with tongue. She couldn’t help but weave her hands and fingers into his hair as he tasted her right to the core. 

It didn’t last long as his face peeked up over the fabric of her clothes, “Oh Alice, you taste delightful- I just know you’re going to feel even better…” She could hear him unzipping his pants and a groan of relief at what she assumed was him taking out his cock. 

He managed to wiggle himself above her, kissing her on the lips, “See how good you taste? So delectable-” His cock lined up and pressed inside her aching cunt. He was average at most in length, but there was a thickness to him that always stretched her out just a little at first. 

Not to mention the fervor in which he’d thrust up into her hips, always making sure they meet at the hilt no matter how he rushes. Like she’s the only person he could ever want. His hand pressed down over hers, holding them above her head by the wrist as his other balanced his weight. 

“You feel so good, Alice- so… Just like I always-” All the foreplay leading up to now had him plenty wound up. 

She managed to twist her hips up to meet him so he’d go deeper. A shiver went up her back, and she whimpered, “Please don’t stop, Jervis- Don’t let go.” 

Seeing the sweetness of her face as she begged almost made him cum then and there. Yet Jervis knew he had to rein himself in, thrusting just a little slower to make himself last longer. As Lyric looks over to Jonathan, she can see he’s no longer sitting on the bench. Likely somewhere else in the room, watching. Normally, Jervis would be the volunteer to be a creepy voyeur for his enjoyment. Feeling his eyes on her was enough, Lyric could feel herself building to that first orgasm. 

“I’m almost- Jervis!” She moaned as Jervis kissed her again, moving faster to stimulate her with his cock. With a grunt, he came, pressing in deep for just a moment before he kept going- Panting and practically unable to speak as he went. She could feel that warmth of his cum inside of her slipping out. 

“Mine, mine, mine-” He murmured, “You’re all mine-” Almost like a prayer on his lips to keep him going despite his own overstimulation. 

With an arch in her back, Lyric came over his cock, her wrists pressing hard against his hand. Thankfully, he was just that little bit stronger, a wide grin on his face as he watched her face contort in ecstasy. Then he lifted himself off of her with a kiss to the cheek. He was going to clean up while Jonathan had his fun. Just before Lyric could wonder where he was, a fully nude Crane was pulling her up into his lap. She was so malleable like this- something he took advantage of as he positioned her over his cock. 

His voice was rich as he growled, “And now you’re all mine. Just what am I to do with such a pretty little thing?” Before she could answer, he began to press her hips and pussy down over him- thankfully only half way at first. He was thinner, but longer. Just enough that pressing her all the way down in the initial stroke would be cruel. 

He lifted her, despite her agonized moans, “T-too much- S… Sensitive-” Yet he continued, knowing she was fully aware of their safeword or colors if it all got to be too much. 

“I think you should be able to take both your masters' cocks in one sitting-” Jonathan chastised, “Perhaps next time we’ll even do both. This body is ours. You belong to us, beautiful doll.” 

He’d been stroking himself off in the dark as he’d watched, pre-cum already lining his shaft. Mixing with Lyrics slick and Jervis’s cum inside of her. There could be something witty to be said about it, if he wasn’t so focused on trying to hit all of her sweet spots. Slow, methodical and agonizing was the way to drag out her pleasure like this. That with some choice verbiage and the tender way he held her midsection as he thrust all the way into her, was nearing her at another edge. 

Jervis sat in front of her on the bed, head in hands as he stared at her lovingly. Helping pull the dress out of the way as her face flushed and she seemed to lose any possibility of praise or banter. Just crying out as Jonathan played with her clit with each even stroke. 

“Our perfect doll…” Jervis cooed, petting her cheek. 

All of it was too much- Lyrics second and final orgasm hit her like a large wave in the ocean, trickling out to smaller waves as she panted out her release. Jonathan held her there for a moment before lifting her off and handing her to Jervis to cuddle into as she came down. Grabbing a nearby tissue from a box, he jerked himself off to completion, hand on her arm to keep his mind on track. He could have kept going inside of her, but he figured she had been pressed far enough for one session. 

He put his cock away after some quick cleaning and settled in behind her on the bed, his arms going across her waist. Kissing the back of her shoulder. 

“Was that good?” Jervis asked, “A pleasant present for our dearest? You are now… fully awake, my control is no longer a suppressant.” He gave a small clap for good measure, pulling out the watch for her to hear the ticking. 

With the weight back in her body, Lyric painted, “So good. Better than good. That was… That was fucking amazing.” She was almost breathless but laughing all the same. The smile on her face made Jervis feel so warm. 

Jonathan’s voice was quiet in comparison, “Happy Birthday, darling. Do you want to clean up or sit here for a minute?” They would have to apply some aftercare, but it could wait for her to process. 

“I’m tired…” She said before moving her leg and wincing, “Actually, clean up. Is that okay?”

“More than okay!” Jervis sat up, “We’ll get you all cleaned up! And this dress will have to be cleaned too.” There was a knowing smile on his face as he said it. 

The aftercare was a calming haze of motions from helping her undress and getting her in a bath to her having fresh water and pain medication on hand after (just in case). Her fuzziest and most comfortable pajamas ready for her to put on. A small collection of Vincent Price horror movies for them to watch as she sat in a blanket huddling between them. Soft reminders that they love her and care about her and consistently asking if she needs anything else. 

“Don’t hesitate to ask.” Jon says as he kisses her softly on her head. 

At first she takes out her new sketchbook and makes doodles of the two men next to her. Yet Jonathan could see the two of them with droopy eyes in weariness. They both end up convincing him to move to the middle and then napping on him in the middle of “Theater of Blood.” A soft sigh and smile. He wouldn’t have it any other way. His hands on both of them to keep them closer. 

[inthewild-flowers]

Surprise, Gertie: We've Unionized (subheading) In More Ways Than One

“Worms,” Martin muttered under his breath, “Why does it always have to be bloody worms? I hate worms.”

“It’s probably just a parasite,” Jon said.

Martin shot him a look. “That was not a parasite. We barely made it out unharmed!”

“An unusually aggressive parasite.”

“You are unbelievable.”

Channeling their inner Tim, Jon fluttered their eyelashes at Martin. “Am I?”

Martin’s face flashed through about five different emotions in a matter of seconds, before settling into flushed annoyance. “I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“If you two don’t shut up in the next five seconds,” Sasha said from the front seat, “you’re going to wish the worms had killed you. How does this email to Gertrude sound?”

“Can’t read it while I’m driving, Sash,” Tim said.

“I was asking them, not you.”

“And leaving me out?” Tim spared a moment to make puppy eyes in Sasha’s direction before looking back at the road.

“You’re so needy,” was Sasha’s deeply affectionate response. “I’ll read it out loud.”

“Thank you.”

Sasha cleared their throat. “‘Gertrude–’”

“That should say Gertie.”

“Fuck off, Tim.” Sasha cleared their throat again and, with as much drama as they could muster, read out the email. “‘Gertrude, we talked to Mr Davies; he’s had no other encounters in the past few weeks. Went and investigated the scene, nearly got eaten by evil worms. Most likely Jane Prentiss still doing her thing. Unfortunately we couldn’t find Prentiss herself. Send Mr. Davies some fire extinguishers in case of another incident. It’s not likely, but possible.’ What do we think, team?”

“You should call her Gertie.”

“She’d never talk to us again.”

“Ask her to get us more extinguishers.”

“Thank you for the helpful input, Martin.”

“You’re welcome, Sasha.”

“Anything to add, Jon?”

Jon crossed his arms. “You could be more professional.”

“I think by not calling her Gertie I’m being perfectly professional.”

“‘Most likely Jane Prentiss still doing her thing’ isn’t very professional.”

“So what I’m hearing is, ‘You’re doing great, Sash, hit send!’”

Jon sighed. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” Sasha signed the email and their phone made a little whooshing noise as they sent it off. “I think I forgot to delete ‘sent from my iphone.’”

wrote a fic for @seasons-in-the-archives ! theres also some wonderful art by @lucky-numberme that goes with it!! gonna rb with a link to both the fic and the art <3

[somethingsupwithdrac]

24th May Huzzah! A message! From our dear Lucy! You know what that means, Tumblr Book Club friends? IT’S TIME TO MEET THE LUCY WESTENRA BOYFRIEND CLUB YESSS

Today we have an opening from Lucy thanking Mina for her letter and spilling the tea about her THREE suitors!

LOL “Don’t tell the girls, you know they’ll be babies about it because I have a whole squad of eligible men begging for my hand in marriage and they don’t. Vanity, amirite?”

Again with the secrets, Lucy. “Don’t  tell anybody but Jon, because I know you’re going to, I would totally spill the beans to Arthur if our positions were reversed, but I have a BOYFRIEND CLUB and I need to tell you ALL ABOUT THEM”

First we have Jack Seward, Asylum Guy and OG podcaster, who is is strong of jaw and good of forehead. So much for that “oh he’d be perfect for you if not for that pesky fiance, lol" thing. I know that “cool" here refers to being calm and in control of oneself, but it’s much funnier if I take that to mean “OMG, Mina, this man is the biggest most awkward dork of a man, he almost sat on his hat and then sat there fiddling with a lancet like a weirdo until I wanted to scream, lmao"

Awkward boyfriend pitch time! “I love u and I swear I will make you so happy, I will be so sad if u do not love me back dear Lucy.” (I make fun of this because to modern eyes it’s a wee bit niceguy, but I know that it’s meant to be sincere, and it’s all honestly kind of sad.) And then poor conflicted Lucy having to reject him and the very noble “I want you to be happy and if all I can have is your friendship, I will be the best friend I can” speech, which, honestly? Sweet as hell, you get a point, Mr. Seward. (Which is perhaps the only point I am willing to award you for anything in this novel.)

This whole thing with Lucy having a good cry over having to hurt him by rejecting him is actually pretty sad and I just want the Lucy Westenra Boyfriend Club to pull itself together already. Later, though.

And  now, introducing suitor number two, MISTER QUINCEY P. MORRIS, AMERICAN COWBOY FROM TEXAS. He absolutely definitely speaks like a real authentic Texan and Bram Stoker absolutely definitely had spoken to Americans before writing this man’s character. (I snark, but only because I love Quincey as a character.) Quincey is an absolute gem of a man who knows how to sweet talk a girl and is 100% the guy this was made for:

He is young and fresh faced and charming, and ALSO knows how to take rejection gracefully, which puts him miles above at least 75% of modern dude characters. Lucy is like, “alas, my totally hot and very eligible American suitor, as I told Mr. Seward, I am in love with Arthur already” with genuine regret, and poor sweet Quincey is just

‘I understand little darlin’, I love you and want the best for you and we can still be friends, because friendship is valuable too.’ You also get a point, Mr. Morris. YEEHAW.

And then he joins Lucy’s Boyfriend Club with Arthur and Jack because Lucy Westenra (I keep typing Lucky, lol) is a damn smart woman and she is going to have all the boyfriends she wants.

Last, of course, is Arthur, who is...Arthur. Curly of hair and kind of heart, already engaged, betrothed, and affianced to our dear Lucy. Does this make him president of the Boyfriend Club? IDK, maybe?

“Why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?”

YOU DON’T NEED MARRIAGE, GIRL, YOU JUST GO FORM THAT POLYCULE AND GET ALL OF THOSE VERY HANDSOME AND ELIGIBLE MEN.

(Sidenote: I love ‘I know what I would do...no I don’t’ and ‘A man always finds a girl alone...no he doesn’t���. It’s such stream of consciousness writing and I love that about Lucy.)

I cannot WAIT to see our friend Mina’s response to this. I know I am absolutely bursting to hear more about the Boyfriend Club.

(Sidenote number two: JFC, talk about mood whiplash. We go from Jonathan being in several flavours of mortal peril with a definite end date for his life to Mina and Lucy having a grand time talking about Boyfriend Club. It’s jarring, and it’s meant to be, and also, I think, necessary for keeping the tension up.)

[the-peculiar-bi-tch]

Watching Jon Stewart rip apart the Arkansas attorney general on the state's anti trans youth law was so awesome; he just held on to his arguments for medical organizations and actual studies and just beat her over the head with them until she complained "I wasn't prepared to have a Supreme Court case today." Like girl you need sources if you're going to try that shit.

I understand Stewart has said done pretty transphobic things in the past, but having apologized for them and then done something I've never seen any of my cis friends do (actually defend my identity and right to exist) I don't really care. I sure didn't start out trans positive until I came on here, met some people, and cracked my egg. Transphobia is socialized into and can be socialized out of.

I hope this leads more liberal media outlets to start reporting on trans issues, especially trans youth, more responsibly. A recent opinion in The Guardian from some person complaining about how her girlfriend came out to get as a trans woman is a) a very good insight into how "allies" may react when they actually meet the real versions of us, not the faces we put on in public or our media representations, and b) a reminder that these news orgs don't care about our rights or our struggles. They care about views and right now trans drama is perfect for it. It's being driven by fearmongering and hatred, by demagogues like Rowling and Walsh, and it's causing shows to be cancelled and hospitals to shut down programs over bomb threats. The world will not stand in the way of death to save a tiny part of the population.

Yet I still appreciate Stewart for doing this. Realized you fucked up is hard and making amends can be even harder. When the amend is "be the loudest pro trans cis white guy in the country," that's an amend worth recognizing and celebrating. We're a long long way off from broader social acceptance, and I anticipate anti-trans pogroms before we reach it, but with allies like this, it's a hike we can finish.

[a-libra-writes]

Game of Thrones - Love Letter and Handwriting Headcanons

In this preference, you'll be writing to: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Eddison Tollett, Yara Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Missandei, Grey Worm, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn, Petyr Baelish, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Arianne Martell

my own silly fanfic made me think of this bc there’s letter writing later on in that. whee!

Ned Stark

His handwriting is neat, evenly spaced and fairly plain. It’s easily readable, which is the point - he knows not everyone is well-versed in letters and he tries to make it easier. Ned typical sends ravens, only writing a full letter for when he has to give instructions or relay something important. He has a formal Stark wax seal for this… and yes, he uses that same formal seal when he sends something to you. The more you exchange letters, the more relaxed he clearly becomes in writing. He knows he isn’t romantic or poetic by any means, but he hopes his affection for you comes across.

Robb Stark

Goodness knows he’s had endless lessons on writing properly and expressing the right words, but Robb just has no interest in it. His handwriting is perfectly legible but obviously hastily written, and he doesn’t care if there’s a few smudges or the paper gets dirty. When he’s writing to you, he’ll try to be neater… but sometimes he’s just got so much to say, and he’s so eager to send it, he doesn’t even notice the mess. Robb never thought he’d anticipate letters, especially romantic ones, but he loves receiving things from you. If you live far away, he feels the distance strongly and starts to rely on your letters to feel more connected to you.

Sansa Stark

As expected, her penmanship is pretty and neat. If she's in a good mood she'll add little flourishes here and there, but normally she's a bit embarrassed to do it. It feels childish to do that now. When she finds a nice stationary, she saves it until she writes to you. Her envelopes have the usual Stark direwolf with some wildflowers along the border. Honest and romantic words used to come easy to her, but now she’s more subdued. She’ll include pretty poetry she heard and wanted to share with you.

Jon Snow

His writing would be neater if he just slowed down, but he’s often in haste, especially once he becomes Lord Commander. He never cared about the proper penmanship or address because who would a bastard write to? Really, it’s lucky he was taught letters at all. He’d do his best to write neater for you, but the words keep escaping him - It’s hard enough to express how he feels in person, writing it isn’t any easier, no matter what Sam says. Jon always responds if you write to him, even if he’s blushing and feeling stupid the whole time.

Benjen Stark

He’s perfectly capable of writing neatly, but Benjen rarely bothers to. He jots down what he needs, though he at least has to make it legible - there’s only so many men that know their letters at the Wall, and Benjen has to keep his orders neat. When you pass him a secret letter, he’s grinning like a boy. He thinks it’s adorable that you went through the effort of finding supplies and writing something so sweet. He’ll ask to read it in front of you, but if you make him do it in secret, he’ll want to run and find you as soon as he’s done. He’d fold it up tight and keep it in a safe pouch tied to his belt. 

Jory Cassel

His handwriting is pretty messy. Jory was never bothered by it until he had to write you something. Oh no. Wasn't there a proper way to address you? What if it was too personal, or too standoffish? Poor Jory overthinks his letters unless you two write with frequency. His handwriting won't get better, but he's more comfortable writing sweet things. He likes to keep his envelopes and papers plain so no one suspects anything, which is a good habit if you’re dating in secret, but a silly once if you’re married. 

Eddison Tollett

He jokes it’s a small miracle that he knows his letters, poor as his family was. He likes to pretend he doesn’t, just so the higher ups on the Wall won’t give him extra duties like they did Sam. Reading never interested him, and he had no one to write to, so it’s just not something he thinks about. When you slip him a letter, he just stares at it dumbly for a minute. Once Edd has a chance to open it up, he’s a little taken aback. What… should he do? Should he talk to you? Respond to it? He’s never had such a nice gesture given to him, never had anyone write such nice things to him (has he even received a letter before??). So the next time to meet him, he still has a stupefied look on his face. And here he was thinking nothing on the Wall could surprise him anymore.. 

Yara Greyjoy

She was taught writing and reading by her nuncle - because the Gods know her father hardly bothered - so she actually has fond memories of both, even if she hardly does it. Yara would be very curious by anything you sent. Was something wrong? If it smelled of perfume or had a pretty stationary, she’d snort… but once she read the contents, she’d just grin and laugh. If the letter is more romantic, she finds it silly, but so like you. Very endearing. If it’s more saucy and risque, well … she’s going to read this in private and take her time.

Daenerys Targaryen

Her handwriting wasn’t as neat as it could’ve been, given her upbringing. It’s a point of embarrassment, so Dany practices pretty lettering and uses interesting inks she’s found around the markets. It’s a bit relaxing, though when she’s writing something official as Khaleesi and Queen, she makes sure it’s perfect. She’s pleasantly surprised when you write her something - has she ever actually received something this sweet before? She’ll write you back with a smile on her face, and she likes any chance to use that fancy Targaryen seal. Dany will still love to receive and send letters even if you both are staying in a palace together. It’s just one of many romantic gestures she thought she’d never enjoy.

Jorah Mormont

Jorah's handwriting is nice, but he usually writes in haste, so several letters end up smudged. He doesn't like to waste paper and start over. Jorah really can’t believe that you’d send him something romantic and sweet; he tries to hide his grin and blush, but he’ll wear it the whole time he’s reading. When he's writing something really sweet to you, it gets him flustered and happy, so whole words end up smudged. He doesn't notice the ink on his hand until he's already put the letter in the envelope. He keeps whatever you’ve sent him in a protective leather book so they can’t get damaged.

Missandei

She has lovely handwriting in many languages, as she was taught. The neatness of the lines and letters really is impressive. When she's writing something sweet to you, she pauses and struggles with the words for a while. Missandei always has the sweetest, most thoughtful letters - more sentimental than romantic. Her letters are punctuated with citrus smelling paper and a modestly decorated envelope.

Grey Worm

He’s only recently learned to read, and writing is still a struggle - he’d be very intimidated at the idea of writing something to you. When you give him something to read for practice, it takes Grey Worm a few minutes before he realizes it’s something you wrote. And it’s for him! And about him! He’s very happy but also very flustered. It takes him longer to get through it, but he can’t stop smiling all day once he’s done. He aspires to write something just as nice, once he’s practiced more. He’d keep your letters in a safe place, and wouldn’t want anyone else to see them.

Tywin Lannister

His penmanship is near perfect, which you expected. It’s always written in a stark black ink on fine, almost marbled paper that has an equally officially looking gold Lannister seal on the envelope. People whisper it’s liquid gold that seals it, but you know better. Tywin’s letters are for business only, so he doesn’t expect you to send him anything romantic… He wouldn’t know what to do with it, besides read it with some amusement and tuck it away for later. You might think he never read it, until he’ll tease you by quoting it weeks later. 

Tyrion Lannister

His handwriting is elegant and flawless, as it was meant to be. When Tyrion’s tired he’ll smudge here and there, and depending on how important the letter is, he’ll start over entirely. When he receives your first letter, he’s surprised by the pretty stationary and envelope - this is for him? - and the contents are even better. Tyrion might have a small mental shutdown if you write him something romantic and kind. He’ll re-read it over and over and be distracted through much of the day. This is really for him? He has to respond, of course, and he’ll do it while his emotions are high. For once he doesn’t think on carefully crafted words, he writes what he feels and picks a more subtle stationary (no giant Lannister seals) so attention isn’t drawn to you.

Jaime Lannister

Gods, he hates writing. Just sitting down to write a report is bad enough, but when it's something important? When it's a response to something lovely you wrote? He struggles. The letters start moving around like they used to, he remembers those awful lessons with his father and he's just put off by the whole thing. Seeing you in person is far better. Jaime's handwriting is neat, because it had to be, though when he's upset he'll write a few letters backwards.

Sandor Clegane

It's a mess. Really, the fact his words are readable is a miracle. 'Chicken scratch' is a generous term, though his name is passable. If you wrote him a letter, he'd have no idea what to do with it, let alone how to respond. Sandor doesn't do sentiment like that; seeing you in person can be conflicting and confusing enough. He'd probably rip it up and burn it after drinking too much (and immediately regret that in the morning).

Bronn

He's barely literate, and not a man of flowery words anyway, so don't respect a response. If anything he'd hand the letter to Tyrion and ask him to read it - only for it to be handed back once Tyrion realized it was very personal and... revealing. Bronn doesn't worry about a response or consider you getting upset about it. If you are, he has ways to make up for it. 

Petyr Baelish

You expected him to have neat penmanship, but you didn't expect it to be this nice. And of course, his way with words shows in his letters, but it's even better. You might even blush and have to excuse yourself to read it in private. Petyr loves to write on fancy paper with fancier envelopes that have his sigil, but if they're meant to be secret, the only indicator is a little symbol on the envelope's seal. He delights in anything you send him, especially if he can smell your perfume on it.

Stannis Baratheon

Stannis writes very neat letters with equally impossibly neat rows. He has a habit of gripping his quill too tight, but his letters are concise so his hand doesn’t hurt. While he usually writes quickly because he knows what to say, when he writes to you, he pauses far too often. Sometimes ink drips on the paper while he’s thinking, sometimes he misspells a word he’s never gotten wrong before. It takes a long time, especially if he’s responding to something that was very sweet and romantic. His first letters were very awkward and halting, but they’ve steadily improved. Mostly. 

Davos Seaworth

You were the one who helped him with writing, after helping him read as well. Davos isn’t happy with his penmanship, but he didn’t think he’d make it this far, so he keeps trying when he has time. It’s messy but legible enough. Davos is always pleasantly surprised when you write to him; he loves that you took the time to send something so sweet. It’s hard for him to reply efficiently, or to put what he’s thinking into words, so sometimes he’ll wait for you to get back instead. He would use your letters to practice reading… but it gets him terribly flustered to read the same kind things over and over again.

Margaery Tyrell

She doesn't mind taking the extra time to make her letters extra beautiful, to press dried flower petals and put them in the envelope, to look through dozens of stationary to find one that's just right for her mood. For most people, they're lucky to get one of these little rituals - you get all of them. She'd be delighted if you took extra care in your letters, too, and naturally she keeps whatever you send her in a special box (that absolutely no one will find). 

Brynden Tully

It's no surprise that his handwriting is simple and gets the job done. His brother used to complain that he wrote like a soldier, not a lord, and Brynden is proud of that. He won't wax poetic to you, but he will plainly state that he misses you and he always writes back promptly. Brynden feels bad that his letters take so long to arrive, so he'll make them longer with funny anecdotes and things he's heard from travellers. He folds his letter a few times and wraps it in a protective parchment, just in case rain comes or some idiot drops it.

Edmure Tully

He writes well enough, with neat letters that are jotted down in haste. Edmure almost never stays and lingers on words and sentences, he just writes what comes to mind and moves on. He’s shocked in a good way when you write something to him - you missed him that much? Enough to write all this? He re-reads it several times, and keeps whatever you send him after that. He’ll eagerly write back, and even if it’s silly and awkwardly worded, you can feel the love in every letter. His letters are often a bit crumpled and are plain except for the Tully seal.

Brienne of Tarth

It might surprise some that she has a lady's penmanship. It was never something Brienne had trouble learning, though she often accidentally broke the quill by holding too hard. Though she cherishes the kind things you send her (and she blushes terribly as she reads them), she struggles to send something in return. Her words fail her and she feels embarrassed for trying, but she does try. Seeing you in person is so much easier, though. She likes to keep your letters in a safe place and read them when she's feeling down.

Ramsay Bolton

The letters are messy, but legible enough. The real issue is all the stains on the paper, usually a combination of mud, blood or water. He has little care for the proper way to write or address others; Roose may have given him the bare minimum and not expected him to actually use it. Ramsay is very surprised and amused by anything you send him, though. He considers writing something back, but decides to wait or just go and see you directly. That’s far more fun.

Roose Bolton

His handwriting is functional and his words are to the point. There's nothing outstanding about the letter or its contents, save for a blood-red Bolton seal on the envelope. Roose rarely sends full letters, though; it's a quick Raven or nothing. Though he won't mind anything you send… he'll be very pleased with how personal they become, and he still won't send anything back right away, if he does at all. Better to keep you in anticipation.

Oberyn Martell

Oberyn has a stylish flourish to his letters that’s unique to him. If that didn’t give it away, the pretty gold ink or embellished envelope will. Often it has the spear as a seal, sometimes it’s some interesting and strange stamp he picked up from his travels. There’s always a slight scent to his letters, and you can’t always place it. The actual words themselves are often scandalous and teasing, though he’s sent plenty of heartfelt things, especially if you enjoy it. He’s no poet, but he’s honest and romantic. Oberyn much prefers to see you in person, but he likes to receive sweet things and re-read them.

Arianne Martell

Her handwriting is beautifully elegant, and she loves getting ahold of pretty colored inks and papers. Her letters straddle a fine line between romantic and a little scandalous, and she likes to use pet names, as if you both are writing in secret. Her envelopes have a pleasant smell, and the official Martell seal. If she wants her letter to be sent especially fast, she’ll take her father’s seal. She keeps anything you send her in a pretty, hand carved wooden box with a lock and key.

[somanyfuckedupiftruebooks]

JonMartin Week 2022

Day 1: Good Cows/First Date

Read it on AO3 here!

The first few days at the safehouse are… excruciating. 

Martin knows he is ruining everything. Somehow, by some insane miracle, he has everything he has ever wanted. Jon is here. With him. They are somewhere safe (or at least as close as they can reasonably get to safe these days). And Jon is here, with him, somewhere safe because he wants to be. Because he loves Martin. 

Martin knows this. He Knows it because he Saw it. So why can't he enjoy it? 

Because my stupid, broken brain won't let me, Martin thinks viciously, twisting one of his hands into his hair and pulling until the pain in his scalp becomes too intense and he has to stop.

Everything is too intense these days. Colours. Sounds. Sensations. …Feelings. Martin has spent so long in the muted, empty world of the Lonely that everything now feels like sandpaper and sirens in comparison.

Even here, in the small bedroom of the safehouse. Martin is sitting on the mattress, feeling the texture of the sheets under his fingers, hearing the squeak of bedsprings, smelling dust in the air. A collection of the mildest, most inoffensive things he can imagine and it is too much. Too much!

He can't stand it, being here with nothing to do but sit and think and be in his own body and mind. That had become unbearable a long time before Peter Lukas had walked into his life with a hollow smile and promises of a way to make everything just stop.

Martin has to do something. Things are always better, more bearable, when he has a task to keep his mind and his hands occupied. But there is nothing to do in this place. Nothing to do but escape. 

Decision made, Martin gets to his feet and crosses to the closet to fetch his boots and a warm coat. He will go for a walk, to keep his feet occupied if not his broken brain. Already the motion is having an effect. As he laces up his boots Martin's breathing is slowing and his thoughts are becoming less jarring. It's better.

His forward momentum carries him out of the bedroom and into the small living space. Jon is there, curled in a ball on the couch with a book. He's frowning at it, but his face smooths into a smile as he looks up at Martin. 

Despite everything, Martin feels himself smiling back. He can't help it.

'Going somewhere?' Jon asks.

'Just getting some fresh air,' Martin says, as he crosses toward the front door. 'It's hard to breathe in here, sometimes.'

That was a stupid thing to say, Martin thinks, in a voice that sounds a little like Peter's and a lot like his mother's. But Jon is nodding as if it made perfect sense.

'Fancy some company?' he asks lightly.

Martin stops with his hand on the door, feeling tense and awkward all over again.

'Or not!' Jon says quickly. 'That's fine too! If you want to be alone.'

'I don't,' Martin replies immediately, instinctively. It's true, he doesn't want to be alone. But he also isn't sure if he wants company.

'Right,' Jon says. He is looking at Martin like he's a puzzle Jon doesn't quite know how to solve. His head is cocked slightly to the side, concerned but still… hopeful.

Martin loves him so much it makes him want to scream.

'C'mon then,' Martin says, feeling his chest swell with unbearable, burning fondness as Jon's whole face lights up in response to his gruff acquiesce. Jon scrambles quickly to his feet and immediately joins Martin at the door. They stand for a moment, both looking at each other expectantly.

'Jon…' Martin says slowly. 'You need shoes. And a coat. It's freezing outside.'

'Oh.' Jon looks down at himself as though he can't understand why he is wearing sweatpants and an oversized (possibly stolen?) cardigan rather than anything remotely suitable for roaming the Scottish highlands. 'Right, I'll just…' he turns towards the bedroom, but hesitates after a few steps, looking back at Martin. 'You won't leave without me?'

Suddenly unable to speak through the lump in his throat, Martin nods once. As soon as Jon has hurried out of sight, Martin opens the door and steps out into the cold, taking several deep breaths. He wants the freezing air to seep into him as it once had, to soothe the overwhelming tightness in his chest, to make his mind stop spinning. But he also doesn't want that. He firmly, resolutely, Does Not want that. He just wishes he didn't want to want it.

Shaking his head, Martin looks around, taking in the rolling green fields on every side of him. They are very isolated out here. There's a little village nearby, but Martin doesn't feel like going in that direction today. They have enough supplies to delay that trip for a while longer, and Martin is currently in a state of mind where he can hardly tolerate Jon's company in addition to his own. He certainly isn't capable of adding strangers to the mix right now. 

Time for some exploring then. That seems like a good idea, when Martin is in a headspace where every sight, sound and sensation feels like it could trigger a panic attack.

Fuck.

Oh well. At least out here he can be moving around while fighting the urge to scratch off all of his skin.

Martin turns at the soft sound of the front door closing to see Jon, now appropriately bundled up. Jon looks down at Martin's hands once before resolutely burying his own deep into the pockets of his coat. Martin pretends not to notice this, just as he has pretended not to notice every other time Jon has looked longingly at some part of Martin's body that he would clearly like to touch or hold or cuddle with. It feels impossible that he couldn't have noticed the way Jon looks at him now. They both know how touch-starved Jon has become, how badly he wants Martin to hold him. They both know that Martin is utterly incapable of doing that right now. 

Neither of them have said any of this out loud. What would be the point?

I am ruining this, Martin thinks desperately. I wanted Jon to look at me like that for years and now he is and I am ruining it.

Shoving his own hands into his pockets, Martin turns abruptly and begins walking, away from the house and away from the familiar route to the village. He has to fight an irrational temptation to break into a run, instead keeping his long strides to a steady pace that he knows Jon will be able to keep up with. 

Indeed, after a few hurried moments Jon does fall into step beside him. For a while things are peaceful between them. Martin takes the time to breathe the cold air and tries not to think about anything. Inevitably, Jon breaks the silence.

'So… he says carefully, 'is this a quiet contemplation kind of walk, or a pleasant conversation kind of walk?'

Martin honestly doesn't feel up to either at the moment, but at this point the instinct to please is as deeply ingrained in him as fight or flight.

'I can listen, if there's something you want to talk about,' he offers. 

'Hmm.' Jon seems to consider this for a moment before asking, 'Have you had a chance to peruse Daisy's selection of reading material?'

Martin wordlessly shakes his head. He is looking down at the ground as he walks, trying to block out everything other than the sight of the grass beneath his feet and now the sound of Jon's voice.

'I'm afraid it's quite dismal,' Jon says. 'She seems to only favour two genres, hardboiled detective novels and, ah, supernatural romance.'

Jon pauses for a moment, as if waiting for Martin to say something, but when he doesn't he continues.

'I made an effort with the former, I really did, unfortunately I have realised that as soon as a mystery presents itself, I have to concentrate on not knowing the answer. Otherwise the Eye just tells me. So far I've only managed to make it a few chapters before my concentration slips and I manage to spoil the entire book for myself.' Jon sounds genuinely put out about this. 'So I've had to resort to the latter.'

'Hang on,' Martin says. 'Are you saying you've spent the past few days reading… monster porn?'

'I would prefer to call it werewolf erotica,' Jon says, with what appears to be a genuine attempt at dignity. Apparently taking Martin's snort of laughter as encouragement, he continues. 'Although I believe this particular sub genre would best be classed as a, ah, bodice-ripper.'

Martin looks up long enough to see the teasing edge to Jon's smile and grins quickly in reply before returning his gaze to the ground.

'Go on then,' he says. 'Tell me the story.'

'Are you sure you won't want to read it yourself?' 

'Pretty sure, yeah. I'd rather hear it from you.'

'If you insist. Well, the entire premise seems to be founded on the assumption that a wolf pack has a rigidly defined social hierarchy. While that was the common belief for a time, I'm sure you know it was disproved…' 

It's good, listening to Jon talk, Martin decides. Still irritating, but more in the vein of music turned up too loud rather than nails on a chalkboard. Bearable. Worth the discomfort. He'd always enjoyed the sound of Jon's voice, even when listening to him involved hearing some of the most horrific things Martin could imagine. There had been a time when the sound of Jon's voice was the only part of Jon he'd had left and–

–don't think about that, Martin chastises himself. Just enjoy the fact that he's here now.

'In my opinion the entire affair could best be solved with a little communication and a lot of polyamory, but – oh! Look at this handsome gentleman!' 

Startled by the sudden shift in Jon's attention and also by the fact that Jon is no longer beside him, Martin looks up to see that they have wandered their way alongside a wide green field containing a single highland cow. Apparently enraptured by this, Jon has climbed half way up the fence separating them from the animal and is now leaning as far into the field as he can without over balancing.

'What are you doing?'

'I want to say hello,' Jon says. He reaches his hand out towards the cow, rubbing his fingers together and making a pss-pss-pss noise like he is trying to entice a cat.

The cow remains utterly unenticed. In fact, it seems oblivious to Martin and Jon's presence entirely.

Trying not to feel like an exhausted parent trailing after an excitable toddler, Martin joins Jon beside the fence. He leans down and gathers up a handful of grass, tearing it out of the ground and ignoring the way that it feels like holding broken glass. Then he holds it out to the cow and makes a loud clicking noise with his tongue. 

This does the trick. The cow looks up and, seeing the offered grass, lumbers over towards them, snuffling happily as it eats directly out of Martin's hand.

Jon is obviously delighted by this. He scrambles down from the fence and immediately rips up his own handful of grass, taking over feeding from Martin. Watching Jon fuss over the cow (who is apparently 'really so magnificently handsome, yes he is'), Martin is once again overwhelmed by the burning tight feeling in his chest, and has to grip hold of the fence to steady himself (which only makes it worse, the feel of the rough wood against his skin, too much!) Desperate for a source of distraction, Martin finds himself saying, 'Did you know that cows have friends?'

Jon is now multitasking between feeding the cow grass and running the fingers of his scarred hand through the long brown fur on its neck.

'No, I didn't know that,' he says happily. 'How do you know if cows are friends?'

'If there's a big herd in a field, sometimes you'll see pairs or small groups standing and grazing together. They're friends.' Martin pauses. 'So if you see a cow all on its own, that means it doesn't have any friends.'

Jon's attention immediately snaps away from the cow and onto Martin. All traces of his earlier delight are gone, and he is wearing the stubborn expression that means the next words out of his mouth will be some variation of 'Actually, I really must disagree'.

'Forget I said anything,' Martin says quickly. 'I'm just being stupid, don't worry about it.'

'I don't think it follows,' Jon says firmly, 'that just because this cow is on his own right now, that he doesn't have any friends. I think he probably has a whole herd of friends, and family, and– others, who care about him–'

'–so why is he all alone out here then?' Martin interrupts.

'I don't know. There could be lots of reasons.' Jon hesitates. 'Maybe he just needs some… some…'

'Some what? Some fresh air?' Martin says sarcastically.

'...some time,' Jon finishes softly. 'It's okay, if he needs some time.'

Oh. There's that lump in his throat again.

'I think,' Jon says slowly, looking at the cow and patting its neck again, 'that before too long this cow will be back with all his friends, and they'll all tell him that, even though they missed him terribly while he was… away… they didn't mind waiting until he was ready to come back. Because they love him very much.'

Martin swallows thickly. 'He must be a really lucky cow.'

'Luck has nothing to do with it,' Jon says. 'He's a good cow, and he deserves good things.'

Unable to reply, Martin just nods.

Jon seems satisfied with that, and the two continue to feed and pet the good cow until it decides it has had enough of their attention and wanders away from the fence.

As they resume their walk, Jon grimaces at his hand, which is covered in cow saliva and bits of grass. He tries to scrub it clean on his pants but is very unsuccessful. 

Then Jon gasps, because without saying anything, Martin has reached out and taken his hand. It is tacky and still slightly damp and honestly feels awful. But it is also wonderfully worth it. Especially when Martin hears Jon smother a small sound of joy and settle for just squeezing his hand once in acknowledgement.

Looking back at the ground again, but smiling genuinely now, Martin says, 'C'mon then, let's see if we can find any more good cows.'

@jonmartinweek

[cellsshapedlikestars]

ohooo, for a prompt, i've always wanted to read a jonsa story based on sense and sensibility, because they give me big colonel brandon and marienne vibes!

Uh oh! Here's where I get my Tumblr card revoked, because I was never a big Jane Austen person. I know I read P&P and liked it, and I know I saw the P&P and S&S 90s movies when I was younger and liked those, but that's about it. I always meant to read all of them, I just never did. So I went and rewatched the S&S movie for this prompt (all I could really remember of it was Alan Rickman and a picnic??) Anyway, this is based off the movie ONLY, though I've added in more bits, because at least in the movie, Marianne and Brandon getting together seemed so abrupt and almost unearned? Maybe that's just me.

Anyway, this started as recreating the movie scenes, but as usual, I couldn't just stick to the source material and went off on my own. Whoops!

read it on ao3 here:

ephemera, chapter 24

.

Sansa stares ahead, watching the gentle sway of leaves in the wind. Next to her, Colonel Jon reads from one of her books, the one mother handed to him when he arrived. Sansa knows she should be listening to the words, but she cannot. She does not care much for stories right now, that is not why she sits out here when the Colonel comes to visit.

It is for his voice.

Deep and low and rumbling and Northern, it soothes the ache inside her.

After Hardyng, she thought she could never be happy again. But right now, she is content.

The Colonel's reading ends, and Sansa turns to look at him – his long, solemn face. When she first met him, she thought him quite dull. Too stiff and too dour.

“Shall we continue tomorrow?” she asks him, though he does not look at her, just at the book in his hands.

“No,” he says slowly, “tomorrow I must away.”

There is a twist in Sansa's chest that she does not know what to do with as she says, “away? Where?”

“I cannot tell you,” he finally looks at her, then leans forward a bit, conspiratorially, and says, “it is a secret.”

Sansa feels her lips pull into a reluctant smile. Despite his reserve, the Colonel has always managed to pull these smiles from her. When Hardyng was around, she had tried not to smile at the Colonel, for she knew of his infatuation with her and did not want to encourage it. Yet still, she could hardly help herself sometimes.

“You will not be away long?” she asks, though it comes out sounding more like a demand.

He gives her a small smile, just a slight quirk of his lips, and shakes his head.

…

The next day when the Colonel does not arrive, she feels restless and goes for a walk with Arya out among the rolling hills.

“There,” she says, staring at a spot in the grass. “That is where I first saw Hardyng.”

“He is an idiot,” Arya scoffs, head turning in the direction of Hardyng's estate to glare at it, though she cannot actually see it.

“If he had chosen me,” Sansa keeps staring at the spot, the memory of her twisted ankle, of Hardyng showing up on his horse like some prince out of a story. “If he had chosen me, he would have had a wife he loved, but no money.”

Had Hardyng actually loved her? Sansa is not so sure, now. He said he had, but when the moment came, he did not choose her. And even if his aunt had not thrown him out, even if he had not lost his inheritance, would they have been happy? If he had come here that day and proposed, if they married, would it have been a good marriage? She is certain he never would have told her about the girl he got with child. She is certain he never would have taken responsibility for it, until he was forced to. Their marriage would have been founded on lies.

The more she learns about Hardyng, the more she thinks on him and his actions, the less the loss of him hurts. Now it hurts because she had fallen in love with such a man. Now it is her own foolishness that hurts. He had been everything she thought she wanted. On the surface, he was the perfect gentleman. Underneath, he was nothing of the sort.

Not like Jon, she thinks. The Colonel has proven himself to be kind and honorable and true. He may not look the part – he may not have an easy laugh and a devilish smile, but she has grown to appreciate the smiles he does give. Slow and hard to earn, for he has been through his own heartache before. It has left a mark on him. She thinks she can understand him better, now. She is also learning to appreciate that he is handsome, though not as traditionally as Hardyng had been.

It has only been one day since the Colonel left for town, and yet she misses him. Not the sharp way she had anytime Hardyng left, thinking he would never come back and worrying that she had done something wrong.

No, missing Jon is something altogether more subtle. Like suddenly finding that a piece of herself has gone missing, and she wonders – when had the Colonel taken hold of her? When had he worked himself so deep into her soul that she misses him like this? He had been so steady, so unobtrusive. She had grown used to him, grown to need him, without even noticing. She had grown to trust the Colonel, to take comfort in his presence, while Hardyng had made her feel like she was on a ship, tossed about at sea. If Hardyng was the storm, then the Colonel was the calm eye of it.

…

When the pianoforte is delivered, Sansa thinks she might weep. With joy, with sorrow, she does not know.

“He must like you very much,” Arya comments drolly as Sansa sits herself before the instrument, her hands shaking.

“It is a gift for all of us,” she tries to argue, though she feels the heat rush to her cheeks at the thought of it. The thought of the Colonel seeking this out for her.

There is sheet music with it, and Sansa is determined to learn it before the Colonel is due back. She shall play it for him when he arrives.

At the first notes, she hears her mother breathe in deep, and even Arya sticks around to listen. It has been so long since they have had music in their home, and this time, Sansa shall not play anything melancholy. She still misses father, she always will, but she wants to be happy. She wants mother and Arya to be happy.

…

Sansa has never felt nervous in her skills before, but she does now as she sits at the pianoforte, with Colonel Jon sitting on the settee behind her.

In a bout of utter silliness, she hopes that the back of her dress looks pretty, that her hair looks shining and smooth today, for that is all the Colonel can see of her right now. Complete foolishness.

She begins to play, and though her mother and sister are here, it is really for the Colonel. Just as a thank you, of course. Nothing else.

…

Sansa has always been a bit rash.

Not in the way her sister is, but with her heart. Look how quickly she gave it away to Hardyng. Sansa tries her best to follow the rules of society, but her heart has always lead her astray. She remembers her mother warning her about propriety with Hardyng, and Sansa had tried her best not to let herself be compromised. She had never kissed Hardyng, not even when he told her, quite ardently, that he loved her.

So she cannot fathom why, while mother and Arya are busy in the garden, she leans over and kisses Jon while he is in the middle of reading to her.

He pulls back, eyes wide, as an ugly red blush takes over Sansa's face. She cannot believe she just did that. What must the Colonel think of her?

But he had been reading her favorite poem, though she knows he has never been one for poetry himself, and he had looked so handsome in the fading afternoon light.

“Miss Sansa,” he breathes, eyes searching hers, face filled with disbelief.

And yet, she can find no trace of disgust at her impropriety. It makes her heart skip, and she can feel a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Should I not have done that?” she asks, a teasing to her words. “Did you not like it?”

“Miss Sansa,” he stutters, “I know that you are still heartbroken-”

“I am not,” she sits up straighter in her chair as annoyance curls through her.

“You are, otherwise you would not... you would never entertain me as...”

“Are you telling me that you know how I feel better than I?” she asks, her tone going haughty. The one Arya always mocks as her Princess Sansa voice.

“No, never,” the Colonel shakes his head, and if she were not so annoyed, she might find the panic lacing his words amusing. “But-”

“But-” she interrupts, though she knows that it is rude to do so, “I have come to know you better. I have come to appreciate – no – desire your presence here with me. Mother always said that I live with my head in the clouds, but not anymore. I see things clearly now. I see you clearly.”

“Sansa,” he says again, the use of just her name making a slight shiver work it's way down her spine. “You know that I admire you. You must know that from the first moment I saw you, I...” he trails off, unsure what to say. Colonel Jon is not a poet by any means, but she has come to appreciate this about him. His words may not be flowery, they may not flow from him easily, but he means what he says. Every word from him is the truth.

“Just admire?” she teases, her confidence growing. He notices it now, and frowns at her.

“Do not mock me,” he says sternly, which only serves to make her smile wider. “You know that I love you. That I have loved you for quite a while.”

“I do,” she agrees, her smile fading, as something warm grows inside her. “And though it has taken me too long long to understand it, I do know now that I love you.”

Colonel Jon's smiles are rare, and so the one that lights up his face now makes her heart sing.

“I had not meant to propose today,” he says, sliding off his chair and down onto one knee. “But my dearest Sansa, if you would-”

“Yes, of course,” she interrupts again, her heart racing, her smile so wide that it hurts her cheeks.

“About time!” Arya shouts, and both of them turn to see Arya and mother peeking around the corner of the house. She does not think she has seen either of them look this full of joy since father died.

“Yes,” she says lowly, just for Jon. “It is about time.”

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Limp Noodle ~ S.H.

A/n: I have never once been good at making choices so I’ll be doing both OOF! This request is dirt old but whatever. I’m actually writing requests now look at me go!

Request: “...prompt 20 or 21 Steve Harrington x clumsy male reader” by anon

#20 (here): “I can’t do this without you”

#21: “Guess who broke their nose! Me. It’s me. I broke my nose.”

Word Count: 2000+

MASTERLIST

“Are you SURE that this is a good idea?” The words came from Y/n as Steve parked the car, waving through the windshield window at Jonatan, Nancy, Robin and a new friend, Bianca. They’d all decided on a triple date and like idiots they’d let Steve, Bianca, and Nancy decide so they were now all headed on a hike. Robin was the least athletic of all of them and hated exercise of any kind. Jonathan was the one in the group who hated being outside in the sun and much preferred being inside cuddled on the could other swaddled in bed. Y/n... well Y/n was the single most clumsy person you’ve ever met.

Now, take whatever image that popped in your head when I said that and then make it ten times worse. Then take THAT mental image and multiply by it by ten AGAIN. Y/n was worse. He was absolutely sure he was going to thrip and fall over the side of some steep hill and fully die. He would be lucky to make it out of this trip without a stick going through his eye. Y/n and the outdoors didn’t mix. They never had. He could barely walk, let alone when it was uphill and outside and humid and hard to breathe and everyone was so beautiful and distracting.

Steve didn’t agree with that analysis.

“This is a great idea actually,” Steve decided with complete confidence. “Don’t worry about it okay? You’ll be fine.”

“Incorrect,” Y/n Aries immediately. “We started dating because I tripped seven times and you caught me every single one. I tripped seven times in three days Steve - and that was just the, what, one hour a day you’re with me? In THREE HOURS I TRIPPED SEVEN TIMES!” He was whisper yelling, getting rather heated. “I’m going to knock my head into a tree and bleed out.”

Steve laughed. He reached over, taking his boyfriend’s hands. “Do you trust me?”

Y/n’s shoulders sagged. “That is a cheap trick, Harrington.”

In response Steve only raised his eyebrows. When Y/n refused to answer, Steve sighed. “Y/n. Do you trust me?”

Closing his eyes a second, Y/n held in a sigh. When he opened them again, he managed a small smile. “Yeah. I trust you.” Steve went to get out of the car and Y/n caught his wrist. “Just promise you’re going to stay with me okay? I can’t do this without you. I’m serious.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Come on Drama King.” They both got out and made their way over to the other four.

“Hey guys!” Nancy greeted warmly. She had calmed a lot since Y/n had first met her. Darkened. But she was still pleasant enough, and Y/n tolerated her for Steve. He didn’t know why they were all friends after Nancy’s brutal ripping up Steve’s heart but... he expected it was that trauma bonding things that Steve and Robin refused to ever talk about with Y/n in the room.

“Hey bestie.” Robin winked at Y/n and he felt himself relax. Around her he always felt more comfortable. She got him on a much deeper level than Steve did. She had actually been the one to set them up after failure after failure of Steve’s attempts on girls who came to the ice cream shop they met at originally. It had gone up in flames recently, but they’d snagged a job at a movie store so they still worked together. Y/n was pretty sure neither of them would have it any other way, even if they sometimes pretended to hate each other.

“Hey loser,” Y/n joked back. Robin shoved him and he laughed, accidentally ramming into Jonathan as his feet almost came out underneath him. “Sorry,” Y/n mumbled.

Robin scoffed in amusement. “I always forget you have two backward feet.” This was something she said often, in reference to the popular statement of ‘two left feet’. One day Robin had proclaimed that Y/n was something worse than two left feet, and then being backward had kicked off as an inside joke.

“I’d you have that problem standing still, how do you think you’re going to do on a hike?” It seemed Bianca was trying to get in on the joking, but it hit a hard cord with Y/n.

He wasn’t in the mood to joke. “What can I say? Great day to die.” He put on the fakest smile ever. “Come on everyone!” Then he began to surge ahead, onto the trail, and the others scrambled to catch up.

It didn’t tale long for Nancy and Bianca to hit the head of the trail. Steve dutifully stayed by Y/n, but he watched the girls head with a sort of forlorness. Because Y/n was so slow and Jonathan and Robin lagged even behind him, the two girls in front were racing up and down the steep sides of the path they were on, jumping over logs and hopping up on stumps to make the path harder. They were laughing hard and having a great time. Y/n knew that Steve desperately wanted to join them.

What kind of a boyfriend would Y/n be to stop him? “Go on,” Y/n sighed, nudging Steve forward encouragingly.

Steve looked at Y/n with an expression that tried far too hard at innocence to succeed. It was so obvious he was full of crap that Y/n was rolling his eyes before the brunette even spoke. “What? What do you mean? I’m having a great time with my boyfriend which was the point of this whole thing. Have I bored you already?”

“No, but I’ve bored you. Go and do parkour with the bad ass chicks up there. Go on.” Steve hesitated, but when Y/n shot him a look, he finally did speed ahead to catch up and join in the unnecessary shenanigans that gave Y/n extreme anxiety just imagining himself doing. He sighed watching Nancy and Steve. He knew that things were WAY over between them, but Y/n found a little jealousy in the way they worked together so fluidly. They were perfect for each other - even as friends. She just kept up with him and challenged him in a way that Y/n never could, and Steve thrived.

Slowing down in his moment of annoyance, Robin and Jonathan caught up to him. “Welcome to the world of those who have to sit back and wonder why they’re not still dating,” Jonathan sighed. His voice was as laced with bitterness as Y/n’s thoughts were.

“They’re so complimentary,” Y/n complained.

“You could argue that you guys are the same,” Robin pointed out. “You both hate doing anything outside or away from home. You both love reading and photography. I mean Y/n’s incredible view of the world allows him to be a great writer, but it also connects you two. Writing and photography aren’t far from each other and you prod that every day. Nancy can’t slow down enough to appreciate things like Jonathan does, and we all know Steve is no reader.” She chuckled. “And we’ll never know how awkward and snappy got buff and pretty.”

Jonathan and Y/n smiled at that. “Imagine another world where Nancy and Steve stayed together. Then maybe you and me would have-“ suddenly he lost his words as he tripped, and Jonathan reached out to catch him. The two boys busted up laughing. “That’s the second I have to say both sorry and thank you for your reflexes Mr. Byers.”

“Ah anytime. That’s what friends do. Share interests and talk about alternative world where they’re dating and catch each other when they almost die.”

That made Y/n laugh harder.

Suddenly there was a very unpleasant thump and a scream. The three in the back snapped their attention to the three ahead and saw Nancy and Bianca freeze and look back at Steve, who had landed on the ground. His hands had risen to cover his face, and he slowly turned on his side, curling in on himself. It seemed like he’d misstepped at some point and tripped and fallen.

Perhaps Y/n shouldn’t have been the one they worried about on this trip...

-

When they finally got Steve to the hospital, it was a mess. There had been blood everywhere, and Y/n’s weirdly good driving had saved the day in a pinch once again. They’d gotten there quickly and in one piece without getting pulled over.

Only an hour later they were given news. Steve came out with the skin around his nose already bruised and puffy. “Guess Who broke their nose,” he mocked in a song songey voice.

“Me?” Y/n joked.

“Me!” Steve agreed, pointing at himself. “It’s me. I broke my nose.” He slung an arm over Y/n’s shoulders and the other four covered their mouths to hide laughs. People wouldn’t be forgiving in public if it got out that the two men were dating, so they were trying to be lowkey.

The Doctor came over behind Steve. “He’ll be fine. I’ve given him direction son how to ice it and even given him some pain killers to help with the next few hours. But it is just a broken nose, so nothing too severe.”

“Thanks,” Y/n told the Doctor. They left then, everyone heading home. Y/n designated himself in charge of caring for Steve, and called his parents to let them know that Steve ‘got tired’ after the hike and totally knocked out. They didn’t mind, liking that Steve was actually spending time with other kids again, so it went without too much problem.

As Y/n was tucking Steve into bed, Steve caught his hand to still him. “I love you.”

Y/n’s eyes widened. They hadn’t said that yet but... well, if hypotheticals with Jonathan had taught anything today, it was that Y/n was glad he was in this version of things, even if it was a little more complicated this way. So he meant it when he replied, “I love you too Stevie.”

Steve glared. “Not Jonathan?”

“Jon-“ Y/n’s deep confusion cleared as he realized what had been happening right when Steve had tripped. Jonathan and Y/n had been close. Laughing. Talking. Touching. “Oh my god Harrington did you break your nose because you were being a jealous idiot?”

“Maybe,” Steve grumbled, looking away.

Y/n laughed, gently tugging on his chin so their eyes met again. “Please sweetheart, you can’t get rid of me that easily. Me and my two backward feet are going to plague you for the rest of our lives.”

Steve’s eyes got very soft. “Do you really mean that?”

Getting sincere, Y/n leaned down and kissed Steve’s forehead. “Stephen Harrington, I’ve never meant anything more. I know we can’t get married or anything, or even date publicly, but... I don’t care. And maybe that’s some really forward thinking and we haven’t been dating that long, but I fell... a LOT of times in my life. It only made sense that the first time someone ever caught me, it was you. And it made me realize that I was gifted with my two backward feet so that one day I’d fall for you.”

Steve groaned. “That was painfully cheesy.”

“Okay, okay,” Y/n dismissed, rolling his eyes. The sweet moment was completely ruined.

“No seriously I would break my nose again before hearing that-“

Y/n reached over, turning the light off before climbing into bed with Steve. “Shut up Harrington, or I WILL break your nose again.”

Steve laughed before pulling Y/n close so they could fall asleep curled up with each other. “My cheesy, dumb, clumsy boy,” Steve mused quietly.

That made Y/n scoff. “If either of ya is the dumb in this relationship it’s YOU, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve whispered. It was quiet a while before he finally followed up with, “I’d like that future with you too.”

To hide his smile, Y/n mumbled, “Good night Stevie.”

After a second, Steve replied, “Good night, Y/n.” And for now, that was the end of it.