#ooof this got long

[youhavereachedtheendofpie]

I feel like that first scene Miguel has with Gwen is the perfect example of his story and his faults. He comes in, without invitation, thinking he is going to save the day and make a difference, and sort of is a little condescending to her just because he is older and bigger.

Fair to think that but because he is so busy trying to show how much more capable he is, he isn't paying attention to what's actually happening. She is actually aware of what's going on, and while she might appreciate help, she is just trying to figure out how to resolve the situation. She may not know everything and she may not be doing everything perfectly, but she is doing her best.

And so when he comes in all arrogant and whatnot, she's like, "Okay." And he gets his shit rocked. The same thing happens with Miles. And it really speaks to the generational divide. Even though I'm closer to Miguel's age, I feel like as people get older they are so insistent on having their way because of their experiences and are not open to considering that their way is only one way, not the way. He isn't totally wrong, but that doesn't mean the people younger than him have no idea what's going on either or that they may not have a point. I know you just reblogged a GIF set and weren't trying to start a whole discussion lol, but it really stuck with me that Miguel was like that (and I know part of it was the trauma).

It reminded me of how adults older than I am treat people, and still treat me, even though I'm very much an adult. And the other spider people supported him because they knew what he was talking about, like Peter, but rather than provide nuance to the situation, they just went along with what he said (again, probably because of his trauma).

I guess I'm protective of younger people because I know what it feels like to be dismissed, and I still go through it, and find it frustrating to deal with older people who do have experience, but are wrong a plenty of the time, are unaware of the reality of certain situations, and want ridicule you on top of that to simply show they are correct.

Rather than actively guide younger people, old heads wanna show off or tell you how things should be, and it's hard to listen to people who don't genuinely want to help you grow and improve things, but rather want you to fall in line and do everything how they think it best, even though they're not in the best position themselves.

hmm, I'm not sure it's arrogance per se, even though he certainly comes off a bit dismissive in that first scene with Gwen. It can easily read as cocky, but (if memory serves) I read it as much more out of concern. The thing is, if you are older and have more life experience, and also remember how grown you thought you were at that younger age, it's very easy to fall into that mindset of 'I need to protect these kids because they're too young to understand anything'. It's also very easy to become set in your worldview and opinions on how stuff works - and Miguel is clearly very emotionally invested in the canon events theory, even to the point where he dismisses the very idea that things can be different because he needs it to be this way because this way makes sense and gives him a clear purpose and clear rules according to which the world works. Idk, to me the most interesting part of his character in the movie is that he really cares so much and is trying so hard to save as many as possible and help as much as he can while operating under this assumption (a certainty to him) that total success (saving everyone not just from death and injury and destruction, but also heartbreak) is impossible. And to a certain degree he's right of course, you cannot avoid all harm and suffering, not if you're just one guy, and not even if you're a whole massive team of super spider-people. But he still tries to save the other Spideys from having to bear the responsibility. It was a canon event, there is nothing you could have done, it was always supposed to happen this way. And perhaps that's a very comforting thought to especially the older Spiderpeople like Peter B., who have already lost more in their longer lives. And then that's the main friction point with Miles, because he is the first one to actively and decisively challenge that notion that canon events (or fate, if you will) are both necessary and unchangeable. I think others may have had their doubts regarding the veracity of the canon events theory (Hobie certainly wasn't fully on board with the whole multiversal spider society idea in the first place), but I think to the best of their individual knowledge the 'evidence' supports the theory, because the big traumatic loss has happened to most (even Hobie) and there was nothing they could do to stop it. But this was, crucially I think, because they were usually alone when that took place (in the movie Miguel talks about the canon event in question being when a police captain close to them dies, but arguably the same probably applies to the Uncle Ben figure, commonly the catalyst for a Spider-man's becoming). But in the film when Pavitr's police captain is supposed to bite the dust he is saved because there were like four of them who could work together.

But crucially it isn't until Miles refuses to just accept that his father has to die that the real break occurs. The situation before? Well they didn't know. Cpt. Singh could still bite the dust another time & way. The timeline isn't so much endangered as delayed, if you want to be callous about it. But Miles just flat out refuses to even entertain the idea, cuz that's his dad and he's a Spider-Man and he's a hero, right? He has to try to save him. Interestingly he doesn't question that the fatal event is going to happen, or even when, he just thinks he can change the outcome if he tries hard enough. There's something very much of the ancient greek myths about this. In trying to prevent the prophecy from coming true you actually end up doing everything to ensure that it does. So basically Miguel believes in the prophecy completely, while Miles believes he can change the prophecy, but neither (at least at this point) questions the prophecy as such. Very interesting stuff.

[helloagain-shinyred]

ftfreddy getting pegged me thinks

So I know you didn’t phrase this in a way that asked for headcanons, but I’m feeling some type of way about this, so headcanons you shall get

Under a read more for the courtesy of folks who may be scrolling tumblr in public 🙃

God okay so. So imagine Freddy nervously approaching you about this. Like, he’s so hesitant to even say what he wants out loud.

Which is… incredibly unlike him.

It takes him a while to get to the point but when he finally does blurt out “Ireallywantyoutofuckme” you’re caught a little off guard.

In hindsight, it’s not that much of a surprise. Given everything you know about Freddy and his sexual preferences/proclivity for experimentation, this is pretty par for the course.

You ask him why he’s nervous to ask you to do this, and he tells you that he was worried that you’d say no, or think it was too weird.

“You’re worried that someone who’s had full-blown intercourse with an animatronic and thoroughly enjoyed it… will think pegging is weird?”

“Shut up, I’m nervous.”

You then have to ask Freddy a kind of awkward question.

“So I’ll just be blunt about this. Do you even have an asshole?”

“…Why would I be asking you to peg me if I didn’t?”

He goes on to explain that his ✨entrance✨ is obviously not functional in the way a human’s is. It’s only intended to be used for this sort of activity.

You decide you’re done asking questions.

Fast forward to the night it actually happens and Freddy is fuckin’ pumped.

He’s been counting down to this moment for ages (it’s been two days).

You’re also pretty excited, admittedly. Less than an hour after Freddy’s initial proposition, you went to the closest ~adult~ store and purchased a pink sparkly strap-on, something you think Freddy would like.

You even tried it on as soon as you got home… which included familiarizing yourself with it.

Let’s just say that you’re pretty confident wielding this thing.

After a couple minutes of foreplay which consisted mostly of Freddy’s hands touching and squeezing any part of you he could reach while you covered every inch of his metal casing in kisses and licks, you step away to rid yourself of your clothes and equip the strap.

Freddy nearly short-circuits when he finally sees you in it. It takes every fibre-optic of his being not to jump you right then and there.

He’s just so used to taking the lead, but tonight is all about turning those tables.

You instruct Freddy to lay down on his stomach, which he does happily, as you position yourself above him.

“You ready?”

Freddy nods eagerly.

“You sure?”

“You better not do this to me right now.”

“Oh, I’m going to do this to you right now. Beg for it.”

“Pleeeeeease pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

Pfft. You know Freddy can do better than that, and you tell him such.

Immediately, Freddy’s whining and groaning and pleading for you to give him what he wants increases to an almost pathetic degree. “Please, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this, it’s been driving me crazy and I don’t want to wait another minute. Please, cupcake, please.”

Pausing for a moment, you take in the reality of having a very large, very deadly animatronic beneath you, at your mercy, begging to be filled by you. It’s an intoxicating feeling. You almost feel cheated out of having gone this long without it.

As you slowly slide into Freddy, you find that his silicone hole is self-lubricating. Nice.

The sound Freddy makes as you breach him should be illegal. It’s a cross between a whine and a moan that’s much higher in pitch than anything you’ve ever heard from him before, and fuck does it awaken something within you.

You want to ravage Freddy.

You take a slow, deep breath to reel yourself in. Obviously Freddy can’t feel pain, but you still feel like it would at the very least be rude of you to start going hogwild right out the gate. You want things to go at a reasonable pace unless/until Freddy demands otherwise.

But that’s another story.

[infcinity]

sabe && padme amidala (( @wvsteria​ ))

they hadn’t given much of a thought to this world - the last thing that sabe could truly remember was the fall of the empire, and good riddance to it and everyone who participated in bringing down the republic. it was clear that the republic was flawed, but sabe knew for a fact that there were a select few within that weren’t corrupt and couldn’t be bought easily with credits or fancy things. one of which, being padme amidala - her friend and long-time employer. sabe had come into padme’s service when she was a younger and continued being her friends decoy throughout her tenure as queen of naboo up until her friends death. but what sabe hadn’t expected was to hear the name senator amidala again. this made their blood run cold, it wasn’t something that was possible, padme had died at the end of the clone wars. without a second thought, they made their way to her friends office, hoping to see if it really was padme or just someone using the name. when they got there, sabe felt their breath hitch. “padme?” 

[evilminji]

*evil grin of The Ponderings™*

You know who DEFINITELY would have Unfinished Business?

Heroes. Professional "If I could just MOVE, just fight a BIT LONGER, save ONE MORE PERSON" Heroes. It's the ultimate and unending Unfinished Business. To protect people. Not just their friends, their co-workers, but the innocent people around them.

That kid, stuck crying in the rubble.

That business man, screaming in pain, caught in the cross fire.

The People NEED them. They SWORE. Their very SOULS burn with the NEED to help. But... the flesh gave out. Injuries. Age. Quirk overuse. They knew... they KNEW, this was not a safe line of work... but... but! Please! Just one more person! Why can't they just make their breaking, dying, bodies MOVE!

Of course they refuse to move on.

They are needed HERE.

Yet? Their hands pass through. Their voices do not reach. A hell of their own, unknown, making. They can't let go, but they can't HELP either. There isn't enough Ectoplasm here. The walls of their reality overly patched up, since that unfortunate leak a few centuries back.

After all, the Zone had dumped near lethal quantities of unfiltered Ecto into the atmosphere. They're STILL dealing with the mutations and fall out, aren't they? At least, they are according to the Zone. (Wtf is a "Quirk"?) And, yeah, someone should PROBABLY do an assessment on the ecological recovery of the Reality. But like?

Do you have any idea how few people have an Obsession for stuff like that? Wait your turn! The list is long and you're not fuckin special, okay? The agents are BUSY.

Now, you might wonder? Wait. If they aren't moving on. Are DEFINITELY Ghosts. Starving as they are. Refusing to die as they may be. Wouldn't... Wouldn't that leave the whole ass area around their Reality an ecological dead zone? If it got over patched and no Ghosts LEFT, thus noticed, and started to try and work on it from the outside? Assuming the COULD?

Yeah. Yeah it would be!

It's called the "New Wastes"!

There used to be some cool Lairs around there. But there was a turf dispute. Someone DID something. Punched a HOLE. And everyone re-died. It was fixed but never quite re-healed. Portals... don't show up there? For some reason? Meh. Wanna brawl?

No. Danny's curious. He wants ANSWERS.

It's his fatal flaw.

Well... that and his inability to keep his mouth shut. But he likes to think he's funny. So... off he goes! And MAN! Does it feel funky out there! Weird textures. Mmmm, Don't Like THAT ™. It's probably a King thing? The Zone here... FEELS wrong.

Not... the way it's SUPPOSED to be shaped, if that makes sense?

And? It feels... if you sorta squint? Like... a LOT of people AREN'T where they should be. But aren't gonna leave until they're READY. Ooof. Great. Someone messed up again. Why does he KEEP FINDING bits and pockets that need straightening out? Unruffling? It's like he has to keep smooth out this giant peice of fabric with all these stains on it. Clean the messes on it.

He feels more like a maid then a King.

Maybe he is?

Pretty sure he's more of a nanny, since the Zone is more of a whiny yet excitable toddler then anything else. Alright, let him in. And fix... whatever THAT is.

So he steps into the Reality and? Huh. Japan. Neat. He always meant to go, never got around to it. Why is that man an otter?

.......oooohohooo, this place was HELLA fucked up by Ectoplasm, wasn't it? This is multi generational exposure. It's in the air. The water, ground, buildings. But stale to the point of stagnation. That can't be healthy. At least a few people he sees have developed ecto-resistance, thank the Ancients.

Danny discovers there are? "Superheroes"? Or just... heroes, apparently. They sell shampoo lines and athletic gear. Villians are petty criminals and psychopaths. All lumped together. He gets fuckin CHASED by the COPS and half the cities spandex patrol, called a "villian" (you know, like the purse snatchers and the DUDE WHO TRIED TO OPEN FIRE ON A CROWD) for flying around trying to assess the situation. Not speaking Japanese fast enough.

Soooorry! He TRIED to answer your confusing barked demands! This isn't his native language! He's translating through Ghost Speech! He knows it sounds unsettling to the living! It's the best he's GOT, man! (Asshole)

He escapes, obviously, because he's not 14 anymore. And honestly? He could top 200mph or so AT 14. He's only gotten faster. Intangible flight means no wind drag, motherfuckers~! OR need to dodge buildings! HA. Try to follow him through THE GROUND!

A few Blob sucked (to remove the ectoplasm) bits of treasure later? And he leaves a pawn shop with local currency. Thank YOU shady pawn shop! Ask him no questions, he'll tell you not lies. Enjoy Pariah's gold.

He does tourist things. Buy foods he's never tried, wanders around. Sees what's needed. Noticed a lot of people struggle with some aspect of the ecto-mutations brought on by the extreme Limnality. Need accessibility aids.

.....well, he IS a Fenton. His parents would disown him on the SPOT if he left with out at least TRYING to help. So he tracks down one the local ghosts. He'll need a guide or two.

He? VASTLY underestimates how desperate a sea of Obsession Starved Hero and Vigilante Ghosts will act, the INSTANT, they realize not only someone can see them... but it's? Their "Boss"? They aren't sure HOW they know that. But they DO. It's THE Boss. Here to help them! Asking for HELP ™ from THEM!

Yes

YES THEY CAN DO THAT

He gets swarmed. Hundreds of ghosts fighting over each other. Shouting. Turning on each other like rabid animals. All worn down and ragged by their Obssesion starvation. He's forced to shout over them.

And? Holy shit, these are only the ones from THIS CITY, too.

Thank Zone, again, he's no longer 14. That he has friends who are Rulers ™ that taught him HOW to Rule. To delegate. Pretend he TOTALLY knows what he's doing. That every action is on purpose.

It takes less then two hours, with all the experienced Unground Heros help, to make himself a Real Boy and buy a building. Put himself into the correct databases. He officially has licenses for things he's never studied. Is a tax paying citizen. Even belongs to several local clubs.

Over the next few days? He sets up his new... oi! Quickdraw! What're they called again? Right. "Lifestyle Support Company" which? Is a dumb name. But, Fenton Works is Fenton Works. Somehow he always kinda knew he'd be inherenting. It's in a cruddy part of town and the prices are cheap as he can safely get um.

He already had two customers, even though half the building isn't even fully set up. Which? I mean... he gets it. Poor guy. Knives for hands. Sharp ones too. The other guy's Obsession made him emotionally react to colors and like three different ones were ruining his life. So, hand Prosthetics controllable by knives and color filtering wrap around glasses.

Took him a lunch break or two.

Changed THEIR lives.

Suddenly his shop is packed. Schedule screaming for relief. And the ghosts? Getting more tangible by the day. See, his work shop? Ecto proofed. Let's him relax. But it ALSO let's him radiate fresh, clean, Ecto out into the air. And as King? With a direct line to The Zone? He puts out a lot.

There start to become Sightings.

People who SWEAR they saw long dead Heros out of the corner of their eyes. Dead vigilantes. That was who through that bottle. Who tripped that thug at just the right moment. Who unlocked the door. The SWEAR. They aren't crazy!

And... at first? Brushed off. Stress does a lot of crazy thing to a person, ma'am. But? How do you brush off, making eye contact with your dead best friend? Your old mentor on the other roof? That vigilante, who you WATCHED bleed out? Can you brush them off... when a vigilante from the dawn of quirks, punches some two bit villian on live television? Calls the Heros on the scene gloryhounds? Goverment dogs?

Runs from the cops and vanishes into thin air?

When this shit KEEPS HAPPENING?

Is spreading?

Are... are you supposed to arrest them for illegal vigilantism? How? They're THE proto-Heros! You don't want your name tied to that! The HPSC is furious. The goverment is uneasy. There are like... 6 dudes and a lady, openly stalking some kid in UA. Trying to mentor him. He looks moments away from a nervous breakdown.

Us too, kid. Us too.

All? While Danny? Is just sitting in his lil shop. Tinkering. Not HIS problem. Gotta let the ghosts here get it out of their system. Get their Obsession's full. Then it's all aboard the Zone Train. He's just here to make sure no one does anything "Too Crazy".

What's HIS definition of "too crazy"?

Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy~☆

@hdgnj @lolottes @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn

[adoreddestiny]

I adore your LADS fics sooo much <3 if you’re up for it, may i request a rafayel x fem!reader where raf got emotional/not knowing how to express himself as he’s afraid to lose her because of a stupid mistake and him trying to mend things up? raf has been trying to dethrone zayne as my fav these days and imagining him being vulnerable & flustered is not helping ooof ~anon🌻

ೃ⁀➷ MISTY EYED — rafayel x gn!reader

for a long time, the sounds of the foaming sea were rafayel's faithful companions. there's something so serene about the warmth of the ocean enveloping him. sound doesn't travel very far and bubbles kiss his cheeks whenever he swims past a school of shimmering fish.

but on the surface, the world is noisy. his mind overcomplicates things and the humans around him look at him like a need, a want, a possession. but on the surface, there is you.

rafayel stares out the window of his art studio. the summer sun is fading in the horizon turning his faithful home into decadent shades of purple, orange, and crimson. you stare at him with misty eyes, jaw locked as you reason through the words he previously spat out at you.

his eyes tear themselves away from the sea and back to you. he can see the reflection of himself in your stunned eyes. he tenses, glancing away from your crumbling figure. your voice is distant as if surrounded by water.

"i'm... sorry," he whispers. his throat tightens and his palms grow slick. he can't find the proper words as his cheeks grow pink. for a moment, he is a child unable to apologize.

"i didn't mean that," he says. his eyes finally meet yours and this time they're just as misty as yours. "i'm not..." his chest lurches. "I'm not... good at being honest."

you bite back your own words, crossing your arms over your chest. he steps forward, arms still stiff at his side.

"but i didn't mean that. i still want you here," he murmurs, "but you're always busy and sometimes...." rafayel swallows the bile in the back of his throat. "sometimes i'm scared you're going to tire of me one day."

your eyes soften. he watches as you step forward, meeting him in the middle. you sigh, speaking gently, "i'm not ever going to get tired of you. i will be here whenever you need me. i wouldn't ever forget."

rafayel bites the inside of his cheek. where has he heard that before? he stiffens before you swallow him up in a tight embrace. he takes a moment to soak in your scent. slowly, his arms wrap around your waist. for a moment, he feels the endlessness of seafoam adrift around him and the echoes of waves along a summer shore.

[mrwavellswaps]

Santa’s Solution

(Christmas Special)

It was the night of Christmas Eve and all across the world towns and cities were lit up with sparking colourful lights to celebrate the holidays. Everywhere you looked there was beauty as there always was this time of year. And nobody could see that beauty better than Santa Claus himself as he soared through the skies with his sleigh full of presents and magical reindeer leading the way. Of course most believed him to be a fairy tale but he was very much real. Simply using a little Christmas magic to make adults who didn’t believe in him think the presents he’d brought were ones they’d bought themselves. And of course he used a little magic to make sure nobody ever saw him either. That was one of the number one rules. Nobody is allowed to see Santa.

Well this night it would appear something had gone a little wrong with his magic when he entered the home of Brett Rivers. Usually his Christmas magic would make it so nobody would be awoken when he stopped by to drop off a present or two or that they would just so happen to drift off to sleep when he arrived. However this night it would not go as planned.

Brett found himself fluttering awake to the sound of rustling coming from his small living room. At first he thought it was nothing but when he heard what sounded like footsteps, he knew he had to check it out. He quietly slid out of bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, showcasing his huge muscular physique. Thick and bulky arms, solid powerful legs and a pair of melons for pecs.

He wasn’t at all scared by the noises being the buff guy that he was but he was sure to grab the bat underneath his bed just in case.

He silently made his way down the small corridor outside his bedroom and towards the living room where he turned the corner and saw none other than Santa Claus himself. Or at least a dude dressed up as Santa. He’d been expecting a burglar so the sight of the fat old man dressed up in red and white certainly had him lost for words for a few moments until he finally snapped out of it. “Oi! What the hell are you doing in my house!?” He shouted while bringing the bat up into a position ready to swing.

Startled, Santa whipped around to see the angry and confused hunk of a man standing behind him. “O-oh? You shouldn’t be out of bed Brett.” He said, knowing Brett’s name immediately, with an equal amount of confusion in his voice. “Oh dear… this has never happened before.” Santa hummed with a hint of frustration as he realised he’d broken one of the Christmas rules that he wasn’t allowed to be seen dropping off presents. “This won’t do at all.” He added whilst stroking his long white beard as if trying to come up with some kind of solution to the awkward situation.

“What the fuck are you talking about you crazy old man!” Brett shouted, getting angrier by the second. “How the hell do you know my name!?… N-no I don’t care just get the fuck out before I beat the shit out of your fat ass and call the cops!” He bellowed furiously before taking a few threatening steps closer to the intruder.

Santa sighed. “I’m sorry to do this my boy but I can’t allow that.” The jolly old man suddenly began rubbing his gloved hands together as Brett got closer. The hunk was about to give him one warning before suddenly Santa opened his hands again and blew what seemed to be fairy dust straight in Brett’s face.

The stud coughed as he stumbled backwards slightly, dropping the bat he was holding in the process with a loud thud. His entire body began to feel light and weak as his eyes fluttered. “W…What… did y-you…” Before Brett could even finish his sentence, he fell completely unconscious. Luckily Santa was quick enough to catch him before landed on the floor.

“Ooof… I’ve got you. Just sleep.” The fat bearded man whispered as his magic dust took full effect. Though as he held Brett’s unconscious body, Santa couldn’t help allowing his eyes to wander across the hunky form Brett had build. All the muscular curves and ridges that had been crafted into it along with the thickness that went along with it making Brett look like an adonis. Big Mr Claus couldn’t help licking his lips a little in a moment of perviness that was rather uncharacteristic for him. He soon shook his head however and got back to buisness.

Using a surprising amount of strength, Santa carefully hoisted Brett up onto his feet once again before taking a breath and tossing the muscular man over his shoulder. If his cheeks weren’t already so rosey then he probably would’ve been blushing slightly at having this big handsome almost naked man on his shoulder.

“You’re certainly a strong healthy lad aren’t you my boy.” Santa chuckled slightly as he gave Brett’s muscle ass a cheeky pat before rubbing his hand down the back Brett’s thighs and getting a good feel for those thick hamstrings of his. “Very strong indeed…” he continued to mumble as his hand slid back over Brett’s ass again.

With that Santa made sure he had a good grip on Brett before taking his leave and heading back to his sleigh. Once there he carefully placed the hunk in the back of the sleigh alongside his magical sack of presents. “What am I gonna do with you?…” Santa pondered as he stared down at Brett for a moment, still taking in that young gorgeous body. “Welp. I’ll have to figure that out later. Time is running out and I have presents to deliver!” He declared before heading to the next house that was in need of a couple presents from Santa.

———

The next time Brett awoke he found himself sitting in a cold wooden chair that certainly wasn’t his home. Instead he found himself in what seemed to be some sort of laboratory. It was hard to tell at first but as his vision cleared he began to make out a room filled with all sorts of machines that he couldn’t even begin to understand. There were multiple worktops full of gadgets and devices that’d seemily been crafted here, none of which Brett could make sense of.

“Finally back with us eh? We’ve been waiting forever for that slumber magic to wear off.” Said an elf beside him. “Took your body awhile to wake up after having you under for so many months.” The tiny worker added causally. He worked human enough besides the fact that he looked to have been scaled down a bit in size. And of course the pointy ears. The elf wore a pair of rather sophisticated glasses that sat perfectly atop his nose and would probably be one of his most stand out features if it weren’t for his thick curly beard. He was wearing a typical scientist-y get up comp,ste with the white lab coat you’d usually see yet Brett couldn’t help noticing the tuft of chest hair that stuck out the top of the elf’s collar. He was definitely a furry one.

“W-what!? What’re you talking about?! Months?! What’s-Grrrahh!” As his body began to wake, Brett attempted to jump up from the chair he was seated in only to find both his arms and legs had been tightly strapped down with restraints. “Hey! Let me go you fucking creep!” He shouted while continuing to struggle but his attempts to free himself were all in vain.

The elf who looked to be wearing a messy lab coat of sorts shook his head. “Sorry mister, no can do. Might as well save your strength.” He tutted as he pulled out what looked to be some sort of phone. The scrawny little elf tapped a few buttons before talking into the device. “He’s awake now sir if you’re ready to proceed.”

Brett was even more confused. By this point he was surprised he hadn’t had a panic attack yet. The last thing he could clearly remember was being woken up in the middle of the night before Christmas by some Santa looking fucker breaking into his house and now he was here in the freaky looking gadget workshop. What freaked him out even more though was as he peered over his shoulder he saw one huge machine sat behind him with what looked to be two helmets attached to it.

“What the fuck is that?!” Brett’s voice boomed through the laboratory. When he didn’t get a response however, his face grew red with anger and frustration. “Hey! Answer me you stupid little fuck! What the fuck are you doing to me!?” The jock struggled against his restraints once more in the hopes of performing a miracle and breaking out. But that was only fantasy.

The elf sighed. “Look man. I’ve been instructed not to say anything until the big man gets here. He’ll explain everything to you.” He explained somewhat bluntly. “You know I kinda felt bad for you at first but now… I think I’m starting to see why Mr Claus was okay with going through with this.”

The cryptic wording only made Brett more worried. “C-come on man. Just let me go. Please, I'll give you anything.” Brett’s anger from moments ago turned to pleas as he quickly came to terms with the fact that there was likely no way for him to get out of whatever this was. But once again he was ignored. He begged over and over but the elf had already turned its back to him. There was nothing he could do.

Despite this Brett continued to plead in vain but he would soon be cut short when the large metal door at the opposite end of the room made a beeping sound before sliding open. A wave of nervous anticipation washed over Brett’s body as he saw the fat lumbering form of Santa Claus step foot in the lab.

This time Santa dorned a long sleeved red and white striped button down that just barely managed to stretch across his massive stomach and soft pecs. It was assisted in holding his huge gut in place by a pair of red suspenders that were attached to a large pair of slacks of the same colour. Slacks that also fit the older man's robust frame rather tightly in a way that showed off his fat ass and legs rather nicely.

“Ah! Mr Claus! The machine is prepped and ready for you. Just give the word and we’ll begin the procedure.” The nerdy looking elf who’d been keeping Brett company chirped, seeming elated to be in the large man’s presence.

“Thank you Venix. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you and your team. I’ll be sure to treat you all to something nice after this is over.” Santa smiled warmly at his Head Scientist & Technician who was practically beaming at the words of appreciation. With that however, Santa was quick to turn his attention to the hunk strapped down before him in nothing but a pair of tight underwear.

Mr Claus took a few thunderous steps towards Brett, his belly shaking slightly with each one, until he was stood directly over the jock. “Why hello again Brett. Glad to see you’re back with us. We had to keep you unconscious for quite a few months while we finished this project but it seems it’s finally time.”

There it was again. Months. “What do you mean months!? How long have I been here?? What the fuck is happening?!” Brett panicked aloud.

Santa chuckled. “Well when I brought you here last Christmas this project was only in the planning stage. We hadn’t even begun building the glorious machine you see behind you. So naturally we’ve had to keep you asleep for awhile whilst my trusty elves got to work. And they’ve done a fine job by the looks of it.” He looked up at the large glimmering machine that sat behind Brett which had been charged with a mix between earth’s finest resources and a bit of magic sprinkled in to give it the energy it needed for its purpose. “And to answer your question, it’s now the middle of June.”

The realisation hit Brett like a ton of bricks. Had he really been here for six whole months?! There was no way. It had to be a trick right? “You’re lying!” He claimed. “If I’d really been out for that long I’d practically be skin and bone by now. But I’ve still got all my fucking muscle so cut the bullshit old man!”

“You’re right. Under normal circumstances you would’ve lost most of your muscle mass by now.” Santa admitted. “Luckily for us, the magic we’ve used to keep you asleep also acts as a preservative. Meaning your body has been able to retain its size and mass despite being inactive for so long. Also like you’ve been frozen.” He explained as he leaned forwards and shamelessly groped one of Brett’s thick pecs before then using his other hand to feel the hunks meaty arms. “Mmmm yeah. Perfect condition…” he grunted much to Brett’s own disturbance.

After having his fun, Santa walked past Brett before placing a hand on the machine. Admiring its glory after all the hard sweat and tears his elves put into making it. He couldn’t have been more grateful towards them. Once this was over he was already planning on throwing a big celebration for them all. With that though, Santa turned his gaze towards the other slightly bigger chair beside Brett.

“Well there’s no time like the present I say. Let’s get this show on the road!” Mr Claus announced as walked past Brett again and towards the adjacent chair. As he passed though, Santa couldn’t help jiggling his fat belly, seemingly in a mocking manner. “Take a good look at this stomach Brett because in a few moments it’ll be all yours…” he taunted.

“Huh?! What the hell are you going on about!?!” Brett screamed but he received no answer. Only a mischievous smirk from Santa as he sat down in the other chair. He could only watch in confusion as Venix strapped the burly man into the chair with restraints similar to his own.

Once Santa was securely restrained in the chair, Venix looked up at him with a small smile. “May I send them in now sir?” He asked. Mr Claus simply nodded in response. Of course Brett was once again clueless to what was going on but it soon became clear as Venix stepped out for a moment only to re-enter the room with a huge lobby full of other elves behind him. Most of them were other scientists and engineers that’d worked on the machine while others were just elves who were lucky enough to have been chosen to witness the event. And if that didn’t freak Brett out enough, to make matters worse Venix also mentioned that the camera’s were now on and were broadcasting to the entirety of the Christmas Villa.

The small crowd that’d come to watch the event live began cheering when Santa gave the thumbs up to start the procedure. Venix grabbed one of the helmets that were attached to the machine and first made his way over to Santa as he gently placed the device on his head before securing it in place. Once it was on, Venix swiped up the matching helmet and brought it over to Brett.

“No! Stop! Keep that thing away from me! Get away!” He shouted while writhing in his chair. But with how much he was being restrained and how his body still hadn’t fully recovered its energy after having been knocked out for so long, there was little he could do to stop the elf from forcing the helmet onto his head and swiftly securing it. “Fuck! Get it off!” He continued thrash around but his frustration was immediately drowned out by the growing cheers and excitement of the crowd all whilst Santa grinned in an almost maniacal manner beneath his huge white beard

Venix flipped a few switches and booped a few buttons on the big machine, causing it to roar to life as it started powering up. A sound that excited everyone in the room except for the kidnapped jock. And as the machine continued to hum and glow, Venix made his way over to a small nearby station with a control pad that was hooked up to it. He immediately began to punch in the correct settings before looking over towards Santa again for one last sign of approval before going ahead. A small wink from the big man was all he needed. With all the other elves rallying him on, Venix finally took a deep breath and smacked his hand down on the big red button that would set everything into motion.

The machine began to rattle before glowing even brighter than before. It was generating an incredibly fierce amount of energy that only made Brett more terrified. He wouldn’t have much time to dwell on that however as moments later a powerful current of magic and electricity surged down from the machine and into both helmets. Immediately both Santa and Brett gripped their chairs tightly and the energy flooded through them. It was a feeling that was almost indescribable. In a way it felt both uncomfortable yet satisfying at the same time.

The crowd simply watched in awe as both Brett and Santa’s bodies began to convulse. Brett’s muscle jiggling almost as much as Santa’s fat. Both men couldn’t help letting out uncontrollable groans almost in unison as their eyes began to roll. It was impossible to tell if they were in pain or pleasure. But that wouldn’t matter as soon Brett felt his vision starting to blur.

It was the most surreal experience. One moment it seemed as though he were looking down at the muscular body he was accustomed to and the next he was suddenly looking down at a fat wobbly belly held in place by the very same shirt and suspenders Santa was wearing. Brett’s vision continued to fade in and out between seeing both perspectives. At first he only saw flashes of the fatter body below him before returning to his muscled one but each time it lingered for longer. It was mind boggling in a way that he could barely even comprehend as his view was constantly switching back and forth. Buff to fat to buff to fat again.

The cycle of flashing perspectives continued as the machine fed more and more energy to the helmets until at last there was one massive jolt of energy that caused both men to writhe in their seats. The audience began to look slightly worried but Venix assured them it was all part of the process. And just as he said that, the machine began powering itself down after seemingly having completed its task.

Both Brett and Santa were left unconscious for a minute or so after the machine shut down. During which Venix quickly ran over to them both and removed the helmets but left their restraints in place just in case something had gone wrong. Every elf in the villa that was watching was practically holding their breath waiting to know the results. To know if Santa’s plan had been a success. So when the body of Santa began to groan and come around, they were all eager to see his reaction.

Slowly but surely Brett blinked his eyes open again. “Ughhh… what? What happened?…” he mumbled but immediately he knew something was wrong. His voice. It sounded much older and huskier than before. But that was the least of his concerns. Pretty soon his eyes started to focus and when he looked down, he got the shock of a lifetime.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?!” Brett shrieked as instead of the hunky body he was used to, he looked down to see the body of Santa! His belly looked fucking massive as it stretched out the very same shirt Santa had been wearing. And his legs looked so huge and fat as they filled out those red slacks. Clothes that never would’ve fit his old body were now hugging him tightly as if to emphasise just how fat he was. But that wasn’t all as Brett then quickly came to notice the massive beard that was cascading down from his face. And it was completely white! In that moment he knew what’d happened but his brain couldn’t accept it. It was impossible after all. There was no way he’d actually swapped bodies with Santa!?

It was then that Brett heard a low familiar sounding grumble come from beside him. He whipped his head to the right only to see none other than himself! His own damn body! And it seemed to slowly be waking up as well.

“Sir? Sir, are you okay?” Venix asked as he rushed over towards Brett’s former body.

The hunk shook his head a little as he squinted his eyes open. “Y-yeah. I feel… good.” Santa mumbled. A smirk slowly etched itself across his face as he got a good look at his body below. No longer was his vision obscured by the presence of a massive gut nor did he feel so heavy and old. Instead he felt stronger than he had in years! He could already feel a youthful energy pulsing through his very being! “I feel… absolutely fantastic! Quick Venix! Take off these restraints!” He commanded with excitement.

The elf undid the arm restraints first before quickly undoing the ones binding Santa’s legs. Immediately the man jumped up out of the chair and started to inspect his new form. First of all running his hands along his chest and stomach. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he groped his new pecs. They were so thick yet so firm at the same time unlike the flabby chest his old body had. But his stomach was what threw him off the most. He’d gotten so used to his big belly that he almost forgot what it was like to have a flat stomach. And on top of that he even had abs! There were hardly even words to describe what he was feeling right now besides pure wonder and astonishment.

“God yes. I should’ve done this years ago!” Santa claimed as he started to flex. Loving how his thick new arms bulged with every movement. Feeling a rush of pure dopamine as his biceps peaked before his eyes. Despite being smaller than he was before, all the strength and muscle made him feel like a one man army. Like he could take on absolutely anything and anyone! All the while his elves continued to watch on in curiosity as their leader examined his new body.

“H-hey! That’s mine! That’s my fucking body!” Brett began to shout from the other chair, still strapped down but that didn’t stop him from struggling again anyway. “You can’t do this! Switch us back now or I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Santa asked smugly while turning his gaze towards his former fat body. “Sorry Brett but there’s nothing you can do. I’ve been in need of an upgrade for a long time and your body is the perfect fit.” He added before striking another cocky pose to which the elves began cheering their new Santa on.

“But you can’t… I can’t… I’m not old and fat…” Brett mumbled, looking down at himself again.

Santa sauntered over towards Brett with a confident swagger. “Sorry my boy but… you are.” He leaned in until their faces were only inches apart. It was jarring on a whole other level for Brett to be stared down by his own handsome face. “And I’m young and strong.” He taunted before leaning in even closer until Brett could feel his former body’s hot breath on his ear. “You’re fat and I’m buff. You’re old and I’m young. I’m gorgeous and you’re not. You have a tiny dick and I’m hung… as… fuck.” Santa whispered so the elves didn’t hear but every word shocked Brett to the core as it forced him to come to terms with reality.

“Oops.” Santa said as he glanced down at the already hefty bulge in his underwear starting to grow. “Guess I’m getting a little too excited.” He chuckled. With that he looked over his shoulder at Venix before asking the head scientist to clear the room and shut down the camera’s so they may have some privacy. Before long the elves had all piled out of the room and the two men were finally alone.

“Well I’ve got to say my boy, being inside your body feels even more exhilarating than I’d anticipated. You’ve certainly taken good care of yourself haven’t you? A body like this doesn’t happen overnight. A good diet, lots of exercise. I imagine it took a lot of hard work.” Santa continued to flex and explore his new form. Admiring the definition of each muscle he traced his fingers along. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to try and keep up whatever routines you have to take good care of this body for you.”

By this point Brett was too beaten and embarrassed to even muster a reply. What could he even say at this point anyway? It was already made clear to him that this wasn’t being undone. Santa Claus had stolen his body and there was nothing he could do about it besides accept whatever his new fate was inside this massive new body.

“So what? Am I gonna have to go out on Christmas now? Deliver all your damn presents?” Brett mumbled.

“Oh no not at all. You might look like the jolly old man everyone expects but I’m still Santa Claus. I’ll still be delivering all the presents every Christmas Eve. Lord knows it’ll be easier with this fit body.” He commented before flexing his arm again and kissing his bicep. “You will stay here. My elves will take care of all your needs. They’ll get you everything you need whether that be food, entertainment or anything else within reason. Can’t have you going back to civilisation after all. Not after all this.” The jock sighed.

As bad as this all was for Brett, he had to admit that wasn’t the worst deal. No more responsibilities to worry about. No more work, no more bills, no more working out. He could just laze around and do whatever he wanted.

Santa glanced down at his crotch again. “Well I’m gonna head back to my house in the villa while I’ve got this new cock under control. I’ll send a few elves in to help you out of those restraints when I leave. They’ll show you to your new place.” He explained nonchalantly as he strutted towards the exit, loving the naturally confident way his muscular body moved. “Oh and play nice. If you try anything funny, I’ve given them permission to gas you with more slumber magic.”

With that Brett could do nothing but watch as the new Santa Claus walked away with his body. He still couldn’t quite believe this was all real. He kept thinking that any minute he’d wake up at home in his own bed having just had a bad dream. But as a handful of elves entered the room a few minutes later, it became clearer and clearer to Brett just how real this all was. Santa had stolen his body.

———

The elves couldn’t keep their eyes off the jock that made his way down the corridor. Instead of their usual happy greetings, most elves just looked on curiously. Not knowing what to do or say. Of course him being almost naked with a rather intimidating bulge in his underwear probably had something to do with that. Yet their locked gazes would only serve to make Santa feel even more cocky about his new body. Of course he knew it’d probably take some adjusting for them all in the long term to get used to his new look but he knew that before long they'd be looking at him as if he’d always been a muscle bound hunk.

As soon as he stepped outside, Santa felt a chill run down his body. He was cold. It’d been so long that he’d almost forgotten the feeling. His old body had completely acclimated the temperatures of the North Pole but this new one was unfamiliar. Strangely though he welcomed the feeling. It was yet another sensation that came with this body that almost seemed brand new, once again reminding him of his success. However that didn’t stop him from speeding up his stride to get out of the cold just a bit quicker.

He was released once he finally stepped inside his little house at the top of the villa. The warm and cozy feeling of the permanently Christmas themed home running over him immediately just as it always did. With a sigh Santa stretched his arms above his head as he walked through the living area and towards the bedroom. He passed the kitchen on the way and couldn’t help glancing at the fridge for a moment as he remembered what was in there. Mountains of tasty yet very unhealthy food. “I’ll need to clean that out and put some proper food in as soon as I get the chance.” He thought to himself, not wanting to risk ruining this new body.

Once he entered the bedroom however, that same grin from before re-emerged. Finally he was alone. No elves around to stare, No Brett around to curse him out or beg for his body back. Santa was all alone and finally able to explore the body he’d been fantasising about for months leading up to the swap. The one he’d been jerking off too every other night at the mere thought of touching it. Now it was his. Every inch of that gorgeous muscle he’d been admittedly jealous of while watching Brett sleep was now all under his control!

Right away he began examining his new form properly and where better to start than admiring all of that very muscle! He started by doing the obvious and bringing his arms inwards into an arms and pecs flex. In an instant that soft muscle on his chest hardened into pecs of steel. Veins popping down his forearms in the process while his biceps bulged with strength that Santa had never before felt. Sure he had a little magic power but this power was different. It was raw and physical in a way that made him feel superior.

He continued to go through the motions of performing the typical muscle man poses you’d see meatheads doing all the time. Continuing to flex his arms as he brought them up into the more traditional double bicep pose, his head whipping back and forth between looking at both arms in wonder. Immediately after he bent down slightly while keeping his arms flexed before twisting his body in a way that showed off his huge back and lats. It felt incredible! If he had an audience right now he was sure they’d be eating it up.

Once Santa had finished his little gun show, he moved on to simply groping at his new muscle instead as his hands roamed every inch of his new form. Naturally his pecs were the first to get a squeeze and doing immediately prompted a small groan and twitch from his new cock. Squeezing that firm muscle now that it was his own felt even more erotic than he’d imagined. So much so that both hands lingered on his chest for a good few minutes just groping away. It wasn’t long before he figured out the mind muscle connection to start making his pecs bounce and that action alone was enough to make him start chuckling like an idiot while his new cock grew harder with every bounce.

“Uuuughh… fuuuck yeahhh…” Santa groaned as he used one hand to continue groping at his chest while the other slid down to his crotch. Gently he began to stroke his cock through his underwear and the sensitivity of it was off the charts. He hadn’t even pulled it out yet but just the feeling of his hand rubbing across that fat member was causing shivers to run up his body. He supposed he’d been stuck with that old man dick for so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to have such a young and virile cock. “Mmmm come on Claus… gotta hold it together.” He mumbled to himself as he mustered up the strength to stop rubbing his cock. For now.

After giving himself a moment to calm down and finally being able to pull away from his pecs, Santa began hitting a multitude of different poses. Not just typical bodybuilder poses however. Now he was posing more like a Greek god as he relished in the amount of grace his new form was able to move and pose with.

Poses that would’ve before been rather unflattering on him now looked awe inspiring. During which he couldn’t help admiring the sheer level of flexibility of his new form. Flexibility that allowed him to effortlessly move into positions that glamorised his muscular form in a way that would’ve inspired many to either look up to him or wish to worship him. Or perhaps both.

Soon enough though, his posing was once again brought to an end by the desire to touch himself. He gave his juicy muscle tits another quick squeeze before moving on to groping his biceps instead. Once again flexing them and loving just how firm and strong they felt. And once he was done with those he couldn’t but admire his thick boulder-like shoulders at least a little. Rubbing them in a way that made it look as though he were giving himself a hug. But after that his interests wandered further south yet again. This time going past his pecs and towards his stomach. Of course he’d already had a chance to admire his new abs a little earlier on but as he brushed his hands across them, he couldn’t help taking notice of the new tattoo on his left side just below his lats.

“Would you look at that. Ain’t ever had tattoos before.” Santa commented as he traced the ink. Of course he’d know about Brett’s tattoos. He’d seen the man pretty much nude enough times to know. But seeing those tattoos now on himself was still an intriguing experience. In fact it only prompted him to look further down at his body towards the much bigger and more noticeable tattoo on his left thigh. It was one of a snake that Santa had to admit looked pretty damn awesome. Though he’d never considered himself a tattoo’s kind of person before with his whole jolly old man persona, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the little bit of ink this new body had. Hell maybe he’d even look into getting a few more some day. Maybe a candy cane or something to reflect his Christmas spirit.

Whilst admiring the snake tattoo, Santa of course couldn’t help admiring the leg it was inked onto in the process. Both of his legs in fact. They were huge! But not in the fat way that they were before. No. Now they were thick and powerful with pure masculinity. He felt as though he could squat a damn mountain! Just every part of this body made him feel invincible to the point where he found himself wondering yet again why the hell he hadn’t done this sooner!?

Once he was finished admiring his thick new trunks, Santa knew he had to check out the ass. He did his best to look over his shoulder and he could just about catch a glimpse of the round muscle ass he now carried on his backside. He couldn’t help himself. Before Santa even knew it, both his hands slithered towards his backside before latching onto his bubbly cheeks. Once again having a big ass wasn’t anything new to him but just like everything else, now it was large in a different way that was so much more satisfying. Santa just couldn’t stop himself from placing each hand below one cheeks before jiggling his ass. Feeling the muscle wobble behind him had to have been one of the most erotic things he’d felt in a long time. So much so that it looked as though his cock was going to burst out of his underwear at any second with how stiff it was!

He couldn’t ignore it any longer. This new cock was begging for his attention. Demanding it even. And who was he to ignore it’s call. And so rather than pulling off his underwear, in a moment of horniness, Santa uses his newfound strength to rip a hole in the front of them instead and doing so only turned him on even more. A youthful cock bucking and leaking as it was finally set free from his prison. And with a face full of pure lust, Santa gripped his stolen cock with an iron grip and started stroking it intensely.

“Mmmmm… soooo haaarrrdddd! Soooo haarrrrddddd!!!” Santa moaned using Brett’s deep tone as he was consumed by desire. He hadn’t had an erection this stiff in centuries. It felt so incredible to the point where the lust itself was driving him mad!and it certainly didn’t help that this body hadn’t nutted in months over the time that Brett had been unconscious. These new bull nuts of his were practically begging to blow his seed everywhere.

He was so horny. So god damn horny. The more he stoked, the harder it was to think about anything but his dick. “Gotta cum! Gotta cum!” He would start to groan. It was like his cock had taken over his mind and all he wanted now was to unload his balls. So much so that he’d begun jerking his dick with an incredibly fiery passion. All the while literally everything from the feeling of his muscular body to the sound of his new voice only continued to ramp his horniness up further and further .

Naturally it wasn’t long before he could feel himself starting to get close. But as he did his body reacted on its own. Instead of continuing to jerk his cock normally, Santa leapt onto the bed and immediately began humping his bed sheets. Rubbing his cock aggressively against the sheets as if he were fucking something. His thick muscle ass rising up and down with every thrust while his moans only grew needier. And just as his body was on autopilot, his mind was as well as he started to imagine his head scientist Venix on the bed below him. The small yet hairy little elf took the pounding of a lifetime as Santa stuffed his fat new cock inside the elf’s hole. God it was so hot as he thought of Venix’s cry’s of pleasure mixing with his own. It was sending him into a tailspin! At this rate he was gonna-

“UGH! UGHHH! UUGHHHHHHHHhuuuuuuuu…” Santa found himself clenching his new muscle ass while shooting what was probably the fattest load of his life all over the bed sheets below, splattering them in his thick jock seed. And it just wouldn’t stop. His dick was like a broken faucet that couldn’t stop leaking. Every time he thought it was over, his body would clench again and another rope of cum would shoot from his cock. It wasn’t until the bed below him seemed nearly drenched in cum did it finally seem to stop.

With that the hunk let himself drop limp onto the bed despite dampness. “Holy… that was… incredible.” Santa was at last able to say as his mind cleared again. After which he simply just smiled to himself as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest in the puddle of his own cum for a while.

Buuuut his rest didn’t last long. After all that Santa knew he was gonna need a nice long shower to clean up and he couldn’t have been more excited to lather up this new form with soap. And so he hopped off the bed yet again with ease with his cock still bouncing eagerly between his legs. Somehow after all of that it was already hard again! It was unreal but Santa certainly wasn’t complaining as he reached down and grabbed his still dripping before smacking it against his other hand a few times. “God it feels good to be young and hung.”

Santa quickly swiped up another pair of grey boxer briefs he had ready to go for once he’d taken this body and began pulling them on. He didn’t need to really but he was just curious to see if they actually fit him now. After awkwardly tucking his erection into the front, they fit pretty well. He loved how the tight fit showed off not only his bulge but his ass so damn well also. Following this however he immediately got to work pulling off his sheets and stripping it all down so it was ready to be washed.

Once that was taken care of however, Santa stepped foot in the bathroom and finally caught sight of his reflection. Somehow he’d managed to miss almost every mirror on his way home but now as he stood before his own bathroom mirror, he could finally see what he was working with reflected back at him. Instead of the flabby figure this mirror had grown accustomed to showing every day, now it showed something far superior. A jock. A hunk. A hot fucking meathead. But it wasn’t just his body, it was his face.

Seeing that handsome face in the mirror was both jarring and at the same time the most incredible thing Santa could’ve imagined. Seeing every feature move under his own accord. Every blink, every twitch. All of it was him. Even after all that it was still hard to believe and his brain was still trying to catch up. Despite that he found himself reaching up and running his fingers gently across his new features. Inspecting them all so carefully. Running a hand softly through his thick brown hair before bringing it down to rub through his short new beard. Feeling how smooth his young new skin felt in comparison to the wrinkles he’d known for so long. Even simply finding wonder in the fact that things such as his nose were a different size and shape compared to before. It was all these little details rolled into one that made the whole experience so extraordinary.

He must've stood in front of the mirror for nearly an hour as he admired both his face and body. And half of that time was spent with his back to the mirror so he could stare at the reflection of his jock butt. It was addictive. And the whole time his cock was pressing angrily against his underwear once again. He’d really have to find a way to keep that thing under control otherwise it was gonna be hard to even leave the house without the elves all locking eyes with his crotch whenever he went anywhere.

“Well. Suppose I should actually get on with things.” He thought to himself with a sigh as he took one last look in the mirror before kicking off the new underwear once more. And with that he grinned as he flipped on the shower and stepped under the steaming water and allowed it to cascade down his body and cock. With how his monstrous member was already bucking at him again, Santa had a feeling he probably wouldn’t be stepping out of the shower again until he’d busted another nut…

———

Almost six months had passed since Santa had stolen Brett’s body. It was December 23rd and Christmas was right around the corner. Usually at this time of the year the elves had already finished making all their toys and they’d all be celebrating alongside Santa with a huge buffet meal. But this year things were a little different.

Brett, in Santa’s original body, was present at the buffet and digging in just as Santa usually would. The real Santa on the other had only stayed for a while to celebrate and eat his healthy prepped food but eventually he had to leave so he could get his last Pre-Christmas workout in.

Even since before the swap, Santa had been getting a gym built out of preparation. It was a little side project he had going on while the swapping machine was being constructed. That said ever since the swap he’s been making incredible use of it. He’d been going in there at least 6 times a week religiously which hadn’t been too difficult thanks to the routine his new body already had installed into it. The workouts themselves however were a little rough to begin with. He did better than expected thanks to muscle memory but he still needed to do a lot of research before he was performing at the same level Brett once was in the gym. But with how determined Santa was to keep this body as huge and jacked as possible, it wasn’t long before he was practically a pro in the gym. He was lifting weight like a beast and always pushing his muscles to their limits. And he loved every second! The feeling of it was invigorating to him now. So much so that he actually needed to force himself to take a day off most days but even then he’d usually end up doing some cardio in the form of jogging around the villa.

It was almost incredible how well he’d taken to fitness. It was the only thing he’d been worried about before the swap. Worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the intense routine that Brett did to forge this body. Worried that he’d end up getting lazy and lose all the muscle he was about to steal. But the result was the complete opposite. If anything he was pushing himself even further than Brett ever could with how much more free time he had in comparison. Just in the last couple of months he could swear he’s not only been able to maintain his jockish form but has even grown a tad bit bigger!

A small crowd of elves had even come to watch him workout which Santa didn’t mind in the slightest. If anything it just gave him a chance to show off just how fucking swole he was. He just adored seeing the shocked looks on their faces as he did multiple sets with weights that some of the elves wouldn’t even be able to move on their own. It only fuelled Santa’s cocky ego even further.

That was something a lot of eleven had begun to notice about their new leader. His ego. At the end of the day he was still incredibly kind and jolly but most had to admit that he wasn’t quite as humble as he was before. At least not when it came to his body. He never had any problems showing off his physique and flexing cockily for the elves just for them to shower him in praise. Even now as he wore his baggy Christmas get up that’d been resized to fit his new body, he still looked incredible!

Santa continued going through the motions of it all until finally his workout came to end. He racked up his weights and grabbed the fluffy red jacket he’d discarded part way through his session with a satisfied smile on his face as he made his way over to the pack of elves.

“Ahhhhhh… all ready for tomorrow night I think guys.” Santa commented while hitting a quick pose which was fast met with applause.

“Can’t wait for my first big night with this form. Can’t wait to see how much easier it’s going to be now.” He laughed. It was truly an exciting occasion. Sure he’d done his Christmas run hundreds of times but this year he could tell it was going to be truly special. More so than it’d been in a long time for him. But that wasn’t just because he’d be checking himself out on every reflective surface he saw while delivering presents. It was also because he had an amazing present of his own waiting for him when he got home…

After that first day in this new body when he’d fantasied about fucking Venix’s brains out, Santa hadn’t been able to help making subtle moves on the intelligent elf who’d lead the project that’d given him this body. Dropping hints every now and then that made the elf blush profusely until one day Santa couldn’t stop himself. Without thinking he grabbed Venix and pinned him against a wall with ease before pressing their bearded lips together. After that it wasn’t long before the two found a supply closet in the laboratory building and Santa used his new fat cock to resize Venix’s hole.

Ever since then Santa had been fucking Venix constantly to satiate his cock’s desire. So much so that Venix practically moved into Santa’s little house. The two never explicitly why they’d made this decision but most of the elves had a good idea given this new ‘young and hung’ version of Santa.

And so the plan was for Santa to arrive back home on Christmas morning and as soon as the festivities were over, he and Venix would be spending the rest of Christmas locked up in Santa’s bedroom as he filled the hairy elf to the brim with jock cum over and over until Santa was finally satisfied. He’d say it was going to be a Christmas to remember but chances were all he was gonna remember were the sounds of his fat bull balls smacking loudly against Venix’s ass in every which position…

Hope you all enjoyed this late Christmas Present from yours truly! Happy New Years to you all! 💜💜💜

[absolutebl]

These Weeks in BL - This Is Very Late, Or Right on Time depending on where you sit on the temporal debate team

Sorry I got distracted by work. In my defense: I was paid.

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 1 & 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube grey) ep 12 fin - Unfortunately, there was singing. But what can we do?

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth, with no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up. Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it still stands. This is a great show, a solid adaptation, and a pleasing take on the original yaoi. I personally like it better than the Japanese live action, but I think that’s because I just really like Thai BL and I LOVE TayNew. I doubted them for this and I shouldn’t have. They did a great job, as did the sides. I will say all the kissing was both present and better than any other iteration. As it should be. Definitely one for the rewatch rotation. 9/10 

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 1 of 8 (10?) - Damn it, I love it. And I don't want to. It’s more classic BL than I thought it would be, and far less Only Friends or Playboyy. (Thank fuck.) We got a big cast and a lot of tropes going down out the gate, including SMITTEN popular hot guy versus nerd with secret identity. (Incidentally, Khem did drop into rude / informal when arguing with his Aunt and defending his ma. Bratty boy.) The leads have good chemistry (First always does), and everyone is very pretty. The main boy reminds me of J-Min's role (and look) in Love Class 2. I am entertained. (And faintly wonder why this isn't a MosBank vehicle.)

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) eps 1-3 of 8- High school sweethearts who had a bad break up reunite a decade later when both of them have full time jobs (celebrity & doctor). Dr Ji is a familiar face (hi Dream it's been a LONG time) and everyone is way too old for high school, but I guess I prefer this to child actors?

I'm enjoying it, actually, the cast may be older but they're solid as a result and the chemistry is on point for a pulp. Whether our celebrity is on the DL or cheating or something else remains to be seen but he sure is smitten. The way he LOOKS at Ji = hawt.

Frankly? Celebrity/doctor is a good pairing and this is a solid Thai BL. I hope we have a nice angsty reason for the break-up and we're not in another Promise situation. I like the sides too. Carry on, little show, I'm disposed to be pleased with you.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 12 - I am enjoying it, actually. It’s incredibly silly. But I don’t really mind. STOP SINGING. 

1000 Years Old eps 3-4 of 12 - I love that these kids basically adopted a vampire pet. And one of them accidentally got a vampire boyfriend. This suddenly turned from a PNR into a family drama about domestic gays opening a food stall and I'm not mad about it. Nothing makes sense and I don't care because... rainbow umbrella!

A Secretly Love (Thai WeTV grey) eps 1 of 10 - I don’t love it. I make no bones about the fact that a pining uke rarely works for me, especially if he’s younger (cute supportive besties not withstanding), the power dynamic isn’t good. I always like Kimmon, he’s a stiff actor but v pretty. (I shallow af.) Still it’s time he started acting his age… literally. Having to watch ads again as well… for this? Ooof. I'm not sure I'm strong enough.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Perfect Propose (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 6 fin - It was very cute. I liked that there was uke instigated kisses. However I have some reservations on this one, much as I enjoyed it.

Adapted from Mayo Tsurakame’s manga, production team included Tadaaki Horai (My Love Mix-Up!) and Takeshi Miyamoto (Old Fashion Cupcake). Essentially Perfect Propose was about finding hope in a person when all other hope is gone. This show focuses on apathy, and perforce is somewhat apathetic and un-engaging especially as the pacing was off (and with only 6 episodes? now) However, this is countered by great visuals, good archetypes, and a clean story of childhood sweethearts reuniting after loosing their way in life. I landed on 8/10 mostly for a demanding younger seme and some great kisses. 

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube) eps 2-3 of 11 - Oh it’s great. I love it. I’m still worried by how gritty and "Taiwanese short-esk" it feels, but wow does this hit all my favorite taboo tropes and buttons. I also adore the little found fam, they the cutest gay older bros ever. The younger one who wants so bad to grow up and take care of the older one and pushes himself because into self sacrifice that’s the only model of love he has. ARGH. BOYS. Why so much pain, just smooch already! Sheesh. It's on YouTube for some of us, here's the schedule.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) eps 6-7 of 10 - They remain questionably cute, and that is probably going to be my ultimate review of this show. Awe cameo! (Hi babies, hope the ghosts are leaving you alone.) The irony does not escape me that the person in the relationship with the most emotional acumen is, in fact, the robot and not the human. I'm sure that's meant to be deep.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - A tortured second chance romance featuring a reported and a successful celebrity(?) academic. The kid actors look nothing like their adult counterparts, but they do look much younger. So, okay. Ah the utter embarrassment of first love. Oh I like it a lot, so very messy Japanese emo. Sigh. Here we go again.

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Thurs Gaga) eps 8-9 of 10 - They are a cute couple. They both trying so hard and so confused and awkward and polite in trying to understand each other but TERRIBLE at communication. 

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) eps 3-4 of 8 - I don’t know how I feel about this. But I do know it’s not my thing because it’s not BL. I’ll finish it because it’s short but… meh. 

It's done, ready to binge, but I have no time

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have any spare time. 2024 is crazy busy for me so far.

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) - I will try when I have a window of time.

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - A Burmese BL? @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will watch eventually.

It's airing but...

Dead Friend Forever (Thai iQIYI) - finished it's run and I won't be watching it. It's horror with BL elements and the ending, well, let's just say that's a "no thank you" from me.

Ossans Love Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 5 years later, will anything have changed? This is Japan so… no. I'm not watching this. I dislike this franchise.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - dropped it at ep 4.

Takumi-kun (2023) movie version AKA Takumi-kun Series 6: Nagai Nagai Monogatari no Hajimari no Asa released on FOD 3/5/2024. The original project was a 6 ep series. Having seen all the previous iterations and read the (terrible) yaoi I admit to being intrigued. If anyone finds eng subbed please let me know with a link in comments or in a DM? For those intersted in this show, probably the world's first true BL franchise I chat all about it here.

Gossip

James Supamongkon has withdrawn from the series Love Upon A Time and the NetJames pair is no more. Net Siraphop will continue with the historical BL project alongside a new partner. Can I interest you in Tod Techit... almost as pretty, legs for days...

The Complete Chronology of the Assault Case Against GMMTV Actor Win Pawin

I'm merely directing your attention to these articles, I do not wish for discussion of this content on this blog. Please don't ask for further info, I don't know the answer, follow the link that's why it's there.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Still Coming

3/21 Two Worlds (Thai IQIYI) 10 eps - announced here. One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames staring MaxNat. I'm over them but Asia flipping loves this trope and I do adore MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, 12 years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Thai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram apparently alive. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha (played by Gun Thanawat who is Khom the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night).

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

How flipping adorable is this vampire with his big gay umbrella? SUCH A DORK and we got more vampire dorks coming.

Thailand has found its vampire line and it's awkward and geeky and quite cheerful. 'Bout what we expected, to be fair. It's a good look for them.

And vampires.

In other news...

That's your random moment of thirst, Lim Jimin shirtless AKA my Just B bias (I mean, I could talk about how good his extensions are and how I love a husky voice in Kpop but really, just LOOK at him). I'm very very very shallow, remember? Full vid is here.

Why am I mentioning Lim Jimin (aside from the obvious)? If Just B doesn't break soon, I could some of them transitioning to BL. Jimin in particular would be a win for us, obvs.

Also, can we talk about Bain (my bias wrecker) KILLING it on Build Up? I had no idea he was that good. Anygay, this has been your Kpop end note.

Seriously tho, is ANYONE else watching Build-Up?

(Last week - well, 2 weeks ago)

Streaming services are listed how I'm (usually watching) which is with a USA based IP

The tag bragade: @doorajar

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will. Easy peesy.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER THREE — EDDIE MUNSON COMMITS TREASON (BREAKS UP a CAT FIGHT)

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you deal with the fallout of your fight at steve harrington's party... in the passenger seat of eddie munson's van. so much for pretending you didn't exist to one another, huh? content warnings: as always, MINORS FUCK OFF, because we have *deep breath* implied fantasy smut, lots of swearing, confused yearning, themes of threat, heavy snark, another mention of the drink tab which i feel like is/was gross word count: 7.2k

Dear Dio, Tommy Iommi, Gary Gygax, Pee-wee Herman, Ronnie Ecker — forgive me for what I’m about to do. 

I know I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Like the time I lit all my hair on fire and spent middle school with a buzz cut. Or the time I almost trapped myself in a spread eagle with my own handcuffs. Or the time I got my arm stuck in a wall for an entire afternoon when I was trying to rescue a feral cat. 

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit. But the stupidest among it all has got to be saving this girl from the bare knuckle wrath of Carol Whatsername. You know the one. 

Tonight, for whatever reason, this insane ex-rich chick has decided to teeter on the edge of a pool of boiling hot lava and for whatever reason, I feel like it’s my responsibility to yank her back.

Which sucks, because she’s a total bitch to me. 

Even if she just told everybody Tommy Hagan had crabs and has been cheating on his girlfriend in such a deranged way that it almost made me pop a semi. 

Anyway. Tell my guitar I love her. 

The world around Eddie slows to the tick of a football game replay as you let the last incendiary word you speak to Carol bounce around the goddamn Roman amphitheater Harrington’s back yard has become. 

This is insane. What he’s watching is insane. Like, he knew you and your dumb little court of Hawkinsites bickered back and forth, but you’re the last person he’d ever expect to air their dirty laundry like this. 

It’s incredible to watch the fascist leadership that he and the rest of the social nobodies have suffered under for so long rupture in real time. 

What’s even more incredible is how little hesitation there is on his part, shoving through the crowd when he sees Carol leaping for you. Eddie’s nearly jostled backwards by some slobbering roid heads— they’ve already called CAT FIGHT! and a crowd is clamoring. But Eddie’s got years of thankless equipment lugging behind him, giving him deceptively strong arms.

And thank god, because you are not an easy girl to hold onto. 

Carol lands a decent punch to your face, slamming with a dull knuckle-on-cheekbone crunch that makes all the onlookers, including him, go ooof! You stagger back in a state of shock (though, c’mon, you heard what you said just now, right?) and Eddie takes his shot just as you dive forward to retaliate.

He grabs you under the arms so you can’t like, elbow him in the fucking nose, a pale imitation of an illegal wresting move that Al Munson had forced him to learn at the tender age of seven. His dad had fancied himself a wrestling manager at the time— you can imagine how that worked out. 

But Jesus, can you ever squirm! Your body writhes against him—stop—hips bucking—don’t go there—as you try to get free. He doesn’t even think you realize who’s dragging you away from the screaming harpy, otherwise you’d probably turn your fury on him. 

He takes full advantage of the rage blackout and manhandles you through the party, earning a baffled look from Steve Harrington, who’s finally graced his own party with his presence. A pinch-faced Nancy Wheeler lingers behind him, but then again, Wheeler’s always all pinch-faced.

“What the fuck?!” Harrington breathes, exasperated. 

Eddie struggles against you struggling, just about dragging you over the front doorstep. Trust this guy to be upstairs in a domestic dispute, missing all the action while getting no action. 

Even in the chaos, Eddie will never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Harrington.

“You gotta start hidin’ your bath salts, man! Chicks are going crazy in there–Evil Dead type shit!” 

—

“You’re dead, Lacy! Monday morning, you are fucking dead!” Carol screams down the hallway. 

“It’s a date, bitch!” you screech, Munson’s nelson hold on you stronger than your thrashing. With a lot of work, he manages to haul you as far as Harrington’s front yard before you wriggle out of his grasp. You shove him, hard, all white hot and punch drunk and regular drunk on top of that. 

He yelps, high and frightened. You weren’t expecting a noise like that to come out of a surly-looking dude like him. 

So you do it again. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” you spit, and Munson flinches.

“Cutting you off!” he exclaims, this half-yell, half-laugh. It stings, the way he’s looking at you– like your anger isn’t anger, like it’s just amusing to him. 

“Well, who gave you the right? Who died and made you my parole officer, Munson?!” 

“Oh, I’m not– but I also didn’t feel like being woken up at home when the cops come looking for you after you go all Raging Bull on Carol. You haven’t been around the park long enough to hear ‘em, but those sirens really perforate the eardrums!”

Your jaw sets itself stiffly and you bind your arms over your chest. Unfuckingbelievable. “I would’ve, you know,” you breathe, seething, “Beat her up.” 

Munson’s dark eyes glide over you, like he’s checking you for concealed weapons or signs of a zombie bite— you avoid his gaze entirely, staring square into the middle distance. 

You promised that he didn’t exist to you, yet here he is. Driving you off the road. Breaking up your fights. Existing.

“Yeah, I know you woulda. You’re scary,” he says. You shrug, and he reaches to massage his shoulder. “And strong. Shit.” 

Your eyes flick over to him, but you don’t feel bad. You don’t feel bad because he’s grinning at you now and despite yourself, despite everything that’s transpired and the everything about him, you’re trying your hardest not to grin back. Adrenaline and vodka are still burning a hole in your chest. 

“Stay out of my way, then.”  

“Noted, but,” a couple of steps from Munson’s end closes some space between you. He’s peering at your face, right where Carol clocked you. A hand reaches out, angling your chin closer to the Harrington’s glaring porch light with his fingertips. You stiffen and squint, performatively wary, but you don’t stop him. You just let his eyes pan over you, looking anywhere but into them. “You might need a little first aid first. And a ride home.” 

“I was actually planning on carjacking Hagan,” you say coolly, the smile you were trying to beat away edging its way across your face. Munson releases your chin and the spot where his fingers were buzzes. It’s just the cold. It’s just your slutty librarian outfit, you tell yourself. You have to swallow in order to speak again. “Seems like fitting payback.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, what did I just say about cops?”

—

Eddie tolerates your eyes rolling back in your head when he props the passenger door open for you, helping you into the cluttered van with an outstretched had. 

See, I’m not the kind of asshole who doesn’t open doors for girls wearing stilts for shoes.

Those things were not made for clambering into a vehicle like this, sure, but they’re– nice. For what he knows about shoes, which is nothing. They make your legs look more… leggy, and for whatever reason this is making his brain soft. 

In your other hand is a cold can of High Life, which is the closest thing to an ice pack he could nab. That bruise blooming under your eye is going to be nasty, and he’s a little curious how you’re gonna look with it. You, with nary a hair out of place on a bad day, with a big ol’ purple shiner in a place that’s hard to hide.  

Gunning out of Harrington’s hood, a silence settles between Eddie and you. The radio hums in the background– a mainstream station for once. He thoughtfully figured that an aural assault by Sabbath would kinda rub salt in your wound. 

He’s thoughtful, but he’s not not nosy. So, of course he’s gonna ask– 

“That whole… verbal smackdown back there,” Munson starts after clearing his throat. “With Tommy H and everybody.”

On your end, the adrenaline has worn off and the numbing effects of the booze have amped up. You feel loose and warm, apart from the beer can cooling your bruise. There are twice as many streetlights streaming past you as usual. This is going to blow later– if you don’t blow chunks first. 

“All that about your dad pimping me out?” God, I mean, Hagan couldn’t compose a written sentence to save his life but maybe he had a future in speculative fiction. Did he just come up with that on the fly? “Take a wild guess, Munson.” 

Eddie recoils in his seat– gross. Gross. “Not the– the shit with Tina and Carol and–”

“Oh, the crabs? Yeaaaah, that’s true,” you slur, “But I rejected Tommy waaay before I knew that. Call it my brilliant instinct. And then he has the nerve to call me frigid, which– trust me, I’m anything… anything but.”

Munson seems a little surprised at this. You can see it in the way his eyebrows dart under his curly bangs. 

But you’ve had your share of disappointing experiences with the blandly acceptable boys in your circle– it’s par for the course, it’s part of advancing in the field. You can’t throw your cat into the street completely, but god forbid you be choosy about the boys you want to copulate with. The ones you’ve hooked up with, all unremarkable and perfunctory, always seemed so smug afterwards. Like they’d conquered something. 

But from Eddie’s purview, you always held yourself like you were above everyone else; not just the underclassmen and the social rejects, but even your own friends. He’d watch you sometimes, because it’s hard not to watch you. He’d wait for the few flickering moments you let your guard down, when you thought no one was paying attention as you sat at the lunch table or walked the hallways. So achingly unamused by the guffawing, the backslapping, the forced camaraderie of your forced high school persona and your forced high school friends. Then, one of them would say something like, Right, Lacy? and your brow would unarch and you’d be right back in the groove with the rest of them, giggling dumbly and glossing your lips. 

He always wondered how you did it, tolerated it. And why.

“Now, far be it from me to agree with a shithead like Hagan–and I don’t, before you get scary–but I kinda get where he’s picking that up,” Eddie winces, throwing a glance to you, glassy-eyed with your head against the window. You’re looking at him with narrowed eyes, eyeliner smudged. Even that look could cut down a man with twice his ego. “You’re a little bit frosty. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day– which, y’know, could be–”

You absolutely do not let him finish the thought.   

“It’s caaaalled being aloof, Munson,” you drawl, shuffling your shoulders against the passenger door and pulling a stray thread from your skirt with a sharp snap. “Playing hard to get, duh? Leave them wanting more? You wouldn’t get it because you’re so goddamn big and obvious all the time…”

“Obvious!” he brays, letting his jaw hang open with theatrical flair, “Obvious! Lacy, you wound me, I–”

“Obvious,” you bark back, “Obvious like a neon sign, obvious like a circus tent, obvious like– like– look at me, look at me, I’m a weirdo!” Your Munson impression, complete with devil horns, is a little dorkified but it shuts him right up. That loose little tongue of yours has trasmuted your mood from wrath to barbed silliness. “So obvious you wouldn’t know that kind of subtlety. Not if it hit you in the face.” 

A familiar tune whistles from the radio, distracting you. “… or cause you’re a virgin.”

“Okay—!“ Eddie starts, immediately assuming the position of point guard. His hackles are raised, but to be honest, he’s so willing to let you ramble on. It’s the first time he’s heard you talk this much, ever, save your little tête-à-tête by the lockers the other day. 

Eddie doesn’t want to stem the flow just yet. He’s not thinking about it too hard.

“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Like a Virgin pumps from the tinny speakers and you reach to turn it up, your head drunkenly bobbling on your neck. Eddie winces; it’s so weird, watching you like this. It’s like dream logic. It’s like opposite day. “Munson’s a virgin! I’m gonna touch him for the very first tiii-iime! Munson’s a vii-iir-gin—“

“First off, no I am not and no,” he audibly swallows, positive you didn’t realize what you just sang, “no, you are not, ‘cause— well.” He clears his throat. A flare of heat burns around his collar. “I’m not the type to bone and tell.”

“Bone and tell.” You guffaw, a sound so unbecoming yet so endearing coming from you, and slump back in your seat. That tight little skirt you’re wearing rides up about an inch and a half. “Sounds like something a virgin would say.”

Eddie huffs; no way around this. You’re fucking with him, and it’s the indefatiguable male ego that’s not going to let him let you win. 

He fucks, okay? Or has fucked, prior to this. 

Not that there’s anything wrong with not fucking. 

But he’s done it.  

Eddie’s eyes dart between you and the road, and you’ve got him like a stuck pig with that expectant glare. His eyes linger on your exposed upper legs for a half a second. 

Christ, you’re annoying. It occurs to him that wants to bite the soft flesh of your thigh and hear you squeal about it, but you are annoying as hell. 

“Fine. Fine. You wanna know?”

Your head lolls against the rough upholstery of the seat and you bat your lashes at him. “I really wanna know.” 

And Munson will tell you, you know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

“Nicole Summers.”

“Bullshit. Nicole Nicole? My Nicole?”

“Nicole Nicole. Nicole, formerly yours. The only-girl-meaner-than-you Nicole. It was tenth grade,” he snorts bitterly. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life.”

“Nicole told us she got her v-card stamped by a board waxer in Maui.”

“I’ve got a lot of side gigs. You don’t know about me.”

You snort too, despite yourself. That’s a lot of despite-ing tonight, Lacy. You sit up in the seat a little, interest catching. Flame to a candle wick. 

“How was it?” you press. 

Munson furrows his brow, like duh. “Most unforgettable thirty seconds of my life, I just told you.” A beat. “Until— …Cass Finnigan.”

Now, an encounter like that is less surprising, but still you holler, “Bullshit!”

“I’d say the same shit if it hadn’t, y’know, happened to me,” he stage whispers, “In this van.”  

Your eyes widen, a flicker of a grimace sailing across your face. You wonder how he pulled that off, but all that comes to mind is the start of a bad porno– Cass meets him at that dingy little bench out back of the school to pick up and he’s, I don’t know, test driving some of his new supply and offers her a toke. She’s all, why the free samples, Munson? and he’s all, I only let the prettiest girls test the product. And because Cass is notoriously insecure–who among us, girl–she’s all, who, me? and he’s all, come back to my van, and she’s all, but I’m going steady with Mikey B, and he’s all, I won’t tell if you won’t and then he fucks her in the ass. 

Because Cass is saving the first hole for marriage and you know that. You’re the kind of person people tell things to. 

What you don’t expect is a weird pull of… envy. Why, in this imaginary scenario, had he never invited you back to his van? Well. You know why. But you’re drunk, so logic begone. “When did all this go down?”

“Uh, right before school got back,” Munson answers, kind of apprehensively. He could be lying, you figure.

“Well, Cass has been having a weird year,” you mumble, meaning to think that rather than say it. You know, because you’re the kind of person people tell things to.

“What’s that supposed to imply exactly?” Eddie says, an edge in his voice. He can’t help the way something in his chest flares; like he forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop with you, and now it’s dropping. 

“It stands to reason that she’d wanna, like, do something stupid,” you explain, and you know how it sounds. It’s mean. But honestly, you’re so drunk, and so past the point of attempting to spare people’s feelings.

“Like hook up with the local freak,” Eddie finishes for you, tone flat. You couldn’t not put him in his place, could you? Not that he thought Cass liked him or anything, he could feel her (literally feel her) going through the motions like a social experiment but– God, a little delusion doesn’t hurt now and again. 

“Exactly!” and even in your inebriated state, you can feel the tension in the air, hanging between you like a balloon full of noxious gas. Rather than cut it, you want to poke at it, unfeeling as to whether that’ll make it worse or better between you and the boy in the driver’s seat. You hike yourself up further, leaning toward him, pulling the can of High Life from your face. 

Munson’s profile is this beguiling mix of hurt and irritation, lit by the scuzzy orange hue of the passing streetlights. 

“What, did you want me to act impressed? Did you want me to lie to you?” 

“What? No– look, I know what girls like that– think of me, but,” Eddie’s voice shrinks in his throat, making him sound completely pre-pubescent. He notices you lean forward in his peripheral vision, like you have to strain to hear it, “that doesn’t make it any less shitty.” 

Oof. He did not need to unleash that little piss-shake of earnestness right now. He mentally steels himself for a ribbing from you, a cackling, piercing laugh like you let out before Carol punched you. 

“Of course it doesn’t!” you froth, “Just like it doesn’t make it any less shitty when guys act like they’re settling a bet with their buddies when they hook up with me.” You cross your arms to your chest with a quickness, slamming back into the seat. “Bet you couldn’t make it with Lacy, she’s got a combination lock on her pussy. Fuck you, dude.”

That coaxes a bark of a laugh from Munson, which makes you giggle a little in turn. It’s a weird feeling. It’s not quite relief; more like satisfaction. One point to Lacy, you made him laugh. 

“Combination lock, huh?”

“Allegedly.”

“Bet none of those losers even know how to crack a lock.” 

Your head tilts in his direction, forward this time. “And you do?”

Munson’s eyes flash at you, a dangerous orange glint sparkling in the darkness of his irises. “My criminal skillset is pretty diverse.”

He pins you down with this look from the driver’s seat and for a heartbeat or two, and you let him. Just long enough that a stab of sobriety sneaks in– and you can’t deny it, but you wish it didn’t. 

You’re drunk. 

If you can stay drunk, all bets are off. 

If you can stay drunk, whatever you do doesn’t matter, because you were drunk. 

You could reach over and press your fingers into the soft denim between his legs, make something hard there. You could squeeze the thickness of him over his zipper and kiss the shock of alabaster skin on his neck, where his pulse goes all jackrabbity under your touch. You could make him forget he ever heard the name Cass Finnigan. 

And it would mean nothing. 

And you wouldn’t have to justify it, because you were drunk. That’s what you’ve always been taught.

But you uncross your arms and you pull at the hem of your skirt and look to the road, just as the van swerves into the trailer park. Munson doesn’t take such a hard turn at the corner this time, probably wary of your risk of ralphing all over the van if he does. He pulls into that negative space between your trailer and his and instructs you to wait in your seat. 

“Trust me, the descent out of this baby is much trickier than it looks,” he assures you, jogging to the passenger door, a jingle of keys and pocket chains and belts on leather, “and you’re way too gone to make it in one piece, princess.”

So he holds his hand out again (“M’shitfacedlady,”) and gingerly you take it, and it becomes very apparent very quickly that your legs have turned to rubber on the drive home. 

“Oh, shit!” 

Your attempt at gracefully exiting the van is ruined by an unsteady ankle, sending your weight right into Eddie Munson’s chest. Luckily, he was braced for it– just about. “Told you you couldn’t make it without me,” he breathes as you clutch a handful of his Metallica shirt, vision quadrupling. He’s warm, and you suddenly realize that you’re freezing.

Trembling.

“Stop flirting with me,” you hiss to one out of the four Munsons in front of you. “I need to go to bed.”

Eddie forces himself to bite back another double entendre, which is a shame, because they’re doing an awesome job of covering up how goddamn nervous he suddenly is. He moves his arm to your waist, helping you haul ass to your front door. He’s got to keep one arm outstretched behind you in case you lose your balance again– which you almost do, a couple of times, wavering around like a dashboard Jesus. 

He watches you like he’s trying to commit this to memory, the rare case of you being so beyond your usual composure. He’s even got to intervene after the first five minutes, making unlocking your front door a two idiot job.

Eddie’s about to wave you off and disappear to scream and something else into his pillow when he sees you take a dangerous lunge into the darkness of the trailer. “Woah, girl–” 

But you recover, in a kind of brainless way, taking a measured Bambi-like step forward. One after the other. 

Fuck. He can’t leave you like this. 

You’re gonna trip and brain yourself on a Fabergé egg or whatever the fuck it is you and your mom have in there. 

“Uh– Lacy?” 

The trailer is eerily quiet. You feel like you’re trespassing in your own place. Boxes of out-of-place, too-expensive ephemera are still strewn everywhere, but you navigate the maze of them like it’s nothing. Sense memory. You don’t even entirely register that Munson is following you inside, that he’s frantically whispering after you, until you reach your bedroom door. 

A coldness shoots up your spine as you turn on him. You didn’t invite him in here, did you? 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask for the second time tonight. This time, it comes out a little fearful. 

Eddie picks this up, right where you’ve erroneously dropped it. His chest gets a little tight. You didn’t think he was trying to–? 

“Making sure you lie down in the recovery position, that’s all,” he throws his hands up in total surrender, Scout’s honor, all that shit. “I’m not tryin’ to pick any locks tonight. I swear.” 

“I don’t need your help, Munson,” but just as you twist the doorknob, you keel over through the door, hitting the floor like a lead balloon. 

“Yeah, you keep telling me that,” he blearily smirks down at you, “And yet.”

But Munson’s not such an asshole about it that he just leaves you there. He hauls you up, again, and you stagger towards your bed, flopping face down on top of the comforter. He says some variation of okay, well, that’s how you choke to death on your own vomit, Jimi Hendrix and bullies you into the recovery position. 

“Don’t freak out, I’m just–” and Munson sits gingerly on the edge of your bed, taking one of your high heeled feet in his hands. 

What the fuck, you mumble, either aloud or in your head. But he’s fiddling with the tiny buckle at your ankle, gently undoing it. Another chill runs through your body but you don’t move, not an iota. You just… let him do it. His hands on your aching feet aren’t a totally unwelcome touch. He’s being featherlight about it, almost afraid to touch you even though he had no problem sheepdogging you into bed. 

“You could do anything to me right now,” you hear yourself saying. “No one would even know. No one would even care, I bet.” 

It’s meant to sound like you’re goading him, or even flirting with him, but it comes out sounding pitiful. You cringe, your hands creeping up to cover your face. 

“I’d care.” Munson’s voice is a tiny mumble– you know he’s just defending himself, but it kind of sounds like something else. He slips your right shoe off and sets it on the floor next to your left one. He hesitates for a moment before getting off your bed. 

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Have a fun hangover, Lacy.” 

–

You do not have a fun hangover. You wake up late Saturday afternoon after Friday’s bacchanal and don’t emerge from your room save from the occasional bathroom trip to puke up what little dignity you’ve got left. Sunday morning is when your mom hammers on the door and drags you to the kitchenette after confirming that you’re still, y’know, alive. 

“This is your game face, hm?” she says, pulling at your chin to examine your violet bruise that seems to have developed its own heartbeat. She doesn’t hold your face the way Munson did, gentle and searching, just tugs into the sparse light streaming into the dingy kitchenette.

You attempt to steel your jaw, but your bottom lip is starting to waver. 

“What happened?” your mother asks, and beneath all the jagged broken glass, there’s a tiny sliver of tenderness. 

Call it your pride, but you don’t reach for it. 

“I went out,” you say tightly, “and I made a fool of us.”

She hacks up a scoff through her smoker’s cough and disappears into her bedroom, leaving you alone to pick at a cold waffle. The few moments of consciousness you’ve had since Friday night have been spent trying to piece the party together– you remember clearing the better part of a bottle of cheap, cheap, shitty vodka with Robin Buckley’s help (weird), you remember getting into it with Hagan and Carol and getting wailed on. You remember getting a ride home with Munson, but the finer details of that are fuzzy. 

You think, and this is a thought that turns your already 180’d stomach, you let him into your bedroom, but you can’t be one hundred percent sure. All you know for an absolute is that your shoes came off that night, and you would never bother to take your shoes off after a night like that. 

So somebody must have. 

Meanwhile, Eddie’s been having a hell of a meanwhile. 

Fact of the matter is that you managed to detonate a nuclear bomb at Harrington’s party just under an hour after your arrival, which has got to be some kind of world record. It was also a world record for how little product he’d managed to sell during one of those parties, because he was preventing the manslaughter of a teenage girl– could’ve been you, could’ve been Carol. He nearly wishes he let that fight play out, as he stares into his empty wallet. 

Eddie’s gotta busy himself somehow, gotta do something– weirdly, he’s not in the mood to make a whole lot of noise. It’s not such a terrible day for working on his van, so he slams his toolbox on the ground and gives a couple dozen casual glances toward your bedroom window.

Your blinds still aren’t fixed. That’s got to have been shitty when you woke up with a splitting vodka headache and a shiner the size of Canada. 

Eddie keeps finding excuses to pace back and forth in perfect view of your window. Not in a peeping Tom sort of way, but in a way where he’d kind of like to see any sign of life from you. Even if you just rose from your bed like Nosferatu and gave him the finger. Then, he could relax. 

“Ed,” a gruff voice comes from the makeshift trailer porch, “fuck’re you doin’.” 

Those dulcet tones would belong to his beloved Uncle Wayne, who, ever since his hours got cut at the plant, has become unbearably observant of Eddie’s every movement. Wayne’s not a neglectful kind of father figure, not like his blinders-wearing real dad is, so he actually gets concerned when Eddie’s acting out of sorts. 

“Engine,” Eddie mumbles, pivoting fast like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t, “Engine’s making hinky noises.”

“Sounded alright last night,” Wayne levels him instantly, “when you came home.” 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he twists an oily rag in his hands, avoiding Wayne’s stony stare. 

“I was up.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. God, whenever Wayne susses him out, it’s like drip torture. He’s slow as molasses with the confrontation on purpose, making Eddie sweat and out himself on every little fuck up he’s ever made. “You go in there?”

Chin jerks towards your trailer. Eddie’s shoulders shrug towards his ears, head tilting back. “Wayne, it’s not– she was real drunk, like blotto, I just–”

“You steer clear of that one.” It’s the definite nature with which Wayne says it that makes Eddie’s stomach drop. No prelude to it, no I know, kid, you were just tryin’ to do right by her. Nothing. 

“Wayne–”

“She ain’t what you think she is. Not if she’s anything like her bloodline.” 

He says this like the realization hasn’t hit Eddie like Carol hit you on Friday fight night. 

He says this like people haven’t been saying the same thing about Eddie for years.

–

Monday morning comes and you’re still somewhat suffering. A headache nags at your temple, but you pin that down to anxiety rather than an extended play of your hangover. 

It occurs to you that you should dress as down as possible today– realistically, of course, as you’d never be caught dead in sweatpants. You need comfort, you need something that feels like a well-worn blanket so you opt for a deep burgundy sweater dress that actually belonged to your mom in the 60s. 

You’d found it in the back of her closet when searching for a belt you knew she’d stolen from you and pulled it out. Mom! you chirped, How cute! How come you never wear this?

Oh, God, she’d cringed, batting the garment out of her way as she passed you in a cloud of Shalimar, Just throw that ratty thing out for me, would you?

But you didn’t. You kept it tucked away in the back of your closet and took it out when you needed it. When you needed to bury your face in it. Substitute it for a comfort she refused to give you. Which you realize is terrifically sad, but so’s life. 

The warm red is a distant cousin in the color family to the bruise under your eye. That bruise, it’s a glaring reminder of what a fucking loser you’ve become. The old you, the real you would never have stooped to that level– never had let them drag her down like that. But now you’re the kind of girl that screams and starts fights at parties, you guess. 

Your rage feels ugly in the cold light of day. 

You’re locking the door of the trailer behind you just as Munson emerges from his humble abode and it’s nothing short of awkward. Like you’d both seen each other naked or something.

You both stand there, in your relative doorways. His mouth gapes like he’s about to say hi, say something, and a memory comes back to you. Cold shock in the middle of a summer’s day. No one likes that. No one wants that. 

Regret stabs at you.

“Can you see it from there?” It’s the only thing you can think of to say, because you’re sure as fuck not saying hi. 

“What?”

“The bruise. Can– can you see it from over there?” 

Munson sort of half-snorts. “Not from here–”

“Ugh, thank god.”

“--but this is like, over fifteen feet away.” 

You roll your eyes, which hurts a lot, thanks guy, and walk toward his van. 

“Now?” you say, waving a hand under your eye, right where you’ve applied and blended and applied and blended a criminal amount of concealer. Munson leaves about a foot of space between you, on purpose, and you crane your neck back, on purpose. Reinstating the forcefield between you. 

“Oh yeah, you can barely even see that you got your ass kicked.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning, Munson. Do you really want to start your day with a knee to the balls?”

“You’re right. That’s usually an after-dinner activity,” he grins and jerks his head toward the van. “Need a ride?”

Need a ride? Like it’s the most ordinary, everyday thing in the world, Eddie Munson offering you a ride to school in his deathtrap of a van. Your stomach pulls at the sense memory of being in there on Friday night, and what you’ll look like getting out of it in the parking lot of Hawkins High. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head, definite and resolute. “I’m walking.” 

He scoffs. “C’mon. It’s too late to start walking now. You’ll be late for first period.” 

You scoff back, imitating him. “So what?”

“You’re never late for first period.” 

“I can be late– how the hell do you know I’m never late for first period?” 

“Because, dummy, I’m always late for first period,” he tells you, yanking open the passenger door, “And I sit behind you in History, and you’re always there when I come in, leaning back with your nose in some dumb book and your stupid hair all over my desk.” 

It’s true– you are always reading in history, because Kaminsky can’t teach for shit and you’ve already read ahead on the coursework anyway. You liked to rub that in his face by pulling out some unprescribed literature during class. Plus, no one you really care about is in your class, so you don’t have to worry about getting made fun of for having your nose in some dumb book. Illiterate jocks would never try that shit with you– nobody there would. 

Until now. 

And it’s true that Eddie Munson sits behind you, and barrels in like an idiotic excuse for a hurricane with some idiotic excuse for being late that you always scoff at, because does he ever get tired of his own bullshit. But after that brief cameo appearance in your day, you really do forget about him. 

Until now. 

“So?” he says, all expectant. 

And you consider it for a second, you really do– but you don’t think you can handle the blowback of leaving a party with Eddie Munson on Friday then turning up with him on Monday. Going to the same class. Where he sits behind you. It’s just… overexposure. 

The same realization must hit him, because all of a sudden he’s slamming the door shut with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever. Your tardy slip, babe.” You can’t help but think he sounds a little wounded. 

But fuck it. Fuck it! Since when do you stand around feeling sorry for Eddie Munson? 

Before you know it, the van roars out and leaves you in the dust. 

You don’t make it to school until after second period, because that so-called bus route a fifteen minute walk from the trailer park must not even exist, so you forge a note from your mom in the parking lot. 

As your fountain pen hovers over the paper, brainstorming an excuse, you consider pulling out the big guns– say you had to attend visitation day at the penitentiary. Use this disaster to your advantage for once; but you pull back. Scribble something about a doctor’s appointment and dot your mother’s ‘i’s with eerie precision.  

You make quick work of dropping the note off in reception– the uptick of being the kid of the town’s gossip beacon is some people still feel sorry for you. Some people weirdly include Janice, Principal Higgins’ secretary, who snatches the note from you before you can even reach the actual receptionist’s desk. 

“I’ll file that for you, dear,” she says, all coo-cooey with an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, “How are you and your poor mother doing these days? And your,” her croaky voice drops to a whisper, “dad? How is… he being treated?”

You blink at her, gripping the fountain pen in your hand. “Do you know what a shiv is, Janice?”

Just then, the bell trills and you take your leave, stepping out into the linoleum. 

Someone calls your name from down the hall. You crane your neck to see Ronnie Ecker jogging toward you, paper in hand. 

Now look, you’ve never had a problem with Ronnie Ecker. You can’t say you’re particularly fond of her but she’s smart; she keeps to herself and she was a decent lab partner during your junior year of dissecting frogs together. Squeamish, but that’s why you were there, to handle the scalpel. As much of a social outcast as she is, she’s not nearly as odious as the rest of them. That’s pretty goddamn remarkable amongst the Hawkins student body. 

She is also, you’ve come to notice, a resident of Forest Hills trailer park. 

“Hey!” she says, “Um, I noticed you missed first period and Kaminsky was handing our papers back so I figured you’d want yours…” 

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me missing first period?”

“Huh?”

“No– nothing,” you huff, taking the paper from her. A solid B on A+ material– told you Kaminsky couldn’t teach for shit. He’d be hearing from you about this. “Thanks for this, Ronnie.”

You start down the hall but notice Ronnie’s keeping in step with you. “I also just wanted to say– I heard about what happened Friday. And I think it’s sick, you standing up to Hagan like that. Asshole needed to be put in his place.” 

Well, there’s only one person she could have heard the nitty gritty of that news from. You know she’s trying to flatter you, but all you feel is a flame of embarrassment, plus a touch of anger– even though the news has easily circulated the school hallways by now. 

Along with the rumors of you taking Hargrove, Buckley and Munson, and not in a fight. 

“Well. Y’know. I was pretty wasted,” you attempt to brush it off and you see Ronnie deflate a little. 

Like you’re not the blazing hero someone made you out to be. 

“Okay, but is it true you had a threesome with Billy Hargrove and Robin Buckley and Robin was wearing the Tigers mascot suit?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

–

Classes pass in a monotonous blur, like most Mondays, but worse. That would be thanks to the extra shot of dread that’s served with your cafeteria meal of a wilted salad and soda. Last week at lunchtime, you at least had a tenuous standing with your former circle– you could still sit between Tina and Nancy Wheeler and suffer Tina’s thinly veiled jabs at you with a semi-placid look on your face. Nancy would look at you with eyes full of pity, and you’d want to punch her face in, but you’d be fine. 

But now, as you stand in the cafeteria swirling with people and catch the death glares from your old table (save for Nancy and Steve Harrington, who just straight up refuse to make eye contact with you), you’re just about ready to snap. 

Your flight instinct tells you to toss the tray out of your clammy hands and run, and keep running, until you disappear into the woods behind the school, never to be found. Your body becomes mulch before anyone remembers to look for you. Maybe you make really good fertilizer and a couple of pretty weeds sprout up from where you die. 

Your bruise, under its flaking layers of concealer, throbs twice– as if to say, don’t you fucking dare.

You make a confident beeline for the table, chin tilted and eyes set in a stare that could be categorized as withering, if only it was trained on anybody in particular. You grab a chair that some dumb underclassman is about to sit in and drag it with you, legs screeeeeching across the waxed floor. 

Who gives a shit who you were on Friday night. 

“I can sit here, right?” you say, and place your tray on the table next to Ronnie Ecker. 

She just stares at you for a hot second. That’s too long to stay standing in uncertainty, so you settle your stolen chair at the table and sit next to her. 

Ronnie isn’t the only one staring, however– the rest of these dorks, all in their matching t-shirts with Satan’s fiery head emblazoned across them, are watching you with their mouths agape. 

“Is this a prank or something?” one of them, a curly-haired freshman, says. 

This question is directed toward their fearless leader, decked out in denim and leather at the head of the table. That is to say, the direct opposite end of the table that you’re sitting at. 

“That’s no way to greet a lady, Gareth,” Munson says, feigning coolness but you can tell he’s a little flustered. The dead giveaway is in the way he misses his mac and cheese with his fork, the way his solid gaze double-blinks. You’ve thrown him off game– and because he’s impossible not to overhear sometimes, you know that game is all he’s got going on at this table. 

There’s that feeling again– point to Lacy. 

“To what do we owe the pleasure?”

This is Munson’s version of what the hell do you think you’re doing, but you choose to ignore him. It’ll drive him insane, and you know that, glaring red warning sign that he is. Instead, you flash a smile at the freshman that almost makes him pass out, Cupid’s arrow struck straight through the heart. 

You cross your legs and angle your body toward Ronnie– and by extension, in the direction of your old table. You can see Carol burying her face in Tommy’s shoulder, the both of them on the verge of losing bowel control with laughter. Laughter at you. 

Who gives a shit who you were before Friday night.

“So, Ronnie,” you say, taking a sip of your Tab, “You get up to anything fun this weekend?”

author's notes: let me get ahead of everything and say yes, i am absolutely fucking with the timeline. suspend your disbelief, my beautiful babies, and enjoy steve, carol, tommy and ronnie ecker still being in high school because I SURE WILL. but on an absolutely serious note, thank you so much for all the support and each and every note you’ve put on the chapters so far. i seriously, seriously appreciate it. now, the notes: - you think eddie munson doesn’t fuck with pee-wee herman heavy? you think he didn’t watch this movie in reefer rick’s, high out of his gourd, and think oh yeah i love this freak? get REAL! RIP paul reubens, this one’s for you. specially every time i mention a handjob - eddie munson also has charlie kelly disease - speaking of iterations of always sunny characters, much like frank reynolds, there’s not a get rich quick scheme al munson hasn’t tried. we’ll get into that a little more… later - admittedly, the whole ‘face eating on bath salts’ thing didn’t gain traction until the 00s, but if hawkins is going to be ahead of its time in anything, it’s fucked up shit happening to people! - did you notice how i blended eddie and lacy’s povs in the van? i’m going to continue doing that in moments where they’re on a similar ~wavelength~ - jimi hendrix did unfortunately die of asphixiation, but instead of thinking about that, watch this sick video of him playing guitar that eddie definitely has committed to memory - RONNIE ECKER KLAXON. i know that in flight of icarus she’s described as tall, but that hasn’t stopped me fancasting her as ayo edebiri in an eddie munson wig - at this point, you might be thinking damn, everyone sure seems to hate each other in this story. like, why is nancy wheeler catching strays? i’m here to remind you it’s the 1980s and teenagers kind of suck. play the track - thanks again for all the love! you can keep this crazy train going by liking, commenting, reblogging and generally showing me the same kindness you’ve shown me so far. love u my little hellcats

[pablitogavii]

How about gavi is in a sour mood with anyone and when sweet reader comes he changes and immediately dotes on her ???

Moody

"Vamos Gavi!" Xavi yelled while Pablo was trying to score but unfortunately he hit it too hard and it flew over the net making him groan in annoyance.

"It's just training hermano, don't take it too seriously" Ferran tried to cheer his friend up but when Pablo was moody he was in no position to listen to pitiful excuses.

"And what if it's during the game next time!?" Pablo said angrily making the man raise his hands up in surrender and leave him alone for the rest of the training. Now he yelled at one of his good friend, so he was even more frustrated than before. Today was just not a good day for Pablo!

"Your bestie is being an asshole!" Ferran said to Pedri who looked towards his friend sitting on the grass fixing his shoes clearly agitated. Pedri knew Pablo for years and he knew exactly what he needed when he got like this..well more who he needed to see.

Pedri took his break going to the changing rooms and texting you to come to the camp because 'your boys is being an angry bird again' which made you drop your boring book and drive to the camp.

"Fuck! They keep untying!" Pablo said angrily having to stop his running to fix his shoes for the third time already. Nothing was going his way today!

"You need me to tie them again hermano??" Ansu said teasingly and Pablo would usually accept the joke but today he was in no mood to be mocked for not being able to tie his laces.

"Drop it Ansu!" Pablo said continuing to run with them untied not giving the shit if he falls and breaks his face in response..nothing could go worse today!

"Ooof he really needs her today..you called her?" Ansu said to Pedri smiling when he nodded knowing that the moment Pablo's eyes settle on you his whole mod will change. It was so strange but also the cutest thing to see.

"Hermano!" Pedri called while Pablo was doing his sit ups signing in frustration and turning to see what he wanted now.

"What!? Can't you see I'm working!?" he said angrily and Pedri hit his head pointing towards the stands shortly joined by Ansu who smiled when he saw Pablo's angry eyes soften and his whole demeanor changing the moment he saw you sitting there and waving at him.

He quickly got to his feet running past his teammates and towards the stand where you were smiling wider the closer he got to you. He was sweaty and dirty but you didn't mind one bit kissing his lips the moment he reached the railing.

"What are you doing here preciosa?? You should have worn a jumper over your dress, it's windy today.." he said smiling for the first time all day. Pablo never knew how you are doing it but he didn't care as long as it worked. You're heart melted how careful he was with you always.

"I heard you're being an angry bird today, so I decided to surprise you cariño..and I'll just grab your hoodie in the changing room if I'm cold" you said and he smiled shaking his head looking back at his teammates who pretended like they were not looking at your direction.

"They are cabróns! But I'm glad you're here now princesita.." Pablo said jumping the railing and sitting besides you pulling you closer and you rested your head on his shoulder feeling him kiss your hair.

"Why are you moody today Pablito??" you ask your small hand leaving light scratches on his veiny arms while his head rested on top of yours and he signs deeply.

"I'm not moody right now princesita.." he said and you smiled nodding your head glad that you could help in any way.

"I'll stay for the rest of the training if you want??" you said looking up and he smiled nodding his head and kissing your lips lovingly reminding you to grab his hoodie if you get cold.

"Te amo muchisimo princesita!" Pablo kissed your lips one more time before he had to return to the pitch to finish his exercises.

"Te amo Pablito!" you yell back seeing him pass his teammates pretending like he was still in the sour mood but then smiling to himself knowing that his whole day just brightened up the moment he saw your beautiful face.

When the training was finally over, you walked to him and he snaked his arms around your waist while his friends were standing with you to chat before changing.

"We knew she would stop you from being an asshole Pablito!" Ansu smirked high fiving Pedri who nodded his head smiling towards your blushing face.

"Stop calling me that cabrón!" Pablo said angrily once again and you smiled knowing you were the only one he let's call him that silly nickname.

"Can I call you that??" you looked up at him and his eyes once against softened while he nodded his head and pecked your lips lovingly.

"Only you princesita.." he said blushing a little when his friends awed teasingly flipping them off while kissing your head and you smiled nuzzling your nose into his neck.

"I have to thank you for coming too..he's transformed his skills mid training" Xavi said teasing Pablo as well who shook his head pretending to not like it but everyone knew that was not true.

"Not you too míster!" Pablo said and everyone laughed while you looked up seeing him smile down at you and pecking your lips lovingly before you walked towards the changing rooms excited to go home and spent some time alone.

I hope you like it! Angry bird Pablo >>>

[livingemkayde]

ch vi. bruises

joel miller x f!reader x unrequited!tommy miller (no outbreak AU)

chapter six of chaser

warnings: 18+ minors please dni. ooof okay where to start, smut unprotected p in v, mentions of bruising from sex? fighting like actual real life fist fighting, rough but sweet sex, grinding, lowkey some cockwarming?? kinda unwanted kissing, tommy being annoying and somewhat overbearing, and unwanted touching, but not sexual. caroline. just, caroline. because she deserves her own warning for this one. no use of y/n.

summary: everything comes to a head at tommy's birthday party.

a/n: this is genuinely the longest part/chapter thing i've ever written so enjoy. tommy is really annoying in this one, im still deciding if he's going to have a redemption arc. sorry this took so long. as always, i love you all so much. MY TUMBLR LITERALLY SHIT ITS PANTS WHEN I TRIED TO EDIT THE TAGLIST SO IM SORRY IF YOU GUYS GOT TAGGED LIKE 400 TIMES.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel says, almost a whisper. You’re still not sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy. You can't take your eyes off Tommy’s gaze. From the looks of it, Joel’s question makes Tommy more angry and way more confused.  “Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.”  But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen. 

You can almost remember it like it was yesterday. 

A few weeks back, the first time you invited Tommy in for a drink after dinner. Sarah was asleep back at the house, Joel was doing — god knows what. The sun was set, the mosquitoes were probably out, and there was a quiet, even maybe too quiet silence when Tommy pulled up to your house. 

He had asked what the rest of your plans were for the night. 

You had said nothing much, not knowing it was an invitation — he stayed till 2 a.m. that night. 

But it was okay. Because he made you laugh and you enjoyed his company. He was interesting. Tommy told you about how he never wanted to go into contracting in the first place. About his broken bones, his all time biggest regrets, how he was smitten with his old high school flame turned mean cheerleader until graduation. 

It was the first time you ever realized he was — well — his own person in the sense. Not just Joel’s younger brother. But Tommy. Tommy Miller. 

Maybe in another life Tommy might’ve even been good for you. A perfect pair — a match. He wasn’t mean and brooding and he certainly didn’t have 12 years on you. 

And he made you smile. And he was genuinely—genuinely interested in your life. Your post grad prospects, college, books, and even how you played soccer just like Sarah when you were younger.

But when he leaned in that night, closer to you than ever before. You froze. Like genuinely frozen, and you couldn’t even dare to look down to his slowly approaching lips, let alone how his arms caged you in. 

“First kiss?” you remember him asking.

You had just stuttered out nonsense, not wanting to breathe too hard and run the risk of pushing your lips flush with his. 

“I — um —” you nervously laughed. You couldn’t even think—not in the way you should—not when the first person that comes to mind when Tommy says, kiss is his brother. 

He had leaned in closer then—more tentative. Like you were a scared deer in headlights or a frightened kitten and he was inching forward, wanting to move closer. 

But you didn’t really do — anything. 

And he had pulled back a bit, gave you a teasing look and a ruffle on the head and continued with the conversation.  

In all honesty you were scared that he might've been inching forward to kiss you. The small fear settling through a slightly erratic heartbeat and nervous laughs. 

You were scared then, but can’t really remember the last time you’ve felt this kind of fear. 

Hurt, discomfort, shock, maybe. 

And although it was being quickly replaced with anger, you don’t remember this feeling — this kind of fear. Not even the kind you get from watching a scary movie — where you can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins and then dissipating when the screen goes dark, and the lights turn back on and all you have to worry about is if the scary nun from the big screen will appear in your dreams. 

You can remember all the last times you’ve gotten mad, sure. Mainly at the Miller brothers. 

But never fear — well, not until right now. 

Because whoever that Tommy was is definitely not the same guy staring back at you right now, with a bruised fist, an angry look swirled with hurt marked permanently on his face and one emotion that you can definitely place behind his eyes — jealousy. 

_

Some hours earlier. 

You spread colorful tablecloth over the mismatched tables in Joel’s backyard. The string lights are being hung up, Joel stands on a ladder towards your right, the sound of a hammer echoing through the small backyard. 

You pick your phone out of your back pocket, checking the time. You also find it in you to check Tommy’s texts again, but no other messages have been sent since last night. You look down at your phone — at the messages — and sit against one of the tables. 

Yesterday: 

You: can we talk in person?

Tommy Miller: I’ll see you tomorrow at the party?

You hadn’t seen the text until this morning, when Joel and you found it in yourselves to get out of bed, have a shower, and start setting up for the party. So when you saw it, you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat. 

You’re a bit nervous at the prospect. You did not want to talk to him at his party—honestly just trying to text him so that the air would be cleared for the party. 

But his words echo in your mind. 

“Just think ‘bout it before you say no.” 

You let out a cursed sigh. 

Tommy had to know. Right?

If he knew the dreaded ‘no’ was already braced on your lips he had to know. That this thing between you and Tommy would never work out. That you’re way better as friends. That it would ruin everything — the dynamics of it all — that you were smitten with his brother and you guys had just slept together for the second time without Tommy’s knowledge and that—

“Alright?”

Joel stands in front of you, dipping his head to see a scowl marked on your face. You quickly — maybe even too quickly — forget about the messages, hell, forget about Tommy. 

Because Joel looks handsome. He’s always handsome, you’ve thought since the moment you met him at the bar. There’s something intoxicating about him, his arms, the curve of his neck. His brooding nature does him justice — a uniqueness about him that makes you want to uncover more, learn more, see more. 

You remember last night—very vividly through small ebbs and flows of sleep. The moonlight seeped into your skin as you both rolled around in gray sheets. 

It makes your cheeks heat a bit at the thought. 

You remember everything. Every little detail. You don’t think you’ll ever forget. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket. 

“Yeah, sorry. ‘S just…” you trail off, he nods his head in understanding, coming closer to you. 

He braces his hands on either side of your body, caging you in. Your faces study each other’s mere inches apart. 

“Tablecloth givin’ you trouble?” Joel teases in a soft whisper, looking down at your lips, then back to your eyes. 

“Funny,” you say with a grin and run your tongue over your lips. 

“You need help, baby, all you gotta do is ask.” Joel’s small smile plays on his lips for a fleeting second. You miss it as soon as it’s gone. 

“Duly noted. But I’m not the one who’s been hanging up string lights for the past hour.”

He pats your ass a bit, teasing you and pushing out a playful sigh. 

“Perfection takes time.” 

Joel’s beginning to dip his head to kiss you, but you find it in you to bite back.

“And yet the left side’s still lower than the right,” you whisper, pulling your head back slightly. He turns quickly to look at the fence, but gives you a harder slap on your ass when he realizes the lights are, in fact, straight. 

Joel chuckles, pushing off from the table, you turn back around to continue fixing the cloths, and look back at him over your shoulder. 

He’s looking back at you too. 

“You’re killin’ me,” he says, and you smile to yourself when you turn back around. 

_

You look around the backyard and check your phone for the millionth time since the party started. You can hear Sarah running around, screaming a bit while jumping into the pool. But your brows furrow when you find that Tommy still hasn’t texted you. 

You spot a tuft of red hair swinging through your vision and spin to find Janet Baker squeezing through the crowd. 

“Janet!” you say, approaching her quickly. You’re happy to see her—Tommy didn’t invite many people you’re familiar with. 

“Hey, Doll. Thanks for the invite!” she says, pulling you into a quick hug, but when she sees the look on your face, her mouth drops into a frown. “Sweetie, you okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry. I—Tommy didn’t…I don’t really know anyone here,” you reply while sheepishly looking around the small, bustling backyard. It’s the kind of feeling you try your best to avoid. Like everyone is in on some secret joke that you have no clue about. Or everyone knows each other and you can’t even put faces to names because you don’t know any names—like right now. 

“‘S fine—I’m happy to see you made it,” you let out a defeated chuckle. 

“‘F course, baby. Charlotte really wanted to see Sarah,” she nods towards the girls in the pool, Charlotte’s red hair looking strikingly similar to the woman standing in front of you. Janet seems to be on her second drink of the afternoon, you saw her tipping back a solo cup out of the corner of your eye earlier. 

“What are you drinking?” you ask her, nodding at her cup. 

“Someone brought a fancy lookin’ wine I popped open,” she says, giving you a sly smile. “Why don’t we get you a drink? You’ll like this,” she says, you don’t have much time to react, she’s already pulling you towards the drink station. 

You both settle into a comfortable silence, looking around the backyard while Janet pours your drink. 

“So,” she says, giving you a wink. 

“So…” you echo, sending a nervous laugh her way. 

“Who’s that girl,” she nods towards Caroline while passing you a cup, you take a big sip, Janet fills it back up to the top without a second glance. 

“Caroline,” you say looking at her and Joel. They’re talking to some other people, a small group of them congregating by the barbecue. 

“Caroline…” Janet tests out on her tongue, willing you to continue. 

“Caroline—Joel’s,” you can’t help but chuckle. “date. I guess.” 

“That bother you?” she says, finishing the bottle of wine while the two of you walk back towards the edge of the pool so she can watch Charlotte and Sarah. 

“Nope,” you say, and it’s not a lie. Sure, it might be a little weird to see another woman clinging to his arm after yesterday. But you know now. And that’s all that matters. 

“Joel can—” you laugh again, “—Joel can do what he likes.” 

Janet stops walking suddenly. You tear your gaze away from Joel and look at her with a confused furrowed brow. 

“Sweetie…” she says with eyes that look way too knowing for your comfort or peace of mind. 

“Janet…?” you say, though her gaze just intensifies. 

“You mean to tell me it happened since I last saw you?”

Your eyes widen, a shocked look crosses your face and you quickly try to replace it with a bad mask of confusion. 

“W-what? I—” 

“Don’t lie to me, doll,” she warns, and she looks like she really means it. 

“Janet…” you say in a not as effective and halfhearted warning tone back. 

“Don’t you dare,” she wags her finger—a final warning. 

What has gotten into you and why can’t you find it in yourself to lie to this woman?

“Don’t te—” she gasps, “Janet, I mean it. Do not tell anyone.” 

She shuts her half open mouth and makes the my lips are sealed motion across her face. You laugh while stealing a glance at Joel. 

“I told you,” she whispers to you in a hush, joining your eyeline towards Joel.

You stay silent for a moment, just taking everything and everyone in—but at the same time just looking at Joel. when you finally break the silence you’re a bit shocked at your question. You’ve never talked about Joel like this with someone who actually knows him. Everything has always been a secret—like you were supposed to be ashamed or something. You never were.  

“How did you know?” you ask, hushed. You’re not sure she’ll even hear you. 

“Would love to say it was intuition, sweetie—but—it was him. It was written all over his face.” 

_

You stayed with Janet for the better portion of the hour, all through silent peaks at your phone to see if Tommy had texted you. When it was getting to the point where people were getting curious, you’ve just about had your limit. 

You approach Joel quickly, you don’t miss Caroline’s stunned face but you really can’t be bothered with—that—right now. 

“Joel?” you ask, pulling at his arm a bit, he excuses himself from the group and follows you towards the backyard's edge. 

“Where the hell is your brother?” you whisper.

“He’s not here?” he asks, the same hushed tone also pushing through his voice at your question. 

“No! I called him, but he’s not responding,” you pipe back while pulling out your phone. Though the lack of notifications from Tommy—just as before—tells you enough. 

You both look at each other for a fleeting second. But the same worried look is probably etched on both your faces — fuck. 

“This fuckin’ guy,” Joel mutters under his breath while pulling out his own phone and then putting it up to his ear. 

You pace around the small area you and Joel are in, observing the unfamiliar faces. 

“Nothin’,” Joel grovels, taking a peak over the fence towards the street to see if Tommy's truck has pulled up. “I’ll try ‘im again — just — you should mingle,” he says, still looking down at his phone. 

“‘S fine. I don’t really know anyone here anyways,” you say absentmindedly, looking through your phone for Tommy’s contact and putting your phone up to your ear. 

You hear yelling and shouting from the entrance to the backyard. You slowly lift your head, reluctant to tear your eyes away from frantic texts. 

You spot him, in all his glory. Tommy Miller. Two hours late to his own birthday party—though he looks like he couldn’t care less, hugging old friends and new ones. He spots your eyes in the crowd and you can’t even be bothered to smile, a frown is almost permanently placed on your face—Late to your own birthday party? 

He nods his head toward the house, a silent invitation to talk when he’s done greeting the guests. You nod back and turn to Joel, Tommy turns to everyone else. 

“He’s here,” you say, pulling Joel out of his own phone, he does a double take towards the entrance and huffs out a groan. 

“Goddamn idiot,” Joel says, running his palm over his eyebrow. 

“I’m gonna go—” you say, nodding towards the house, towards Tommy. 

“Yeah. Alright,” he replies, though he looks a bit concerned and unfocused, looking towards Tommy, then back to you, “You need me, ‘m there.”

“‘M not telling him about us on his birthday and It’s Tommy, Joel.” 

Tommy—harmless. 

Though Joel’s look sends a sweat to your palms for some reason. You don’t know why he’s worried. 

It’s Tommy. It’s fine. 

Right? 

You hope as much as you make your way through the crowd. You beeline for the house and slip past the sliding doors into the kitchen where cups and bags of chips lay open and equally sprawled. 

You can hear the door slide open and shut again behind you as you try and salvage the mess. 

“Baby,” Tommy says, rounding the corner and coming close to you, “‘M sorry. The concrete guy was supposed to drop off the shipment tomorrow but he came today and needed a signature—” 

“Tommy, it’s okay,” you almost have to will yourself to say. You also have to remember it’s his birthday. 

He looks down. 

“‘S okay. It’s your birthday. Happy birthday,” you reassure with a small smile. 

“Looks great out there,” he says, fiddling with his phone in his hand. 

“Thanks.” 

You’re suddenly a bit nervous. You hadn’t really thought about everything that had happened when Tommy being late to his own birthday party was blanketing all the drama. But he’s here now, and you have no idea what to say. Maybe it would be better to not say anything at all—not address the fact that he asked you out, or you and Joel. But that guilty gnawing feeling eats you alive the longer you stand in silence. 

“Joel helped you?” 

“Yeah. I went shopping yesterday and dropped off the stuff here then we set it up this morning,” you say, nodding towards the backyard and then your car parked out front. 

“You went shopping on your own?” he almost sounds offended. 

“I wanted to go on my own.” 

Tommy doesn't look convinced. 

“Really, T. ‘S fine,” you brush off, leaning back against the kitchen counter and crossing your arms. He stares at you from the other side of the kitchen. 

“Caroline here?” he asks, a hesitant look on his face as he switches from looking at the ground to your face—almost like he’s looking for a reaction. 

“She’s out there somewhere,” you nod, keeping a neutral face masked with a small smile. “You should mingle. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright.” 

But he doesn’t move, he just keeps fiddling with the case on his phone again, looking down to the floor—his feet. 

“I— you said you wanted to talk in person.” 

Shit. 

You both look at each other, waiting. A game of cat and mouse. 

“It can wait, T. Enjoy your party,” you say, gesturing to the crowd outside. 

“Is it about—is it about what happened Friday?” 

“Tommy,” you say, almost warningly. This situation is shitty enough as is. You really don’t want to spoil everything—even if there’s nothing left to spoil. 

He doesn’t say anything. His thumb fiddling with his phone is the only sound coming from inside the kitchen. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Almost unbearable. You crack way quicker than you’d hope to last. 

If he wants it like this, at his own birthday party, then so be it. 

“Fine. I just—I wanted to…” you scramble for words but they jumble in your mind. 

“I’m—” you fall short again. “About what you said. What you asked me. I don’t think that it’s…something I want. I’m—sorry.” 

“You don’t think it’s something you want? Or you know that—” 

“Tommy,” you say, giving him an awkward stifled laugh. Like he’s being childish with his response. Because he is. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”

He turns away from you suddenly, towards the window above the sink and just stares at it for a long time. You can see his chest puffing. When he finally turns back around, it’s different. It’s the Tommy you know. 

“‘S okay,” He says. 

Maybe he’ll get over it quickly—you hope. 

“Are you okay? I’m—I mean I hope that this doesn’t change anything since I’m still gonna be around—” you lift your arm up to run a ragged hand across your forehead and through your hair, you don’t even notice that your shirt riding up, “— I just don’t want it to like—” 

“What is that?” 

Your eyes snap to Tommy’s, confused. You think he might be looking out the window again but his eyes trail to you, but lower. Like he’s looking at your hips—because he is. You’re still confused for a second, before examining your shirt, looking for stains or anything out of the ordinary. But you don’t find anything, your top spotless. 

“What? I don’t—” 

“No—” he takes a couple quick steps forward, into your space, you try to find his eyes—yours blown out with confusion and shock but his are trained and laser focused to your waistline. 

“What’s—” he tries to pull up your shirt, you shove him back out of reflex. “You’re hurt, what happened t’you?” 

He almost pins down your hands to see your skin under your shirt, dipping his head to look at your waist and hips and you suddenly know. You know there are hand shaped bruises littered across the skin of your waist, turning it deep purple. Handprints that match Joel’s exactly—almost like they’re burned into you. You saw it this morning. It’s why you didn’t bother to put on a swimsuit and decided to keep a top on instead. 

What’s even worse is you know Tommy saw it too. 

“Tommy!” you’re yelling now, fighting his grip. 

You slip up, unable to get a good hold on his wrist like he now has on yours and he pushes the shirt up to reveal the bruises. 

“What the hell is that?” 

“Fucking—get off!” he backs away with your second shove, a different kind of look on his face. “Jesus,” you huff out, yanking your shirt back down. 

You both stand there. A pregnant silence between you. You can almost hear the gears turning, he stares blankly. Putting it all together. Like maybe you’re not hurt, but you wanted it—wanted it from another man. Somewhere in the back of his mind he might keep wishing someone hurt you so he didn’t have to feel so betrayed. So when he asks, it’s like he doesn’t want to admit that it’s true—the quiet possibility of someone else in the picture. 

“Who,” he says slowly, pointing down to your waist, “did that?”

“Tommy—” you say, but footsteps cut you off, you both turn your head to the entrance of the kitchen as Joel rounds the corner. He looks out of breath and his eyes flicker from Tommy and his finger pointing down at your waist then back to you. 

“We alright in here?” Joel stands, hesitant, his fingers play with the bottom hem of his shirt in an anxious way. Like he doesn't know what he’s just walked in on—you’re not entirely sure you know the answer to that either. You aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy so you stay silent, waiting for the man in front of you to respond. 

“Yup,” Tommy replies, too angry to be believable. 

Joel looks at you but he doesn’t say anything. Not out loud. 

No. You try to say with your eyes. We are definitely not alright in here. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Joel says, almost a whisper. You’re still not sure if he’s talking to you or Tommy. You can't take your eyes off Tommy’s gaze. From the looks of it, Joel’s question makes Tommy more angry and way more confused. 

“Joel,” you say, trying to look for any indication in Tommy’s face that he’s not going to go bat shit crazy. “‘S fine. We’re okay.” 

But Joel doesn’t listen. Because he’s Joel Miller and maybe you can’t see it right now, but you can hear the concern dripping off his tone—an indication that he won’t ever leave. Not now. So he stalks towards you both and you try to shake your head no, and he doesn’t listen. 

He stands beside you, putting a flat sprawled palm on Tommy’s chest and silently tries to push him backward. But Tommy breaks first, pushing Joel’s hand off him, staggering back while looking at you and Joel.

And maybe he gets it then, you think. Because Tommy lets out a deep chuckle—like you’ve got clown makeup on. Like he’s never seen anything more funny. He’s a lot of things but he is not fucking stupid. So he looks past Joel to your eyes. To your face, almost covered—ridden—in guilt and he can see everything. 

“Really?” Tommy says, not sparing Joel a glance. 

“You put your fuckin’ hands on her?” Tommy says, almost at a whisper which makes it all the more intimidating. You can see Joel’s back puff, his anger rising. But you also know Joel would never hurt his brother. Not on purpose.

But you’re scared. You’re really fucking scared in this moment because Tommy is entirely too worked up and you know whatever excuse Joel is going to say won’t help. 

“Easy,” Joel says, his voice cutting through the tense silence. 

You’re sweating. The hot summer of July in Austin getting to you. They stare at each other for a long time. Like at the kitchen table, like when you all first met. But this time, Tommy breaks, and his eyes flicker to yours, he takes a tiny step to the side so he can see you better. 

“Is this why? Is this why you’re fuckin’—jesus, fuck. ‘S this why he went to get you a tire?” you stand, you can’t really say anything, your stunned figure doesn’t move.  

“He hurt you,” Tommy breathes out, his voice almost breaking if he wasn’t so angry. You shake your head. 

You both know that the bruises aren’t from hurt. That they’re far from it. 

“He didn’t,” you reply. 

“No, no, baby. He’s—you’re—” Tommy almost looks like he can’t believe it, shaking his head, switching between you and Joel. The look you give him shuts him up, and makes him back away, until Joel unclenches his fists and relaxes his shoulder a fraction. 

“I didn’t really want to tell you like this, I was—” 

“Fucking my brother?” he bites back, interrupting you. 

That makes you a bit mad. You’re not in love with his attitude, nor his tone. It’s not like he has any right. It’s not like either of them do. 

Joel moves to speak but you do it first. 

“Don’t give me that,” you say, almost laughing, though the situation is not funny, not in the slightest. “We’re not dating, Tommy. We never were.” 

Caroline strides in at that, looking at the scene unfolding in the kitchen. She stops short of the three of you, her mouth slightly agape. You roll your eyes, fucking perfect. Let’s just bring the party in here instead. You’ll give it to the woman. She has impeccable timing.

“Needed some napkins…” she trails off, holding the empty napkin stand in her right hand up so everyone can see. “I—I can come back.”

“Did you know?” Tommy turns to her, gesturing to you and Joel. 

“Tommy,” Joel says from in front of you, a warning. Tommy ignores him. 

“Did you know?” he asks again, Caroline stares back shocked. But she does consider it, rolls the idea around in her head before speaking. 

“Them two?” Tommy nods. “Her?” 

Okay. You really don’t love that tone. You silently chastise yourself for thinking she was nice at the bar when your first instinct was that she was a bitch—because she is. You were waiting for her snarky undertones or spoiled takes to show. You knew it was coming, you just didn’t know when. 

“No, ‘f couse not.” She’s almost laughing, like it could never be possible. It hits you harder than you’ll ever admit. “She’s — you’re…young,” she says, looking at you. 

Tommy gestures to you and Joel like he’s saying, well believe it, because it’s true.

Joel moves faster than you can comprehend. He’s got a tight grip on Tommy’s arm. He probably doesn’t even have to say anything, Tommy knows what’s happening. But Joel warns him anyway—again. 

“Quit,” he growls. You’d guess this might be the point where Tommy usually backs down. But this situation is far from usual. 

“Or what?” Tommy bites back. When Joel doesn’t respond he continues. “You gonna mark me up? Leave me all black and blue?” 

Tommy doesn’t stop there, you try to move past Joel but he stops you, turns his head to you slightly, a hardened look in his eye.

“Oh, I forgot you’d probably like that, huh?” 

Joel remains frozen for a couple fleeting seconds before whipping around and pushing Tommy into the back counter. You’re rooted to your place, you don’t even care that Caroline is still in the corner, holding the fucking napkin holder in the air. 

“What’d you say?” Joel barks in Tommy’s face. 

“Look at her fuckin’ stomach, dude!” Tommy throws the words in his face, pushing him back slightly and making a vague gesture in your direction, it causes your feet to move towards the brothers before you can think. 

Joel backs off then, sneaking a tiny glance at you out of the corner of his eye, like he really is thinking about the marks he left on your waist. He had seen them this morning, ran his fingers over them too, and saw how the notches matched the curves of his fingers perfectly. But you kissed him, and told him it was okay. That it was more than okay. Maybe even whispered that you liked it between muffled groans. So when a glint of guilt flashes in his eyes it makes your heart break more than it already has. 

“She said no,” Joel says, looking back at Tommy. A tense silence follows—like you’re not sure if Joel is going to continue or Tommy is going to bite back.

“Get back to your party,” Joel growls after a while. You bite your lip.

Tommy looks at Joel with unwavering eyes. His glance turns towards the window where he can see the bustling crowd—can almost hear the laughter. Then he looks down to his hand, outstretches it, undoes his gnarly fist, and when it curls back up again, you finally bite. 

“Tommy!” you say, moving closer. But it’s too late. Joel’s figure knocks to the side and his hand instinctively grabs his face, his nose, his eye. Maybe the worst part about it all is that Joel doesn’t even look remotely surprised, or that he wants to fight back—he just stays there, a little hunched over when you yelp in shock and Tommy groans, shaking out a now bruised fist. 

“Fuck,” you almost yell, your body doesn’t know what to do between bending down to see Joel’s face and looking at Tommy—at his face—because you don’t recognize him. 

Joel almost huffs out a laugh, and to shut him up, to get him to bite his tongue, you speak again. 

“Okay. We’re done here,” you say, pushing Joel towards the entrance of the house, towards your car. 

And Caroline is there, pushing Tommy towards the couches and for the first time, you’re grateful for her. 

_

The ride back to your house is silent after a short and quick bicker about who can drive. You think Joel might want to sit in the driver's seat so you can’t see the quickly forming bruises on the left side of his face but you make a decent argument, enough to settle him in the passengers—looking out the window. 

You send Janet a quick text, asking if she can watch Sarah for a few hours. Brother emergency. Janet replies back and says the girls haven’t gotten out of the pool since you left. It makes you smile a bit, despite it all. 

When you park in your driveway, you hop out quickly, Joel following closely behind. He waits there, right behind you, when you pull out your house keys, and waits when you unlock the deadbolt and waits when you push through the door. 

“Make yourself at home,” you say, nodding towards the couches and dropping your keys in the bowl. 

You disappear into the kitchen and brace your arms on the counter, your head hanging between your shoulders. You let out a deep, ragged breath and try to control your heartbeat. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, shaking out your wrists, grabbing two advil from the bottle on your counter, a glass of water, and peas from freezer.  

Joel’s sitting on the loveseat, looking down at his hands. You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either. He just takes the water and pills from your hands and swallows it silently. You extend the peas to him, he thinks about it for a while and when you shake them again, huffing, saying—just fucking take them. He finally obliges. 

You get a good look at his cheek when he turns to set the water down on the table and you have to stop yourself from gasping. 

“Joel,” you murmur, reaching for him, bending down, he stops you, grabs your wrist, then grabs your hand. But he’s gentle. Not like Tommy. Joel’s gentle. 

“‘S fine,” he says, and winces when the peas touch his face. “‘M fine.”

You settle in between his legs, looking down at him. He’s got one hand on his face, holding the peas, and the other, wrapped around the back of your thigh. He doesn’t even want to look up at you. It breaks your heart. 

“‘M sorry,” you say quietly, his hand on your thigh trails upward. He plays with the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to take a peek at the purple that lies there. 

He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, running a gentle, ghost-like touch across the bruises. 

“He — saw it. I don’t…” you look down to your stomach. You can see the shape of his fingertips so clearly. It’s no wonder Tommy reacted how he did. “It was an accident.”

He doesn’t nod. Doesn’t shake his head. He tosses the peas onto the table and pushes the cotton of your shirt up further, to where he can see all of it—all the black and blue there. 

“Are you mad?” you whisper, hesitantly, as he stares at his own hands, his own branding. 

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Don’t be,” you say, begging, “Please.”

“He did that cause—,” you breathe out, taking his chin in your pointer finger and thumb and getting your first good look at his cheek, “—it’s-’s my fault, I should’ve—”

“C’mon. Don’t do that,” he says, cutting you off, nipping your apology in the bud, “I should be the one who’s sorry, this is — I hurt you.” 

You shake your head. 

“You know that’s not—you know that I—” you stifle a short chuckle. 

“That you what?”

You let out a couple hot breaths, looking down at him, the purple around his eye slowly taking shape. 

“That I liked it.” 

Joel bends forward then, and you gasp. The dull scratch of his beard is the only thing keeping your eyes open. He trails his hot breath across your stomach, and leaves gentle kisses on your sides, on your bruises.

“Joel,” you mumble, and you hate how your voice sounds so breathy, maybe even desperate. You tangle your hands in his hair, grasping at the nape of his neck he pulls you down, closer, so you’re slotted in his lap, straddling him. Joel pulls back and looks at your face, brushes the fallen hair from your eyes. 

“I meant what I said,” you start, he furrows his brow, “Still—mean it.”

From the look in his eyes he knows what you’re talking about. The words you slipped into his ear last night.

‘S you, Joel — it’s-’s always been you.

“But if this is—if Tommy—” you cut yourself off, correcting your words, “If I messed it up—” 

“Sweetheart,” he says. Your heart pulls, you almost put your hand on his cheek, but you see the rising skin and settle for his shoulder. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He pulls you down further, so you’re flush against him. He studies your eyes and rubs at your waist, your hips. It sends a little fire down between your thighs. 

“‘M here—‘M…I’m right here,” he mumbles, and shakes his head. Like he’s telling you no to any silent thoughts of doubt that might be floating around your head. 

And then he pulls your head down to kiss you. 

It’s needy, and hot and everything you want at this moment. He’s everywhere and you can feel his growing arousal between your legs. You both needed this—you think. After everything, after—fucking—Caroline and Janet Baker and Tommy Miller. You both needed each other so bad that when you grind down onto him he lets out a little desperate groan into your mouth that spurs you on. 

Joel slips his hand under your shirt and finds the hardened peak there. He pinches it and rolls it between his fingers, it sends your hips forward and suddenly he’s sitting up, and shucking your shirt off. 

He grabs your hips and moves you against him, your most vulnerable spots grinding against each other. Giving you both blown out eyes and puffy lips and panting breath. 

“Sh–it,” you gasp when your shorts catch on your clit perfectly. 

“Pretty,” he says, grasping at your tits, at anything he can find while you grind against his length. “fuckin’—pretty like this.”

You claw at his belt and before you know it, he’s lifting you up so you’re on your knees and he’s pulling his pants past his hips. You get the memo and take your shorts off, tossing them behind you. When you sink back down onto his lap, you can feel his cock slip between your wet lips down there. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you say, gliding along his cock, soaking it. You can feel all of him now—grinding along his hardness—the girth of him fitting perfectly between your swollen lips. 

“Angel,” Joel pants out, through sloppy kisses. You look at him. He’s got a desperate look on his face. Like he couldn’t wait just like you. Not even to get upstairs to your bedroom or to get all his clothes off. Like he’s been wanting this all day. Just like you. 

You move up and reach down, feeling the wet mess you’ve both made down between your legs. You find his cock, hard and wanting, and position it at your entrance. The head sinks past your walls, enveloping it somewhere deeper and you both groan at the feeling. 

You sink down on him slowly, you’re by no means physically ready to take him. But you can’t wait any longer. He kisses you, and down to your neck, making it easier to ease yourself down onto him, and when you finally reach the end, and you’re seated fully in his lap, you both gasp. 

Your walls clench around him, eliciting a quiet groan from Joel somewhere near your neck. Your eyes roll back in your head, your forehead drops onto his shoulder. You both just sit there, waiting for the other to make a move. 

It’s kind of like a game. 

See how long you can both relish in each other’s warmth — the first person who moves loses. 

Your walls tighten again and he lets out another groan, “Jesus,” he mumbles, nipping at your neck. You’re slowly adjusting to him, relaxing around him. It makes you shudder. 

You realize he’s not really touching you. He’s got his hands on your thighs, but they’re just resting there. Not squeezing or gripping your hips like you know he so desperately wants. Maybe he’s scared, you think. From everything that’s happened today. From the consequences his touch barred. 

But you didn’t care about the consequences. You liked his touch, needed his touch, just as much as he needed something to hold him back down to earth, anchor him to you—in you. And afterall, you just want him to feel good. Feel better. 

“Touch me,” you gasp out, reaching down to his hands. 

“Am touchin’ you,” he forces out, panting near your ear. His thumb absentmindedly pushes down on the skin of your thigh a fraction harder and then eases up, like he’s saying this is the best I can do. 

“No, Joel,” you moan, rock your hips a little, moving first, moving frantically and suddenly, “touch me,” you say into his neck, reaching down to usher his hands to your hips, your waist, you. 

Joel gets it then, the silent permission. The it’s okay, and grips you harder, but not as hard as you know he would like. It’s good enough for you because he moves your hips, rocking you up and down onto his length—having enough of the senseless grinding. 

“Fuckin’ good—” Joel groans, your hands fly to his shoulders, his hair. “You feel good.” 

Your legs grow tired, he can tell. You try your best, but you’re sweaty and tired and fucked out, and when he hits a spot deeper inside you that makes you moan out, louder than before, and you almost collapse onto him. He ruts into you a little. Meeting you halfway. Fucking you deeper—maybe even a bit faster. 

Your legs ache and you feel a sheen of sweat wash over both of you. And Joel’s eye is fucked up, his cheek too. Tommy is sitting back at the house—or god knows where—with a possible broken hand, Janet baker is watching Sarah instead of you or Joel, Caroline is still back at the house, and everything is a fucking mess, but it’s so right. He feels so right. He’s — he’s right. 

You’re close then, the coarse hair on him inching you toward your climax. He knows, he can feel it from the inside. You don’t even have to say it this time, your question for his permission. He can see it already braced on your lips but he shuts you up with a kiss, a sloppy one, where he sticks his tongue into your mouth and your walls tighten around him again. 

“Yes,” he says with a moan into your mouth, “yes, yes—ah.”

“Fuck,” you say tightening around him, becoming breathless and boneless, but Joel holds you up. He always does. 

He grips you tighter, like how you know he wanted to, and you relish in the feeling. His thrusts become desperate and you brace yourself on the back of the couch so he can rut up deeper, chasing after his own orgasm. You can’t really breathe. Not when he’s everywhere. 

“Shit,” he says, rocking into you. 

Joel cums hard, holding onto you, wrapping you up in his arms as he groans somewhere near your temple. You let it spread through you, the mess of it all. He keeps you locked in his arms, even when you think he might pull away. 

He finally pulls you off him, when he says it becomes too much and you sit on his lap, playing with his curls. When you both settle from your panting you can’t help but ask.

“What are we gonna do?” you say quietly to him. 

“I dunno,” he grabs your hand and gives it a quick kiss. The bruise on his face is turning an ugly shade of purple. And the peas have gone warm, creating a small puddle on the coffee table. And your phone keeps buzzing from the entryway. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, running a hand on your thigh. 

_

taglist! comment or message me if you want to be added. kisses!

@going-to-californiaxx @gintheginger @daddy-din @earthtogrogu @rooney-verse @ratoonstown @skysmiller @pedritosdarling @lovely-ateez @pluzo @spongebobspooploop @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tsunamistorm123 @awhoreforalotofshows @disassociation-daydreams @violinchick @rhoorl

@yoongjennie88 @untamedheart81 @noisynightmarepoetry @joelsversion @vanillen @brujitafantomatico @cartoon-garbage04 @jpbplvr @whattownheadshake @beccerjune @pedrotonin @sen-mirjahaal @awesomebunnyqueen @bluetattoos

@siimiasoi @fandomscollide @lizzie-cakes @paleidiot @sunnywithachanceofjavi @koshkaj-blog @sunnysaphira @bbyanarchist @casa-boiardi @anavatazes @joeldjarin @l0vem3n @lmariephoto37 @turtles-all-the-way-d0wn @withasideofmeg @dinwifey @brinabees @sofiparallel @akah565 @defnotashifter @missgurrl @anoverwhelmingdin @rainbowcosmicchaos @pedropascalissofine @purplemechanics @suzmagine @hellaradd @josephine1837 @lawh0re @medic332 @lisaneedsbraces @angelmather1 @kirsteng42 @poodlebae @lunxramour

[wiseabsol]

So I'm not going to pretend I wasn't shocked by James Somerton being a huge plagiarist and by him spreading misinformation, because I very much was and am deeply disappointed by it, especially because I signed up for his Patreon recently. However, this does clear up a few things I found...weird...about his content, but glossed over:

At one point I went, "Huh, he uploads a lot of really long videos really quickly. Most essayists don't produce content this fast. And wasn't he struggling to make enough money to support his channel? Maybe he got through a rough patch and had a lot of these videos in the pipeline already?" -> Well now I know why this was!

In retrospect, he doesn't seem to have his own writing style or a writing style geared towards the average Youtube audience, which now makes sense because he's just quoting academic essays about these subjects.

His discussion of asexuality was...not great. I actually came away from it being rather upset, because he used the, "Well how can you know if you don't like sex if you haven't had it?" which is a common way to pressure asexuals into participating in acts they're not interested in. It reflected a lack of critical thought and research about asexuality and it hurt to hear from someone who was supposed to be an ally.

So yeah. Not happy to learn this about Somerton, but it makes a ton of sense. Ooof.

[nctsplug02]

ooof abs riding johnny! man gets turned on seeing y/n wearing his button up shirt, tells her to sit on him and continues to unbutton the shirt leaving it open with her tits right in his face. he leaves loads of marks on her chest

[1:59AM]

GENRE: fluff and smut

WARNINGS: ab riding, hickeys, mafia mob boss!johnny (because we love it, tf), spanking, mentions of alcohol and breast play/nipple play.

you wake up to branches scratching at your window and the wind howling. you pat around to find your giant husband only for him not to be where he was when you’d fallen asleep hours before.

“johnny?” you sit up and rub your eyes, trying to focus on the light creaking from the crack of the door. you tut and slip out of bed, grabbing the white button up johnny had thrown on the floor after coming home from a mission.

you slip your arms through the long sleeves and button up the shirt, leaving a few of them undone. you grab the door handle and drag it open until you can walk out freely.

“johnny?” you call again, arms hugging your waist as you walk down the steps.

and, there he was. sitting on the couch with the furnace on. the wood cackled and popped.

johnny clears his throat and sets his drink aside. “baby,” you appear in front of him. “hey, baby. why’re you up?” you let out a sound of tiredness and straddle him. “didn’t feel your big’ol arms around me, that’s why.” you snuggle into his broad chest.

“aren’t you a charm.” his hands move down to your ass and gives it a soft squish. “johnny!” you squeal, jerking up and then falling back in place. “what? don’t like your butt being touched anymore? i swear, you were loving me spanking just this morning?” you whine and smack his chest.

johnny begins to lightly smack your ass with open palms. “johnny! my ass still hurts from this morning! don’t be a dick!” he chuckles and lands a harsh spank on your ass. “so, i’m a dick, now? this morning i was a piece of shit and where did that get you?”

a pout forms on your lip when the dom side of johnny comes out, again. “i got a spankin’ because good girls don’t say bad words towards their doms.” johnny hums. “and what’d you do to get a spanking?” you huff, “i called you a piece of shit for not letting me eat breakfast in bed. but, the breakfast was nice— thank you.”

“clearly your haven’t learned your lesson but.. i guess i’ll let it slide. and, thank you for saying the breakfast was good.” you chuckle and lean against his chest.

you yelp and sit up when feeling his palm land on your ass, again. “babe! my ass is sore, stop!” johnny frowns and pushes your hands away from your bruised ass. “i’ll rub it to make it feel better, yeah?”

johnny cups your ass cheeks and starts rubbing your cheek, softly pinching the meat. johnnys grip becomes tighter on your ass as he lifts you and slowly drops you down. he repeats that several times and finally, you give up and sit up with a whine.

“johnny, you’re turning me on.” johnny smirks and brings his hand to your jaw. “am i? you like feeling your pussy rub on my dick through my pants?” johnny nods your head and makes your lips more pouty.

“you want my dick, baby?” this time, you nod by yourself. “well, that’s too bad. you called me a dick so, you will not get my dick. take this as a lesson.” you watch as his eyes lurk down to your chest area.

“you look so gorgeous in my shirt.” his fingers mess with the buttons before he undoes the last four buttons in a quick motion. “johnny!” you gasp and look down to see your breasts nearly spilling out. “you act as if i’ve never seen you naked— im your husband.” you bite your lip and look away nervously.

johnny holds your hips and pushes them forward and then back. “i want you to keep rubbing your pussy on my dick, can you do that.” you nod and johnny does as well. “good.”

johnny brings a hand up to your right cheek and rubs it with his thumb pad. “keep rubbing that desperate pussy on my dick— show me how much you want me.”

your hips begin to go crazy, your jaw drops as you let out breathy pants. “j—babe,” you pant and lean back, hands behind you and on his knees, propping you up. “i—im close.” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

johnny grins and pushes the button up down your shoulders, letting it pool around your wrist. “ah, these perfect breasts.” johnny squeezes your breasts and pinches your nipples. “c’mere,” he tugs you up and ducks his head, letting his mouth wrap around your nipple, sucking onto the bud.

“oohh, johnny!” you cry out and hug his head. you feel him release your nipple and you feel him suck on the valley of your breasts. johnny sucks and allows the blood to rise to the surface of your soft skin. “i—im cumming!” you whine.

your fingers tug on johnnys hair as you toss your head back and let your orgasm take over. “j—?!” your head snaps back straight and johnny glares at you. “need you to be quiet, got it? don’t forgot how many people live in this house.” you nod and roll your eyes, again as another pulse of pleasure hits your clit.

johnny catches your head as it drops forward. “sleepy?” you nod with fluttering eyes. “let’s go to bed?” you nod, again.

johnny places his hand under your thighs and lifts you up, letting your legs dangle as he carefully carries you upstairs. “johnny?” he hums as he sets you on the bed. “can i have a glass of water? you gave me a glass earlier before you left but.. after you left, i threw it down the sink. i’m sorry.” johnny can’t help but to smile at your confession.

“i won’t punish her.” his mind says.

johnny presses a kiss on your forehead and leaves the room. he grabs a glass and fills it up like he normally does and brings it up to you, only for you to be knocked out cold.

he joins you in bed and as he gets comfortable, he phone pings. “who is up this late.” clearly, you and him but that’s besides it. he grabs his phone and checks it— it’s a notification from haechan.

VIDEO ATTACHMENT

johnny clicks the video and sighs when seeing a video of you tossing your head back and moaning while holding johnnys head to your chest.

johnny doesn’t even finish the video before shutting off his phone while rubbing his eye with a soft chuckle. “that little shit.” he exhales and cuddles with you.

“you better kick his ass tomorrow.” you mutter and he laughs aloud.

[riverbutghost]

Can you write a one shot where Y/n is self harming and how Simon is reacting to that?

This is my first request!!!!!!!

Also, I’m so so so sorry for this, this isn’t how i expected it to turn out, also I have a severe migraine right now and can’t look at screen too much. I wrote it super fast. Apologies, and promise that i’ll write more soon.

Go ahead and request with an angst prompt !!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN!Reader

Summary: You used to self harm, but after attending military you stopped. Certain someone made you break, though.

Warnings: Graves is an asshole, no touching but cat calling?, Self harm, depression topics, kind of ooc simon, mentions of suicide…

Even though you were feeling down lately, your friends were always there for you. You knew it.

Your mental health wasn’t always perfect, and you knew it would take a while to heal. But even after healing, you knew it would always come back.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m glad you chose me to vent about it.”

It was always easy to vent to Soap, he would always make you chuckle or smile.

“It’s cool y’know? I know why you’re feeling this way. But it will always get better.”

Gaz would pat your hair, cuddle you a little like a brother and give you a chocolate. He would make you smile.

Simon wasn’t there usually. And no, you wouldn’t seek comfort from him either way. You knew the man wasn’t a people person, and he wouldn’t do anything other than getting annoyed.

So after your mission went smoothly, everyone wanted to celebrate and drink. Not you for sure.

You weren’t feeling good and stable so you politely declined. This, of course drew your friends’ attention. You just told them you were tired, because you didn’t want them to miss out on their time. They finally accepted and left the base to have fun.

You, on the other hand wasn’t feeling too well. It was overwhelming, to feel that way after a success.

“Congratulations, soldier. But you missed your shot. It was a stupid thing to do, the target wasn’t even moving ahahah.”

You furrowed your eyebrows after remembering your commander’s words. Graves, he was something. He would constantly pick on you, even though he had told you he liked you. You couldn’t understand him, was he that kind of person who would bully their crushes? Yeah, no.

You shook your head, clearing your mind of those thoughts. You needed a bath, and the base was empty. You smiled to yourself weakly. This was going to be a long shower.

You closed your door, but didn’t lock it. You didn’t care because the base was empty. You stripped off your clothes and got in.

-

“Is she okay?”

Simon furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

Soap rolled his eyes and cursed through the phone. He told him your name, and Simon cursed himself too.

“Didn’t know she was here,”

Simon swore that he heard Soap rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, I gotta go. Don’t get wasted, yeah?”

Simon didn’t wait for an answer before shutting the phone down. He got up and went to his bathroom, ready to take a shower. He locked the door before pulling his mask off.

He got in, warm water immediately softening his tense shoulders. He sighed and closed his eyes.

-

You had decided to grab something from the kitchen before combing your hair. So here you were, eating an apple while going to your room.

“Ooof, here you are.”

You stopped dead in your tracks after someone grabbed your shoulders from behind.

“Our talk was interrupted,”

You swallowed and smiled at him, even though his eyes were raking up and down your body. You shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, uhm- yeah. I don’t see you like that-“

His hands moved to your waist and you gasped quietly.

“C’mon, we both know what you want. Don’t resist it.”

You pushed him hard enough to let him off and he just snorted.

“I told you. I don’t want you, Graves.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Is that why you wear these shorts huh? Why your hair is wet and free? Don’t play dumb, you want it. Don’t worry, even if you’re bad in bed it would worth it and I won’t tell anyone.”

He winked and that was the final straw. You kicked him in his crotch, and pushed him with all your force. He groaned and gritted his teeth.

“Fuckin’ bitch. You’re gonna regret that!”

You just walked hurriedly to your room and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t know when, but you had started crying. You sat down in front of your door and cried silently.

When you realized you had dropped your apple there, you started crying harder.

“Fuck,”

You sniffled and gripped your phone. But you couldn’t, they were having fun and you wouldn’t dare to ruin it.

You closed your eyes, tried doing the breathing techniques your therapist had taught you.

“I can’t believe you’re our teammate now, you should be a model.”

“I can keep you company, you know?”

“But you’re asking for it.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend? Such a shame, you have a good physique.”

“Believe me sweetheart, no one would talk to you if you weren’t that beautiful.”

“That pretty face is missing something, a smile?”

“Oh my God, be a lady and bow down to me will you? ahahah..”

“Fuck!”

You quickly got up, the voices in your head were ringing and ringing. Graves’ voice was ringing. It kept getting louder.

You opened your drawer and took out your knife, and held it in your hand for a second.

The voices are going to stop, you thought. It will get better if I do this, you convinced yourself.

You cut your wrist, hands shaky from the panic attack. Your breaths were unstable, shallow.

You cut your wrist again, the voices were now getting weaker.

“What the fuck is going on?!”

You jumped forward with the knife in your hand. Simon gasped for a second before holding you and looking at you.

“What happened?!”

Simon shook your shoulders, not knowing what to do. You were just as shocked as him, and didn’t move a muscle.

Simon’s eyes went up to your hair and down to your feet. His breath shook as he noticed the blood dropping from your cuts.

“What the- What did you do?!”

Simon quickly took the knife and threw it across the room, then he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom.

He put you down to the floor of the shower cabin and washed your face.

“Wait here, ‘kay? I’ll be back.”

He quickly went back to his room, grabbed the first aid kit and came rushing back.

He carefully took your wrist, inspected it and worked on it quietly.

You were still in shock, eyes looking empty at the ground. It was all so quick, and your mind wasn’t comprehending it.

Simon called your real name and you suddenly looked up. It was like a switch. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at your wrist.

“Oh my God- I fuck!”

“Shh-“

You silently cried as he bandaged your wrist, thankfully you didn’t cut that deep.

After a minute or so, he got up and picked you up. He went towards your bed, and put you down. He sat down as well.

“Why? I don’t understand anything.”

You swallowed and looked down.

“I was suicidal before. And it just, I don’t know. I got triggered I guess.” You mumbled and shrugged.

Simon just narrowed his eyes. How could you be so calm about it?

“But what happened? What triggered it?”

You sighed as you let yourself down on your mattress.

“Don’twannatalkaboutit.”

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“What? Speak up soldier. C’mon now, you know you can talk to me.”

“Graves…”

Simon shot up.

“What did that fucker do?!”

You just sighed and curled up more.

“Nothing,I-“

Simon quickly got out of your room, leaving you speechless and scared. You were scared to be alone, and scared that Graves would say some shit and Ghost would believe them.

You just closed your eyes and sighed again, suddenly fee exhausted and tired.

It was so quick, so fast like it was a dream.

“What the fuck just happened..” You mumbled to yourself.

Soon enough, Simon came back. He knocked on your door and you mumbled for him to come in.

“Took care of it.”

Your heart broke a little after that. Not in a bad way, you might add.

“Thank you. I’m just exhausted, I guess. Never really thought I would ever do that again.”

Simon held your hand as you looked up at him. His eyes took you in and left you breathless in an instant. He attempted to say something, but didn’t. You smiled at him softly, laying down on the bed.

“I’m gonna go, yeah..”

He scratched the back of his neck, and contemplated for a moment to say anything else.

But he got up, leaving your room after looking you one last time.

It was probably for another day. You would talk with him another day.

[belliesandburps]

Ruggie Bucchi (on command, post stuffing, and soda chugging) please 😊

(This will cover every Ruggie ask variant I got...because a LOT of y'all asked for Ruggie...)

Burping in public

"Shishishi! That's all I have t'say about THAT!"

"Whoopsies! That one just slipped outta me, didn't it!"

"Whew! (pats his stomach) Hehe, I had a BIG lunch..."

(blinks in surprise) "Huh, where'd THAT come from...?"

(smacks lips) "Ahhh, good ol' donuts still taste good comin' up too! Shishishi!"

Burping after chugging a soda

(smacks lips contently) "Ahhhh, that was brisk..."

(grunts) "Ngh, that ain't all of it...(takes a breath then grabs his belly with one hand) ...BRRRUUUUUUUUUPH... HHHUUUUUUUURRRREEEEEEEEUUUUUURRRRRRRPH!!!!!!!! Ahhhhh...THERE it is...(slaps his belly in relief)...WHEW...heh..."

(pats his chest and clears his windpipes) "Oof, heh, that had some POWER behind it, haha!"

(huffs then rubs his belly firmly with one hand) "Ohhhh man-*brruuOoOrruurrp!* Guh...*Urp...BWWOOOOOOOUUURRP!!!! Ooof...so bubbly..."

(greedily chugs the rest of the entire can in one go, crushes the can against his stomach, and lets out the single biggest burp you've EVER heard, then moans with abject relief, patting his belly in a heavily satisfied manner)

Burping after stuffing himself

"Ahhhh...(pats his belly)...ohhh man, I'm STUFFED..."

(snickers as he caresses his bulging belly) "Shishishi...my compliments t'the chef!"

(slumps back, enormous belly jutting up as he does so) "Urrrrgh...s-so...much...meaaaat...BUUUUUAAAAAAARRRRRUUUUUPH!!!!!!"

"Haaaahhhh...hehe...THAT'S where your lunch went, Herbivore...buuuut don'tcha worry...(pats his belly tauntingly)...it went to a worthwhile cause...my belly! Shishishishi!"

(grunts then thumps his gut to knock loose a thick afterburp) "Oof...'kay, maaaaaybe I overdid it, heh..."

Nauseous burps

(groans miserably as he rubs his stomach) "Urrrgh...ohhh that didn't feel good..."

(huffs, then lurches with another, much wetter belch that ends with him lurching and covering his mouth) "Hurp! Oh shit..." (rushes to the bathroom)

(cringes and covers his mouth) "Guh...that one didn't taste nearly as good comin' up as it did goin' down..."

(holds his churning gut with one hand and clutches his mouth shut with the other) "Hrrrmmmp! MMMMRRRRP!!!! Urrrrrgh...oh man, I'm gonna-hrlp-mph...b-be sick...urlp!"

(huffs and firmly rubs his belly from under his shirt) "Ooohhhh man...bruuup...BRRRAAAAAAAP!!! Guhhh...(stifles a large belch behind his fist and thumps his stomach)...oOoohhhh my belly..."

Burping to kink-tease

"Shishishi...ya oughta see how red your face is, herbivore..."

(sighs heavily with his tongue out) "Ahhhh, hehe, didja smell the peppers on that one?"

(snickers and rubs his belly) "Shishishi...loooooots more where THAT came from, herbivore..."

(holds up a finger) "Hold up...got another one for ya... (takes a deep breath, then belches as hard as he can right in your face, sighing heavily and breathing all over you after that) Hrraaaahhhhh...hehe, you're welcome..."

(huffs and grins cheekily at you) "Heh, y'like that...? (swallows down some air) BRRRAAAAAAAAAPH!!!!! Guhh... BRRRREEEEEEEUUUUUURRAAAAAP!!!!! (takes in several gulps of air, before grabbing your chin and forcing you to face him as he lets out the biggest, longest burp he can muster right in your face, intentionally dragging it out for as long as possible, then moaning with relief as his tongue hangs out lewdly) ...Haaaaaaaaaaahhhh...hehehe, how'd THAT one taste?"

Same-Size Vore

(sighs with relief and slaps his big, writhing belly) "Ahhhh, shishishi...ya really know how to kick up a storm, don'tcha..."

(leans back as his globular belly squirms on his lap) "Haaaahhh...I could feel ya squirm around in my tummy aaaaaaaall day long, but that's just gonna keep makin' me BBUUUUUUURRRRRRP!!!!! Guhhh, heh...and I kinda don't want'cha t'suffocate, shishishi..."

(sighs and slaps his gut heavily) "Whew! S'CUSE me! Must'a been someone I ate...shishishishi!"

(laughs and grips his bulging belly with both hands) "Hahaha! Holy crap, didja feel my belly shakin' around with that monster??"

(grunts and thumps his writhing gut) "Mph, hey! Settle down in there or I'mma chug more soda and keep burpin' til you're deaf!"

Burping to irritate

(grins) "Whaaaaaat? That wasn't me! (bats his eyelashes innocently)"

(snickers) "Heh, y'think THAT was bad? Wait 'til it all starts settlin'...(slowly rubs his stomach)...woo boy, I'm gonna burpin' aaall night..."

(mock pouts) "Tch, you're right! Where ARE my manners, huh?! (swallows air and holds his stomach firmly) ...ssSCUUUUUUUUSE......mMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEUUUUUUUURRRRRAAAAAAAAPH!!!!!!!!" Ahhhh...(gives his belly a few pats)...there we go!"

"Shishishi...my bad! I'll hold it in next time...(swallows air and stifles a BIG burp that reverberates heavily in his puffed out cheeks...then blows his fetid gasses directly at the person chastising him)"

"Sorry, I'll try'n keep 'em quiet...(intentionally burps in the person's ear)...well, I hafta make sure ya still HEAR 'em, right?? Shishishi!"

[sunlightmurdock]

a bratty mav’s daughter getting older bradley to go down on her ? pretty pleaseeee 💞

ooof can you imagine that there has been this tension between the two of you, but you’re both far too stubborn to ever make the first move… so you just kind of tease him into making the first move.

kicking your legs up into his lap while Mav’s out and you’re hanging out alone, spiralling onto the topic of sex — even though you know how stiff it makes him — and just tip-toeing your way into how it’s just never felt that good for you.

and he’s vehemently of the team, “pfft… really? not even once? not even when they—“

“nope. not even once.” you would sigh wistfully, knowing full well what you’re getting at. he would be all too willing too. being the giver that he is, he just can’t stand the thought of you never knowing.

he fully knows that you’re playing him and yet he’s got your ankles hitched over your shoulder and two fingers against the warm flesh of your tongue as he laps at your dripping core. he’s not playing you though — he’s been wanting to taste you for a long time and doesn’t care how he got here.

holding you firmly down against the couch, it’s quick and it’s dirty and it’s the fastest that a guy has ever managed to get you off — and you’re feeling sooooo smug about it during your comedown. and bradley doesn’t mind one bit, because he’s already flipping you onto your front and planning on overstimming you for trying to trick him

[shaunashipman]

The Buddie side of fandom is something else these days, that's for sure. I'm about to come out of fic writing retirement just to add to BuckTommy out of spite.

ooof.

look, I am not new to the 911 fandom, I was in it for years, and it's actually the reason I made a new account a year ago after that garbage fire of a season, I wanted a full fresh start without any of that on my blog

if it had stayed on fox and/or KR had stayed in charge, I would not have touched the new season with a 100ft electric pole. but tim was back, things were looking good so I decided to dip my toe back in

obviously a mistake. if I thought the rancid "long-form storytelling" side of the fandom was bad, this is just insane. wanting a newly bisexual character to immediately cheat? wanting a gay character to get killed off so your otp can get together? repeatedly commenting "umm I think you mean buddie" on official insta posts and willfully misunderstanding Oliver's joking comment?

(I'm not even getting into the disgustingness aimed at Lou or regarding the whole "kid" comment)

no wonder these people block everyone who slightly disagrees with their vision, if they stepped one inch outside their echo chamber they'd be bowled over with the sheer common-sense that they're lacking

and i keep seeing the same, I wanna say "defense"? for their behaviour, that buddie is something they've "been waiting 6 years for" except no. they've been WANTING it for 6 years. and like a child they think if they want it hard enough then they'll get it

sorry nonny, this got long 😬 but my new year's mid-year resolution is to stop censoring my own opinions in fandom for fear of rocking the boat. yes, pls come out of writing retirement to add the growing plethora of bucktommy fics 🙏. I think I've literally read every single one that didn't have a squick of mine in it (except the ones that are buddie fics in disguise 😒) and I can't wait to read more. let's get it to 2000 before the next ep, really make them seethe