#show him horror movies until morning

[overthattwilight]

Random prompt

Somehow Crowley's room which he uses to sleep gets destroyed so he stays at Ramshackle Dorm. But he can't get a good night sleep, Grim and MC/Yuu decides to throw sleepovers to annoy him

[hazelfoureyes]

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2 ˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦 ˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

Alastor demands you tell him what you’d consider a nice date, which makes a surprisingly lovely time in the library. Dancing leads to… not dancing and a minor rearranging of your guts. And finally, you try to shame Alastor out of Mania and Alastor finds himself having to explain, well, Alastor.

「warnings/promises: Smut, guts➡️rearranged, kinda dub➡️con cuz Alastor still doesn’t listen, but funnily enough neither do you?, lots of interrupting each other, Luci’s hat, you’re down so fucking bad lmao」

🎶 minors DNI 🎵

Angel was live blogging everything you said when you recounted what happened to you after returning to the hotel.

“Wait there’s a character limit, I gotta make a new post.” He was wiping actual tears from his eyes, “Fuck this is funny.”

“Hmmph,” Alastor offered a small noise from his end of the sofa. Neither of you had mentioned or even referenced the sex. There was a strange feeling between you that it didn’t happen so it didn’t need a discussion. But also that it had absolutely happened, as Alastor’s hands found renewed vigor in their search for you when in public and private and your body seemed to respond in kind. You’d still occasionally move his hand off of you, but there was a pulse of electricity every time. When his hand would come to rest on your upper thigh while seated beside each other in the common areas, you let it linger. What harm was it? Heaven wasn’t fucking watching.

Everything aside, the sex had done nothing to dispel his interest. Perhaps you’d only made it worse, for both of you. 

By midweek you found the sling useless, happily tossing it aside and beginning gentle stretches. That was more progress than you'd made in your main task. 

Every morning you woke up beside Alastor, every day you had him in your orbit, every night you fell asleep feet from him.

Had Mania not taken him he would be a prime candidate for showing the virtue of true love. He was already fucking there, a captive audience. But that wasn’t how it worked. Cupid-induced manic love could never be true. Nothing you created was true, really. But atleast with Eros or Agape you could still have added the notion of  true love to the mix. His heart would still be receptive and open to the idea. The way he was now, you could proselytize until you were blue in the face and he’d still think manic love was true love. 

An unintended consequence of living with Alastor was discovering you both had quite a bit in common, as much as that information irked you. He enjoyed horror movies such as ‘Dracula’, you enjoyed horror movies as well, just newer ones. Ones in color. He could cook quite well, something you enjoyed to do. And his taste in music was actually lovely. You had assumed he listened to screams on a 7 hour loop.

Actually, upon closer inspection, Alastor was nothing like you had initially assumed. While he had shown you he was capable of terrifying feats of strength and power, he was also remarkably gentle. Every time you descended the stairs his hand was barely felt as it hovered at your elbow ready to save you. 

Early in the week you fell asleep watching the group play a board game, somehow redemption related, and awoke with his coat laid over your body. When you thanked him, he just smiled and continued enjoying watching Niffty hide the play money.

You were finding yourself more and more wishing the arrow had never fallen. If you’d just met him as you fell, perhaps you would be staring into that portal home. There were definitely worse options around. Even his imposing height had begun to…not bother you, perhaps was the best way to say it.

Or his large hands. There was a safety in the way they rested on your back. Speaking of…

Your throat ran dry when he leaned into you, one of those hands sliding across your thigh,  and asked against your ear, “Ready to go?”

He had to have seen you licking your lips to unstick your teeth. With a nod, he stood and offered a hand to you. 

You both were already out of the elevator and walking to your room when he slowed, coming to stop just in front of you. 

His room, fucking hell. 

“You know, I was thinking,” he wasn’t looking as he spoke to you, which was odd given how often he stared at you. “If you’re going to be here with me from now on-“

You opened your mouth to argue but he put his hand up, “I’d like to know the things you enjoy doing with your romantic interests.” His smile was almost pure, you could tell he was genuinely asking.

“Well I don’t have any so, why would you care?”

“No things you enjoy?”

“No romantic interests.”

His head lolled to the side, “Sometimes I think you say things just to bother me.”

You did.

“I do.”

You thought if you kept being rude maybe you could keep him at an arm’s length. Not get too attached. You’d been kind to people you didn’t like before and eventually you started to like them. This was that. But opposite.

He stared down at you, taking a step closer. You took one back. That smile shifted from pure to sinister, his eyes half lidded. You could almost see the thoughts playing on his face.

“Alastor-,” your back hit the elevator doors. The pounding of your heart when he brought his face to yours drowned out the sounds of the button being pressed. When the doors opened you fell backward with a yelp, but a strong arm caught you by the waist.

“You have twelve floors.” His hand hit the first floor button, “You can share with me your idea of a quality date. Or I can show everyone,” that clawed hand came to your neck, sliding down the evidence of your pounding heart, “how pretty you scream.”

As soon as the doors closed you were pressed against the elevator wall, right leg pulled up and around his waist. “You wouldn’t dare.” You had meant it to sound strong but instead it was half whispered with a shaky voice.

He popped a button off your blouse, “Maybe!” Warm mouth now on your neck, his tongue ran over your pulse, “I wonder if everyone is still in the lobby.”

Over his shoulder you watched the numbers counting down. The hand that cut off the button slid down to your bottoms, slipping under the waistband.

On the 3rd floor the elevator stopped. When the doors opened a demon you didn’t recognize was standing there, eyes wide and mouth open. He didn’t make a move to enter, Alastor looking over his shoulder and sharing what you could only assume was a death glare. The flickering lights were a giveaway to his anger.

His fingers dipped down and cupped your sex, hot palm pressing into your folds. 

The doors closed again and you watched the second floor light up. A finger bent and pressed into you.

A nibble at your ear, “You know I’ll win, regardless.”

He was right. Which was the smaller defeat? Humiliation or just telling the bastard your idea of a nice time?

“Books. Drinks.” You squeaked, the first floor lamp now aglow. His hand pulled away just as the doors opened. 

Expecting him to gloat you were surprised he just hit the 10th floor button. The library. 

He opened the door for you. The library’s main area had two reading chairs bookending a long antique sofa. You took the chair furthest from the door, hearing the door lock.

With a snap, the entire bar with Husk included seemed to fall three inches out of thin air.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Husk looked around, already annoyed, “You coulda just fucking asked for drinks to bring with you. You know cups are portable, right?”

It was nice, actually. Husk poured, you both read. There was an unnecessary fireplace crackling behind you. Cozy. And it got cozier and warmer the more you drank. Your shields softened as the glasses emptied. 

Your book was good, but as you felt the alcohol hit you were reminded of the last time you’d gotten a little past tipsy. Sneakily, but not at all, your eyes wandered over to Alastor.

His legs were crossed, but you could remember looking down and seeing them spread open beneath you. Open. Did many people see him like you had? Had his talk about a disinterest in sex actually been a trick to intrigue you? It hadn’t worked, you genuinely didn’t care what his preferences were. If anything it made you less likely to make a pass.

Your eyes wandered down his slender neck to his wide shoulders. Less than a week ago your arms were resting there. Further down, you remembered that soft bit of fur at the base of his cock, a small trail from his belly button. 

Husk watched your face turn pink, “You good?” Your head whipped around, looking confused. “You’re getting red.”

Oh. I was just thinking about my pussy drowning in Alastor’s cum.

No, obviously not!

Alastor’s eyes left his book and found yours. They were so red; his eyes, not your cheeks. No one in heaven had such wicked an appearance. When you didn’t reply, busy staring back at Alastor, Husk groaned, “Aah fuck.”

“What are you reading?” You asked, clearly able to see the book title from where you sat. 

Alastor held it up, “Oliver Twist.”

“Never read it.”

You had read it.

Setting your book down, you tried to walk as straight as a line as you could to him. You took the book from his hands and sat down on his lap, back against his chest, before picking it up again. “What page are we on?”

“You can leave, Husker.” Alastor didn’t even look at Husk when he said it, eyes still on your face.

When the door closed and Alastor could lock it with a snap, he uncrossed his legs. “Would you like to start over dear? From the beginning.”

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Can we?” You leaned your head onto his shoulder. When had he become so comfortable…?

“We can.” The book was set aside, his left hand pulling your chin up, “I think we skipped a few chapters before.”

You opened your mouth, “I don’t like kissing.” 

“You will.” 

The front part of your brain dissolved, you were sure of it. Your decision making abilities were entirely eradicated as his lips pressed into yours. Fuck, maybe even your basic motor skills had been fried, his tongue swiping across your mouth before you just—opened. Your hips ground down into his lap, and you felt his smile widen against your lips.

“Stop smiling. I just like warm bodies.” You reached for the book and opened it to the first page, “and you’re so fucking warm.”

He began to read, but between the rumble of his chest, his voice in your ear, and the heat of his body, you fell asleep.

No matter. Alastor just hummed. With a summoning of his shadow you both sank into your shared bed, where he continued reading with you against his chest.

You dreamt about home. About red eyes and warmth.

Was it so bad, being in hell? Sure you had a fucking deer demon as guard dog but it seemed his mania was … not so terrible. Honestly he seemed relatively normal now. He would wander off for significant lengths of time, even leaving in the mornings while you were still lazing about. A kiss to your hand was the indicator he would be popping off somewhere.

Alastor still wouldn’t let Lucifer alone with you, but otherwise everything was okay. You’d even come to enjoy certain aspects of his possessiveness. That ever present hand, for example. Even when it wasn’t on you, you could still almost feel it. It had become second nature now.

The week was actually peaceful. Your pain was entirely gone, you could move about freely. Despite that Alastor still would press up behind you and offer to help dress you. An offer you declined, but every time he asked you paused longer and longer before saying no.

Alastor was happy to find you in the library toward the end of the week, you having wandered off when he was called away. He summoned a confused but pissed off Husk again, who was midway through making someone else’s drink. He set it aside, pouring Alastor his whiskey. You decided against drinking, you knew you always made poor decisions. Like sleeping. 

Delighted by the impressive collection you found a non-fiction and settled into the same large chair.

“Reading is a virtue.” He said to himself yet out-loud, taking a seat and setting the radio on from across the room. Etta James. ‘Somethings got a hold of me.’

“A little past your time, isn’t it?” You smiled, you liked songs about love. Not because of who you were, you just liked the idea of someone so enamored they have to make art.

He laughed, “Nosey little bird, have you been asking about me?”

Well shit. You had forgotten to play dumb. The past couple weeks you had casually inquired about Alastor from the other staff members. A modest collection of facts to help you better understand the man. A quick recovery. “Know your enemy!” 

He cackled, “Sun Tzu! What does Cupid need ‘The Art of War’ for?!”

What, did he expect you to only read romance novels and Roman mythos? “You can’t make a shadow without light. In fact,” you put the book down, “The Greeks thought Cupid was a child of War and Beauty.”

Okay well, Greek mythos is a little different than their Roman counterpart’s. So. There.

Alastor watched you leaning over the arm of the chair, no sign of pain as you did so. Your injury must have mended well. “Do you have parents?” He asked, genuinely wondering how your kind were created. 

“No, we're just… made. And then sent off on assignments.”

“You must be terribly busy, just one person for all of earth.” If Alastor could pull some limbs and find out more from anyone but you, he would, but unfortunately no one but Vaggie would know anything about you and he had a feeling her time in heaven was never spent thinking about love. 

“Oh, actually not so much! When I’m with humans I can travel around without worrying about the concept of time at all. But it takes a toll.” Or so you were told. There were never two Cupids at one time so you couldn’t really ask your predecessors. Alastor’s brows rose, unsure how exactly a Cupid could be taxed if they didn’t feel pain and couldn’t be hurt. “Every trip to Earth weakens us. Until our bodies just, I guess, give out.” A smile crept across your face, unsure what expression you were supposed to be making.

“Is it just Earth? Or,” he lowered the radio volume with just a glance, “Every time you leave heaven?” It would take a great effort to not notice the weight suddenly blanketing the library. Silence was heavy with what he was really asking you. Would remaining here kill you?

It was a great question. Wow he’s really good at this. It almost seemed like he gave a shit. No one had ever asked you about your creation, about your work. It was nice. Even from him. Maybe especially from him.

You had never been to hell, so you couldn’t be sure, but, “I think it’s a human-world time-thing. But I guess we’ll find out!” Another misplaced smile before you awkwardly leaned back and picked up the book.

While you hadn’t noticed the slip up you had made, Alastor had. “I suppose we will.” 

You would find out, because you wouldn’t be returning to heaven. He was glad you, even if unconsciously, understood that. And perhaps you could live forever if you never returned to earth.

When the song ended, you offered one of your own. 

Alastor was pleasantly surprised to hear you request Nat King Cole’s ‘It’s almost like being in love’.

Standing, he offered you his hand for a dance. “Ugh I hate this cheesy shit.” You said it but stood anyway, putting your hands in his.

Alastor laughed, swaying side to side, “Not a fan of romance? Has Cupid never been in love?”

Those were two seperate things. How could you explain? “Drug dealers number one rule. Never get high off your own supply. That would be—.”

Lonely. Pathetic.

“A bad idea.” His cheek rested on your head. It was a shockingly tender act. “Can you understand? Why would I want something I made. What’s special about that?” 

“And what of true love? It isn’t made by you, yes?” Asked into your hair.

“Yeah but when will I ever find the time to make a connection worthwhile. Winners and Angels are gluttons for choice, I am obviously built for a fun time not a long time.” Which you were…fine with. Yeah. I mean, what choice did you have? “And I don’t want to force it…so…” you trailed off. The rest didn’t matter.

He nodded, suppressing another laugh.  “I see. Well, allow me to give you something you inspired, how about that? Not made. Would you say no, my muse?”

Inspired? Like a song? “Ha, what have I inspired in you, heathen.”

Alastor stopped dancing, his hand pulling your face up for a kiss which took you by surprise.

“Seriousl-,” Husk mercifully disappeared in a flash of neon green.

You couldn’t remember exactly how it happened, much like many of the moments you surrendered to Alastor. It was so fast and he was so strong, his hands large and confident in how they moved you. Before you knew it you were bent over the sofa’s arm getting fucked so hard your leg was shaking and your stomach nauseous.

This was much better than songs or art or whatever you inspired in others. You were gasping with every breath, the action somehow heightening the sensations. The little huffs and groans your body was pulling from him had your heart racing.

His cock was smashing your womb into your guts, the entire organ suddenly feeling like a new pleasure spot. Every jolt to your cervix made a novel kind of bliss pool in your stomach. 

You cried, head empty as he completely left your heat before bottoming out again, “Stop, Alastor. Stop.” A strained moan, hands gripping the wooden sofa arm, “stop, stop, fuuuuck.”

He was pulling out too far and too fast, hitting back too hard and too deep. Your cunt felt swollen around him, your entrance so soft and wet he didn’t need precision to sink back in.

“Does it hurt?” He said quickly on the down beat of his thrust.

“Nngh no.”

“Theeen, no.”

Alastor pulled you up by your chin, back bending as he titled your mouth to his. Despite your mouth hanging open with your tongue out as salacious as you’d ever been,  you told him, “I really don’t kiss during sex.” 

The look in his downcast eyes sent a shiver along your spine, a power there you couldn’t push against, “You do now, my dear.”

When in hell, you supposed. You didn’t even try to argue, accepting his tongue wrapping around yours and exploring your mouth while his dick churned up your insides. Full from top to bottom. Full of Alastor. Safe. Wanted. Needed. 

You pulled away when there was an overwhelming bone-deep sensation spilling through your hips and down your thighs. The muscles felt weak there, and you had an urge to runaway from it but Alastor held you still. 

A scream of ecstasy as both legs shook violently, you finally got your hands free orgasm but to your shock it didn’t stop. As it appeared to wane, it just started mounting again. By the third roll, Alastor came with a push so deep your chest fell over the arm of the sofa. If not for the hands bruising your hips, you would have fallen off entirely.

The ache in your stomach began immediately, you’d have thought someone had been punching you in the gut. Well, more literally than they had been. When you groaned and complained to Alastor about what he had done, he pulled you up by your waist.

You were drawn into him, back to his chest again with your body between those long legs. His hands came to your stomach. Alastor massaged deep circles into your abdomen. 

“Does that help?” His high voice lowered, husky and kind into your ear. You nodded, the pressure relieved the discomfort. 

You wondered if he was used to taller demons than your shorter heavenly form, or perhaps he wasn’t used to anyone at all. Maybe sinners had more room than you did. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Believe it or not,” probably not, “I’m never trying to hurt you.”

Was it terrible you actually did believe him? Yes he was a serial killer, and considered one of the most cruel overlords in recent memory. But he was always gentle when his hands were on you. Flits of memories of him washing your feet came back to you. 

“I know perhaps,” his hands kept moving, your back already stuck to his with well earned sweat, “I have at times been easily incensed.”

You nodded quickly.

“But, It’s just,” you heard him swallow hard, “ah I absolutely hate this,” He whispered it to himself. “I’m just scared you’ll leave before I’ve managed to convince you how much happier I can make you here.”

It’s not that it was funny, necessarily, but the very idea hell could be happier than Heaven was laughable. It was Heaven. It was made to be happy.  It existed purely to please. 

The smile faded from your face. Well, for the winners. It was made to please the winners. It wasn’t made for you, but you still got much enjoyment. You had…sex. Great sex. Not held aloft in a radio tower great, but…You always came. Everyone did. Wasn’t that the point of it?

Wasn’t that the point?

What was the point?

 A warm and lonely bed is better than an empty one alone. So.

Well, your bed was always warm and never lonely in hell now that you’d been “moved”.

You had… Hobbies. You liked swimming. 

Okay well the hotel had a pool. And yes, if you weren’t running off to earth on command you’d have more energy for hobbies.

What were you thinking about this for again?

You gathered the scraps of your relevant thoughts, “Happiness isn’t being confined to a hotel, Alastor.”

“As soon as you show me you won’t leave me, I won’t care where you go. As long as you’re safe.” One of his hands left your stomach to stroke your cheek, “I’m just waiting for you to realize what I already know.”

If Alastor were to ease his grip on you, could you enjoy yourself? Well, more than you did. But it was more than that, you had to admit you hated the idea of losing, of just running away. “I don’t like giving up.” 

His laugh was quiet but it rocked you as his chest moved. “Darling they threw you to hell and told you you’re not allowed to leave unless you do homework. Giving up what? Being a servant to heaven?”

If he had said it a couple weeks prior, you would have left the room indignant. But now, settled against his hot skin and being so softly touched, it sounded like tough love.

“I don’t belong here though.” You were talking to yourself. So many excuses.

His arms wrapped around your chest to hug you into him, “You belong wherever I am.” His cheek pressed against yours, “I won’t let you go.”

A threat. A threat you leaned into and warmed yourself with. A threat a quiet part of you hoped he kept his word on.

You were getting too comfortable. Every morning you woke up to Alastor curled into your body, holding you tightly to him and you found yourself smiling before your consciousness clicked on. At some point in the last week he grabbed your chin and kissed you good night and suddenly every time he left your side you allowed a kiss to your cheek before he parted. What was worse was how you’d talk in bed about your recent reads and what happened the few hours you weren’t with each other. 

The thing that made you realize you were getting honestly too deep was when you went to go to bed early and actually took the elevator past your floor, walked all the way to his station and told him good night. You’d made it to his chair and were leaning down for your kiss when your face fell flat. 

He asked what was wrong but you shook your head. A poorly faked smile offered to him.

You sat in your bed. His bed. Your bed?

You sat in bed and wondered how to press forward. Two months, nearly, you’d been in hell. At this rate surely heaven had made a replacement. If you could make it back quickly you could still keep your place.

A decision was made, you’d never confronted Alastor head on. You had misunderstood his illusion of you. But maybe if you just forced it into his thick skull he’d been controlled and puppeted by an arrow, not his free will, he would abandon it to save his pride. 

Knees to your chest, why were you crying again? Did you want to go home?

No, you wanted to curl into his stupid fucking lap and listen to him hum his stupid old, forgotten songs. You wanted to dance while Husk groaned and rolled his eyes. You wanted to feel loved.

But you weren’t made to want things. And Alastor didn’t love you.

Okay, one more night to enjoy yourself before you pissed him off so much he kicked you out of his bed. Or took such a turn into obsession he never let you leave the room again, allowing you to shirk responsibility for not returning to heaven.

When you turned the handle there was resistance, the door pushing in. 

“Alastor? Done already?” He’d seemed busy earlier.

He closed the door and locked it. Oh. A blush. The sound of a locking door had come to mean certain things to you.

“You seemed bothered.” His thumb wiped where your tears had already dried, “What ever is the problem? Did someone upset you? Some neck I should wring?” You shook your head no. His other hand came to join in  holding your face, those goddamned red eyes melting you to nothing, “Some limbs I should snap?” He took a step toward you and you took two back, hands holding his wrists. Another no. “Or some cheeks I should kiss?”

Stop crying.

An eager nod. “Don’t cry, my love.” Soft lips catching your tears, thin fingers wiping them away. He kept walking forward and you kept walking back until your legs hit the bed. 

One more night, just in case. In case he forfeits the mania.

You kissed his neck, startling him. “Rare form. Did you need some more intimate attention, darling?” You tried to avoid initiating, never knowing what he wanted or when, never wanting to enjoy his touch too much. “I could indulge you.”

What you wanted was to be reduced so thoroughly to just a physical creature by way of pleasure that your mind disconnected from your brain. Fucked dumb, as people said. Alastor wouldn’t know what that meant but you were confident he’d enjoy sussing out the finer details of the meaning if it meant your full surrender.

You bit down on his neck, getting you pushed onto the bed in return. “I need overindulgence. I don’t wanna feel anything tonight but you.” You should practice your manners, for heaven's sake. “Please.”

There it was again. That look that turned your bones to jelly and your brain to cotton; that downcast half lidded stare as he towered over you that promised to devour you whole. His hand pulled at his bow tie and loosened his collar, knees on the bed as his legs spread you open at the thighs.

 “Good girl.”

No punishment or inspiration, just that mental numbness that turned off all your worries. We’re you making stupid faces? We’re your sounds embarrassing? Didn’t matter. You didn’t care. You clung to his body like you’d fall apart without his skin on yours. Because you would, in some fashion. 

Every gap between your bodies felt like room for doubt. So you filled them with flesh and sighs and moans. 

With his height difference you were smothered by him when in traditional heaven-approved missionary, but you liked lying on top. Your head only made it to his chest when your hips were positioned above his cock. You could go slack and let him move you on and off himself. You had been lying when you said you preferred to not move or make noise, but you’d learned he got harder and more feral when you let him manipulate your body any way he pleased. 

He smelled like sweat and leather, probably from the chairs in the lobby. No one sweats in heaven, this seemed like a mistake now. You’d have to be sure to not wash your clothes after you left hell, or else you’d forget his scent.

After finishing, he was surprised to find you still clinging to his torso, arms under his armpits and hooked onto his shoulders. He offered to pull out and let you lie down but you just held on tighter in response. He glanced around the room, soft light and softer music on the radio. Your quiver and bow rested against the armoire, practically dusty. He asked if you were alright, a hand coming to your back with large claws gently scratching.

“Yeah I will be.” you lifted your head, waiting.

Both of his eyebrows rose, unsure what you were waiting on.

Complete surrender. “Good night kiss.” You had to stretch to meet his lips before settling back into his chest, “okay bore me to sleep with your day, sinner.” He gladly did, you falling asleep yet again to the sound of his slow heartbeat and the rumble of his words.

You awoke nauseous, already knowing your day was going to fucking suck and it’d be your own fault. The idea of approaching Alastor and initiating the conversation felt impossible, your feet became stone when you thought of it.

The coward’s option. Wait for time alone and then pace the library until he came to find you.

After an hour or so he did, smile brightening as he entered. “Should I summon the bar?”

You shook your head no, struggling to speak. He sat in his chair, book still on the small side table.

Heart pounding, you considered doing this another day or week or maybe year but knew you’d already lost so much time. “Alastor, I need to talk to you about my task.”

He snapped the book shut, eyes not leaving his hands. “Oh?”

“I need to leave the hotel or at least need serious time alone with someone. I need to change someone’s heart on true love. I can’t go home—,” you were cut off, Alastor standing quickly.

“Home?”

“Alastor.” You stood your ground even as his spine stretched and antlers widened.

“Your home is wherever I am.” A pained smile now, something akin to hurt in his eyes that did damage to you too. “Ah. So last night— and people say I’m cruel.”

“I’m not supposed to be here!”

A snap, his anger and desperation eclipsing his pain, “Why don’t you ever listen-,”

Your turn to cut him off, “Because you’re under a spell! You act so fucking tough like you’re in control all the time. But you’re not! It’s just the effect of the arrow.”

He laughed, but you kept going, “Don’t act like you’re sooo strong you can fight the effects of my shot. You don’t fucking love me. Not really, not naturally. It was an accident. You’re just— it’s been made by me. I don’t want it. I want something real and true.”

“My feelings are true, just let me speak. I can make you understand if you’d just listen to me.” Pupils like pins, teeth somehow sharper.

“Alastor you can’t have true love. Nothing triggered by my arrows can ever be true.”

Another ring of laughter, “Tell me then how your true love is different than mine, Oh Wise Cupid.”

You huffed, “Don’t talk down to me, radio demon. True love means caring deeply for someone else that occupies your heart and mind-,” he opened his mouth, looking around the room for where you found the audacity but you snapped twice to get his attention back, “not just that! You put them first without fear because if they truly love you they would never take advantage of that. It’s trusting them with the most fragile parts of yourself. It's a best friend. Someone who makes you feel like a better version of you, makes you want to always be improving yourself.”

Alastor was still smug, staring at you from his unnervingly demonic height, “Lovely! Last question, expert, is true love ever one sided?”

You thought for a beat, “It can be.”

He hummed, body swiftly resuming his smaller but, again, still too tall scale, antlers remaining fierce as his sinister smile dropped to just a small upward turn of his lips. “I see. You’ve truly enlightened me. I believe you.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on you.

You rolled your eyes and licked your lips to go off when a portal opened beside you.

Heaven was just beyond the shining circle.

You looked from Alastor to the circular doorway, taking small steps towards it. Your hand pressed through, confusion wiping your own smugness off your face.

Alastor began a mocking slow clap. “I’ve been convinced. Happy now? Task complete.”

“But- the love Mania causes…It clouds the mind, you can’t even process the idea of true love properly.” You searched the floor for some clarity.

His hands stopped, eyebrows meeting his bangs as a laugh that started typically but quickly morphed into maniacal filled the room. You just kept pushing your hand in and out of the portal. Alastor finally quieted, antlers fully drawn back into little prongs. He stared at you. A shiver as his smile reached his ears. That look again. You took a deep breath, ready to be eaten.

“Your little arrow didn’t pierce me, you glorious fool. It literally fell into my pocket. I was never under the effects of your magic. I said that many times.” He straightened out his suit jacket,  “Very plainly, might I add. You just never listened to me. So sure you knew better than I did.”

You sputtered, too many thoughts trying to express themselves, “Why did you act like that then?!”

“Because I wanted you. Something something first sight, as I recall the adage goes.” He crossed his arms and looked at his claws, “Perhaps my love happens to be manic by default. I am a murderous overlord, darling.”

All the energy left your body, shoulders relaxing. “Oh.” 

“So, here I am,” he opened his arms, “trusting you to not hurt me any further today. Does that fall into your narrow view of true love?”

A good question. You shifted your weight onto your other foot, looking back at heaven. You could see the shining gates.

He sighed and brought his arms down, “I can’t promise how long I’ll let you stand there and look at anything other than me.”

A warning.

A deep breath, another shift onto your other foot again as you shook the anxiety out of your hands before finally making eye contact with him, “Well, eldritch horror, prove it.”

You heard the door lock from across the room. 

You decided heaven could wait. It took about two days before they seemed to notice you hadn’t entered the portal, which closed on its own some time between Alastor pushing you onto the floor and you begging him for more. Luckily St. Peter wasn’t privy to your escapades.

It was a fact Sera was aware you had completed your task, because a knock came to the library door on that second day after you did so. Entering without waiting for a reply, which was brave, Lucifer and his hat popped into the room.

“Heeeey giiiirl. I got a message from heaven asking what’s the hold up, worried you were incapacitated.”

From your seat in Alastor’s lap you lowered your book, “How nice of them to suddenly care about my well-being.” You brought the book back up, “Little late.”

He nodded, “Uh huh, uh huh. Yeah I can understand that. Sooo,” his fingers tapped the door, “What should I reply with?”

Alastor turned the page and hummed a reply, “Finders Keepers.”

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

@asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp

@sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

[undercoverpena]

when his eyes open

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: joel wakes and admires you and the morning.

wordcount: <600 warnings: joeticness, a little angst, a little twisty. an: dedicated to @joelscruff, who told me this was one of her favourite gifs when i asked for inspo for my first ever giflet. for info on giflet's, see @morallyinept's list here. gif credit to the wonderful, amazing @perotovar.

Before, the routine had been to simply make it through.

To survive another day in a place where crimson clings to clotted wounds, where weeds choke signs as rot consumes all that once lived. 

There are names that linger on his lips. Indelibly stained, carved deep inside him. Never forgotten, each a raw wound with grief around them that throbbed incessantly. Each woven into the very fabric of his soul.

When his eyes close, a horror movie plays on repeat. Blood-soaked shirts and the crack in his voice when he shouts. The snarl in his throat when skulls shatter and bodies break. In these brutal moments, he found himself living again, in a way that's both savage and necessary, the violence a perverse affirmation of his existence.

Plagued—tormented.

Then he wakes, and the truth crashes down—it’s not a movie, but his life. A routine he trudged through for so long until he found this place. A place where sunrise doesn’t mean pack up and move. Where golden light caresses the room he’s been given, kisses the guitar that has built callouses instead of his gun. Light falls softly on things he’s crafted with his hands, hands that once only knew how to take and destroy.

Joel wakes in a room, inside of a home, that’s now his.

A younger him might have given more for the kindness shown to him. The sacrifices he made would have felt meaningful, the blood spilt a necessary price. But now, the weight of his sins, the lives he’s shattered, and the innocence long lost have left him hollow. Acts of kindness feel like a cruel jest, an echo from a life he can barely remember, a life he feels he no longer deserves. In this quiet dawn, amidst the gentle light, he is haunted by the shadows of what he’s become.

But he's tired, worn. The face that greets him in the mirror is now aged, beaten down, and scorched by the relentless elements. Not that you seem to care.

You, who, as his lashes lift and focus, he finds reading for the second time this week. Twisted away from him, the book tilted to catch the sunlight so you don’t strain your eyes. You’d traded for it, your thumb lifting the corner of the page before dragging it to the opposite side—so loud in the quiet.

Joel doesn’t need to steal a moment, but he does all the same. He’s so used to taking, after all. 

He admires how the years have been a little kinder to you than they have to him. How you are a rare sweetness in a world that knows only bitterness. A thing that would have been coveted before and is now more than cherished. He appreciates you when his body doesn’t betray him, when age doesn’t force his eyes closed as his spine meets the bed. But when he can, when he’s able, he leaves marks that’ll last for days—a prickly burn on your inner thighs as you weave your fingers into the hair he’s not allowed to cut. When he holds you so tightly atop him, he knows you can trace the bruises he’s left.

You leave your own marks too. One of them from simply looking at him, showing him that smile—the one that could stop a younger man's heart.

He waits for another page to turn, eyes closing and reopening before he slides his palm over your knee.

Morning, you say.

Morning, he replies.

A new routine, one he doesn’t hate, yet it haunts him with its simplicity and its promise of a fragile peace.

[en-gelic]

bubblegum ✸ 엔하이픈

syn. to be loved by them. gn. idolxnon-idol, fluff ⋆ wc 873 ! warnings. skinship, kisses ୨୧ so sweet like bubblegum ʚɞ BOOKSHELF! ⋆

🗯 taglist : @cholexc @07sleepykatz @seunghancore (ask or comment to be added !)

To be loved by lee heeseung meant he would continuously remind you of how much he loved you by kissing you in his favourite places— your neck, your fingers and your jawline. Tying your hair when you were working or busy, and staring holes through your back when you were applying lip gloss, eagerly waiting to wipe it off. Late night calls you would have when he couldn't sleep resulted in you reciting your notes to him, which usually had him asleep in minutes. If it were you struggling to fall asleep, he would sing to you causing you to unconsciously end up staying up just to listen to his voice. You made him cover any song possible and got exclusive covers just for the two of you. He would show off in front of the members whenever you would watch him game.

To be loved by park jongseong meant him sending you options for your hair dye at unholy hours of the morning and coming over extra early to help you with it. Constantly asking whether you had eaten and whether your work was going well. He would be over at your house, scolding you on eating too much fast food and making meal preps for whenever you were too busy. Consulted you before buying anything, which was a terribly bad option as you were the type to encourage anything but kitchen appliances that aren't coffee makers. He would also send you any flavour of coffee he was able to find and constantly expressed his love through sending you gifts wherever he was.

To be loved by sim jaeyun meant him letting you tie his hair into little ponytails even if you tugged too hard. Giving you piggy-backs and using your height difference as an advantage when he wanted to tease you. He would ruffle your hair a lot, which was a habit of his you hated the most. Kissing your head before he went anywhere and teaching you how to fish was his favourite things to do. Whenever he saw an opportunity, he took random photos of you that you never saw until he posted it and defended himself by the fact that they were quite good.

To be loved by park sunghoon meant picking his jewelry— especially glasses and taking any accessory you could find from his collection. Calling you every hour when he was abroad just to ask you whether you were fine and giving you any shirt with his name on it and making you wear it when you were going out with friends to show his 'dominance' he had said to defend himself. He would pout if you didn't say 'I love you' before ending the call and demanded a kiss as an apology. Would send you photos of scenery when he was away and had the habit of eating food that you like on your behalf.

To be loved by kim sunoo meant spending evenings binge watching popular shows while hating most of their plots. Getting you to watch horror movies with him because you were the clingiest when you were scared. Applying your lipgloss for you to give the reason that since he put it on, he can take it off and washing your hair whenever you didn't feel like doing it. Peppering your face with kisses in the excuse that his lips were like free skincare. Would organise your wardrobe every other week, complaining about how disorganised you were. He would be very serious when it comes to not eating until the movie began and would slap your hands away if you tried to eat before it played.

To be loved by yang jungwon meant him picking up souvenirs from anywhere he want and matching clothes with you on purpose but acting as if he didn't mean to. Would send a message before going live to make sure you were able to attend every live if you could. Buys you everything that you like in the convenience store and dumps it all in your house whenever you weren't around, leaving a note he scribbled before leaving. He would create random nicknames for you and send an English 'word of the week' to help with the two of you learning English.

To be loved by nishimura riki meant inside jokes which only the two of you could understand. Fiddling with his rings when he held your hand and raiding his closet whenever you got the chance. He would purposely buy things for 'himself' that he knew you would like, and pretending to be irritated when you take them. Putting things in high places you can't climb up to get just so you could ask him for help. Constantly getting him to draw for you, no matter how many times he says that he's not that good. Adoring your cats whenever he came over and making sure that they weren't bothering you when you were busy with work. Trying to lose every game for you because you were too competitive. Back hugs and cuddles with his body either towering or covering yours which was the best form of body heat in winter. He habitually pretends to not see you since you were much shorter than him.

[moongreenlight]

Said my piece about stalker!soap but how could I forget stalker ex boyfriend!ghost????????????!

Cw: Creepy crawler behavior. Stalking. Breaking in.

Maybe you should stop listening to true crime podcasts at work.

It feels entirely silly. You’re surely working yourself up over nothing, but some mornings you wake up and have to explain-away the way that your toothbrush is in the wrong spot or that there’s a lunch packed in the fridge that you can’t remember putting together yourself. There’s pictures on your phone that look like your dark bedroom that you’re pretty sure you didn’t take yourself. Maybe you accidentally took it on the way to bed? While you were getting up to use the bathroom?

You talk yourself blue in the face explaining it away well enough that you convince yourself your flat must be haunted. It seems almost logical? Better than any of the alternatives you can come up with if nothing else.

You live with the infrequent tweaks and changes to your surroundings. Lights on you shut off. Doors open you left closed. Your laptop charger going missing when you were certain you left it on the desk.

You almost go so far as to get a motion-activated light to plug into the outlet by your bedroom door, but you convince yourself against it after wandering the aisles of a drugstore with it in your cart long enough for an employee to start following you around. You toss it back on the wrong shelf and buy a packet of sweets you won’t eat in an attempt to not look like you were casing the joint.

But then it picks up. Gets more serious. Windows being opened while you sleep. Strange creaking of floorboards that are too loud to be the building settling. Your bed being made when you get back from an outing you had to rush out the door for. Massive men’s sweaters showing up in your in-unit dryer. The trash being emptied while you were at work. It gets so bad that you stop staying at home because it’s simply too creepy.

It’s the kind of fear that settles in the craggy parts of your brain. Seems silly if you think about it too hard the same way being scared of the dark in your closet after watching a horror movie does. Being scared of a potentially haunted apartment doesn’t really convey the severity of the situation when you try and talk about it with people.

You stay with friends. Couch surf as long as you can until you cannot possibly force people to take you in any longer. And when you’ve exhausted all other options, you find yourself texting Ghost for the first time in months.

Hey.

It’s hours before he responds. Not unusual. And instead of him texting back, you see a phone call block out the video you’re watching on your phone from a very well-lit spot in the living room. Also not unusual.

You pick up, but it takes you a few seconds to choke out words around the sudden lump in your throat.

“Forget how to answer the phone?”

He sounds irritated -again- not unusual.

It’s quiet where he is. Sounds like maybe he’s in a smaller space. His bedroom or his car? Though you couldn’t imagine him out at this hour of the night.

“Sorry. No. I- sorry.”

Shifting from his end. The static of fabric brushing past the microphone. A hefty sigh.

“Sorry.”

“You said.”

“Uh- I don’t really know how to ask you this, it’s- silly. I don’t know. Are you- um- busy?”

“S’half one in the morning.”

“It was a better time when I texted.”

It’s hard not to snark at him.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. I’m not busy.”

You’d love nothing more than to hang up on him, but you stayed up the entire two nights before because you couldn’t find anyone to come stay with you and you were getting desperate.

“Could you come over?”

[lovebugism]

congrats on one year of your blog!!

for your one year celebration, could you write something with the prompt

“you showed up at my door of all place?”

“trust me it wasn’t my first choice either.”

with steve perhaps? maybe he’s injured (because when isn’t he) and has no one else to turn to but the reader??

tysm lovie! hope you like it :D — steve seeks comfort in you, his rival since high school, a week after fighting vecna (enemies in love, hurt/comfort, post st4, 1.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Steve’s stitches start weeping a week after the brawl with Vecna — the ones you’d sewn along his ribcage when a gang of demobats made a feast of him. 

He’s gotten so numb to the pain (the constant, never-ending, three years of nonstop pain) that he doesn’t realize his wound has torn open again. Not until his shirt starts sticking abnormally wet to his skin. He looks down, notices the dark red patch blooming on the gray fabric, and then feels the distant stinging of the week-old bite.

Most of them have healed or are starting to. They’ve turned pink and marred over, unlikely to fade. But there’s one gash that refuses to mend, and he’s starting to think it might be some kind of bad omen. Like the constantly knicked sutures are some kind of prophetic telling of an undone fight and not just a consequence of his restlessness.

He thinks of you first, anyhow. Before a solution or a way to dull the pain. He thinks of you and your gentle hands and how you were the only person he’d let touch him after coming back from the Upside Down. 

Steve drives to Forest Hills and ascends the rickety porch of your trailer even though he knows it’s 2 a.m. He knocks at the paint-chipped entrance even though he knows Eddie only lives four doors down. Max lives across the way from Eddie, and he knows that, too. He could go just about anywhere, he figures, but he’s here — on the steps of the girl who couldn’t stand him in high school.

You answer the door much quicker than he anticipated. Ten seconds after he knocks, you stand before him with wet hair and no pants. The damp strands drip onto the oversized shirt you wear. The sleeves of the old thing hang low off your arms, the hem of it falling just above your knees.

You don’t look sleepy despite the early hours of the morning. Tired, maybe, but not sleepy. “Steve?” you say, so suddenly alert at the sight of him. Your eyes, lined with a sleep you haven’t gotten in days, go wide with distant horror. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone die?”

You ask him all this before he’s said a single word. Good questions when you live in a town like this one, when you’ve seen the things you’ve seen.

“Nothing. Everyone’s fine,” Steve answers in a monotone, still gripping his side with his opposite hand. “My stitches just ripped.”

You blink rapidly at him, trying to clear the daze of exhaustion and the subtle shock of seeing him. “Stitches— What?”

He pulls back his hand, the palm of it now blotched pink. There’s one large circle of deep brown blood staining his shirt and two more tiny patches just below it. “I’m bleeding,” he tells you, as if it isn’t obvious now. “My stitches pulled.”

Your gaping gaze flits from his freshly opened wound to the annoyed look on his chiseled face. His pale features glow amber beneath the buzzing porch light. “And you showed up to my door, of all places?”

“Trust me. It wasn’t my first choice either.” He clutches his side again and slides past you in the doorway, walking into your trailer, mostly uninvited. 

He knows your parents aren’t around. It’s the only thing you’ve ever been able to bond over. You grew up mostly alone and learned to raise yourselves accordingly. So it’s not totally surprising to find your trailer dripping with girlhood — tiny trinkets, movie posters, half-alive plants, and vibrant colors. More of a home than his empty mansion ever was.

“Why don’t you just go to the E.R.?” you ask and shut the door behind you. You have to lean your body weight against it and press really hard — or else it won’t close fully, and the wind kicks it open while you’re sleeping, and you wake up to a family of raccoons ravaging the candy bowl on your coffee table.

Steve huffs and sits on your grass-green couch, face scrunching at the distant stinging along his ribcage. “Because I don’t know how to tell people that potentially rabid demobats took a pound of flesh outta me,” he sasses.

You shake your head. “If you get blood on my sofa, Harrington, I swear to god…” you mumble and sit down beside him. 

You lift the hem of his shirt to assess the damage, knuckles skimming warm along his golden side.

Most of the bites scattered along his ribs are healing now. They’re small and shallow and turning slowly pink instead of scarlet red. But there’s one still pulsing crimson, the only one deep enough to need stitches. The only one refusing to heal. 

The sight of the raw, throbbing wound makes your stomach writhe. You remember pulling the stubborn demobat off of him by its tail. You feel the sting of his pain even now, like it’s your own.

Steve watches your face the whole time. He decides to base his pain on how you look at him, whether you shrug it off or grimace in disgust. You do neither. Your eyes dart over his skin, glimmering with concentration, as your fingers brush his aching side with a gentleness he didn’t think was possible.

His brows pinch at your lack of response. He tilts his chin to his chest and ducks his gaze to look at you, honey eyes eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Is it bad?”

“Well… It’s not good,” you conclude after a few moments.

“That’s such a non-answer,” he scoffs, dropping his head to the back of the couch to watch you walk into the kitchen. 

You disappear behind a wall for a few moments. The distant clattering of something, muffled as you dig inside cabinets, fills the empty trailer. 

You’re back in thirty seconds, tops, with the first aid kit you’ve been a stickler about keeping restocked. ‘Cause Steve isn’t your first patient since coming back home. He’s not your second, either. 

It was Eddie first, for his own demobat bites, and then Lucas when the cut along his swollen cheek split open again.

You’re not cut out for any of it. Not professionally, anyway. You only know how to do sutures because of Mr. Mundy’s ninth-grade health class.

You return to Steve’s side and begin to clean up the bite, lest an infection spread and Vecna take him out from beyond the grave. 

The burn of the alcohol makes him wince. “Ow,” Steve whispers under his breath, a subtle pout scrunching his features.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you laugh.

“I’m injured— You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“You’ve been through three separate concussions and a thousand demobat bites. I think you can handle a little sting, Harrington.”

Steve tilts his cheek to his shoulder, squinting his twinkling eyes and flashing you a lopsided smile. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing your bedside manner is— ow!”

You start stitching him up without warning. You make it look easy despite having no real idea what you’re doing. Steve figures it’s because you’re a natural at taking care of people. Sometimes he thinks that’s the only reason all of you managed to make it out of the Upside Down in the first place.

“All done,” you murmur after you’ve knotted the last stitch.

“Thanks…” He tries to sit up again. The sting hasn’t yet left him. It’s less of a pain now, and more of a  warning — the thin sutures screaming as they threaten to snap.

“If you don’t move around so much, they won’t pull. Again.”

“Is that the rule?” he teases.

“Yeah. That’s the rule— the don’t be stupid rule.”

Steve takes a sharp breath in and rises. He’s prepared for the ache, so it burns less this time. He sees you reach for him in the corner of his eye, hands darting out to help him and then shooting down again when you decide against it. 

He wouldn’t have minded if you had. He would’ve made fun of you for it, obviously, but he wouldn’t have minded.

He’s been missing the warmth of your touch more and more since the Upside Down — back when he laid mostly limp on the arid ground of a desolate land, when you cradled his body to shield him from the bats flying overhead. 

He stopped feeling scared when you held him. He thought it was because he was dying, but now he knows it was because of you. The healing in your touch. It’s like the amber glow of streetlamps in the dead of night, or sunsets that paint the whole world pink. Being touched by you is like dancing in summer rain and running through a field of wildflowers.

“Sorry, for uh— for keeping you up,” Steve apologizes and inches towards the door.

You follow close behind him, with an urgency that borders between letting him out and keeping him in. “It’s— It’s fine,” you stammer, then laugh at yourself. “It’s not like I was sleeping anyway.”

“Really?” Steve asks, an inquisitive swirl to his scruffy features.

He turns around to face you more, his sneakers melting into the plush of your rug. Your hand gets clammy and tightens around the rusted doorknob when he looks down at you — with his eyes made of velvet and his mouth made of flower petals. His face is so hardened, but he looks at you so softly anyway.

“No,” you confess with a soft shrug. “I mean— after everything, I don’t know how anyone is. I was with Eddie earlier, and the fucker was passed out before ten.”

Steve breathes a sharp laugh through his nose. His plush lips curl into a crooked smile. “He deserves the sleep, though.”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“And so do you.”

“I know,” you grin, equal parts bitter and genuine. “But I’m not getting any.”

“Me neither,” Steve confesses, exhaling so deep it makes his chest deflate.

The two of you linger in place for a long, long time. Both of your mouths curl to say the same things — let’s grieve together, let’s wait for the sun to rise so the nightmares will pass — but neither of you is brave enough to say them out loud.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve nods, finally.

You wrench open the door for him, pulling extra hard when it jams. “The next time you pull your stitches?” you joke, smiling like you’re not grieved to watch him walk into the empty night alone.

Steve grins like he’s not mourning, too. “Probably,” he scoffs.

Maybe before that, he hopes, healed again as he walks to his car. Maybe I’ll be brave enough soon.

[lokis-army-77]

OK, so I know I *could* write this, but my WIPs are ridiculous, and you wrote Demon Eddie so well that he lives rent free in my head.

I was thinking Incubis Eddie, where reader thinks shes just having very horny dreams with this thing, and then he visits her when he thinks she's asleep but she's not...

Feel free to add your own flavours, or ignore this horny thot entirely up to you babe x

Hunger

Incubus!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 2k

A demon awaits you in your room when you arrive home from a night out.

Warning: 18 +. multiple orgasms, some licking (f reviving), fingering (vaginal and anal), CNC?, some hair pulling, blood.

And thank you to @lofaewrites for beta reading 💗

Masterlist

He had started showing up in the dark corners of your room only a month ago. It was after you had watched some horror movie with a friend and instead of being afraid like every normal person in the theater, you were turned on. 

In the dreams you had of him, you weren't scared either even when he came into the light and bared his two rows of needle-sharp teeth, even when his horns made him appear taller and the wings stretching from his bare back made him look broader. 

Each night he visited you was another wonderful exploration of your wants and desires. You couldn't get enough of him and when you woke only to find that the pleasure and the pain had all been a dream, you sulked to yourself as you missed the feel of those long, clawed fingers scratching at your skin.

You had come home way later than you usually would on a weeknight. Only coming through your front door at around three in the morning. A long-time friend of yours had gotten married and the reception had gone on longer than you would have liked. The bride and groom had left at around twelve but the party raged on without them. You called it quits when the ache in your feet could no longer be ignored and instead of conversation, all you could do was yawn. 

Trudging through your front door you kick your shoes off and throw your bag onto the table in the entryway. You’re exhausted and all you want is to go to bed.

As you walk through your house, everything seems normal, until you flip the lights on in your bedroom. You freeze when you see it. A dark mass by the head of your bed bent over and pulling at the clumped-up sheets. 

The creature whips around, its hair falling into its face as it growled. Its wings spread out to make itself look bigger and it bared its rows of sharp teeth.  You take a step back, fear gripping onto you. But then, as you look at the strange form, you are met with a familiar feeling. This wasn’t a strange creature, no it was what visited you in your dreams. 

Confusion fell over you then. He was just a dream. He wasn’t real so why were you seeing him in your room? You don’t remember falling asleep anywhere. Shaking your head, you pinch your arm, thinking it might wake you up like it does in the movies but all you feel is the sharp pain it brings to your forearm. 

Cautiously, you take a step forward, hands out, showing the creature you didn’t intend to do anything rash. “Hello,” you speak softly. His eyes slit as he stares at you. “Uh.. what are you doing here?” You ask. He had never really talked to you in your dreams before but it didn't hurt to try. 

“You aren’t supposed to be awake.” He answers, voice deep. 

 You take a deep breath. "What do you mean?" you ask.

He stares at you for a moment before he speaks again. "You know what I mean."

When he steps toward you, you step back, only to run into the door. Where there should have been a sense of dread, there was only a spark. A tingling sensation coiling up inside of you the closer he came.  

He reaches out his hand, claw-like nails giving him a more sinister look, and brushes back the strands of your hair that had fallen out of the updo you had been wearing for the wedding. You shiver when you feel his nails tickle your skin.  

You can feel your heart beating faster as he shuffles closer to you, his larch body towering over yours. A gasp leaves you when he unexpectedly grabs you and hoists you over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” Your voice wavers as he walks you over to the bed and throws you down. Your body bounces at the force and once you settle, you try to back away from him. 

He huffs, frustrated. “You aren’t this much of a hassle when you’re sleeping.” He takes hold of your ankle and drags you back down the bed. You try to wriggle free, but he is too strong. He grabs the other ankle and pulls you towards him, trapping you between his body and the mattress. He presses his body against yours, his hands roaming over you. 

You can’t help the flood of arousal that washes over you as you struggle against him. He’s smirking like this is a game to him and it’s only making you more flustered. 

Leaning down, his lips press into yours and his tongue slips inside your mouth. It’s forked, just like in your dreams, but now, with what little he’s said, you wonder if they were really dreams at all. 

The kiss is fierce, full of strong emotions and wandering hands. He tugs on your dress and you can hear the fabric beginning to tear. You try to pull away and to stop him but he’s so much stronger than you. 

You feel the needle-sharp tips of his teeth nip you, drawing blood from your bottom lip. He laps it up, humming at the metallic taste. Your fingers drag lines over his back and sides as you fall deeper into the feral, primal instincts now controlling you. 

His hardened length can be felt pressing into your thigh as he ruts into you. His kisses are rough and desperate, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pulls you closer. He whispers in your ear, "Let me take what I need and I will let you sleep.” 

You’re nodding before you can stop yourself. The growing need for him is too much to resist now. 

The creature hums, satisfied at your submission. Soon, your dress is finally ripped off of you, along with your undergarments. You are left completely bare to him, nipples pebbling in the cool air of your room and thighs snapping shut at being so exposed. 

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and he’s quick to open your legs up. Long, deft fingers trail down your exposed skin, goosebumps coming up in their wake. He takes his time, coaxing you into a more relaxed state with gentle caresses and warm lips sucking marks into your skin.

“Ah.” A moan leaves you when you feel him bite at your collarbone. Tiny pinpricks that draw the smallest amount of blood. His tongue laved over the wound and he let out a groan. 

His hand finally reaches between your legs and you let out a cry of relief when his thumb rubs over your clit. His other hand moves up to cup your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple. His mouth moves over your neck and he whispers in your ear, “You are so sensitive.” His fingers slid through the wetness faster over your clit. 

Your hips move in tandem with his hand, bucking and writhing. He lets you take what you need.  His fingers move faster still as you begin to moan and gasp. His other hand moves down to your hip and grips as your body jerks with each wave of pleasure. “Fuck-” you breathe. You can feel the all-too-familiar sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“That’s it. Give it to me.” He whispers into your ear as your back arches and your toes curl.  

Your breath hitches as your body tenses. Your voice breaks and you cry out in pleasure as you reach your peak. His grip tightens as you collapse onto the bed. 

The creature moans into your neck and he keeps rubbing his fingers into you, slowly moving them down from your clit to circle around your soaking-wet entrance. You whimper in his strong grip. 

“Please,” you gasp. He doesn’t stop, he pushes two of his fingers into you, pulling a wail from your lungs. You are clamping down around him, cunt practically sucking his fingers. 

There are squelching sounds coming from the fluid motion of his fingers roughly bounding into you. Your pleas and moans accompany the sounds and it’s like music to the creature's ears.   

He fingers you with abandon, pushing and pulling with force and speed. Your orgasm builds with each thrust of his fingers, your pleasure becoming more intense with each passing second. Your body goes rigid in his hold and as you cum for a second time. 

“No more,” you mumble, spent and exhausted. 

You hear him chuckle, “I’m not done with you, pet.” 

When his fingers leave your used cunt, a whine leaves you at the loss and you feel yourself clamping down around nothing. He is turning you onto your stomach before you know it. Your head is buried in the sheets and your body lies like a board. 

With closed eyes, you can only assume what he is doing behind you as you feel his body atop your own. Thick fingers push apart the fat of your ass to expose you. The tickle of his hair as he leans down to lick a thick stripe from your pussy to the tight ring of your ass makes you twitch, a small bit of exhausted laughter pushing through you. 

He pulls back and you can feel his thumb toying with your ass, circling and pushing in just slightly. He has moved to his legs are on either side of your closed thighs. You can feel the hardness of his cock resting along the seam of where your legs meet. He’s hot and leaking pre-cum. 

Wiggling your hips, you encourage him to keep going. He then guides his cock closer, pressing the tip through the sticky wetness and into your waiting pussy. 

You moan into the bed at the stretch, hands gripping the sheets. He’s so big that he makes you feel so full without being completely inside you. 

He keeps pushing into you, grunting and hissing at the feel of your cunt spasming around him. Once he is fully sheathed inside you he begins to piston his hips. In and out in and out. He’s fucking you at a brutal pace. Giving you pleasure but also taking what he wants from you. 

His thumb is still circling your ass but as he keeps going, he finally pushes past your tight rim. You cry out into the open air of your bedroom. His thumb is thick and stretches you open where you have never been stretched before. 

“Fuck, yes.” You mumble into the sheets below. 

He grins. “You like that pet? Like when I use this pretty ass?”

You nod, hair tangling under your face as you do. “Yes, yes, yes.” It's the only word you can get out of your mouth. 

Listening to your words he begins to thrust his thumb in and out of you at the same unwaveringly fast pace that his hips have set. 

You can’t help the guttural groan you let out. It’s all becoming too much. So many sensations are filling your body, some familiar and others new. The strings of your orgasm have been pulled taut and are slowly breaking one by one. Your fists clench and your legs spasm. The creature reaches to your head and pulls on your hair at the base of your neck. Your head is forced up and with a half cry half moan, you cum around him as he releases thick stream after thick stream into you. 

As he keeps himself buried within you, he leans down and bites at your ear before speaking. “I may have to visit you when you are awake again, pet. You take me so well.” 

He pulls out and moves away, fast and unexpectedly, leaving you to drop, spent, and used on the bed. You turn slowly to look for him but your eyes find him nowhere in your room. It was empty, he had vanished into thin air. 

Soon he will return, hunger no longer sated by the sexual energy that you have given him tonight.  

[strangesem]

hihi!!

if you’re still taking requests.. can you do a Hobie x fem!reader 😟‼️❓

Can Hobie be really close friends, and the reader has a fat crush on him. Like following him like a lost puppy, doing sweet things for him typa crush.

And like, one day she goes over to his place and he’s all injured and in his Spider Suit, and she like freaks out?

THIS IS SO CUTE RAHHHHH

apologies to everyone who’s request I haven’t gotten to yet; this ended up being a pretty long one because I just couldn’t stop writing lol

hobie brown x reader (reader finding hobie injured)

a/n: I changed it just a little bit and made reader and hobie roommates lol (as I’ve said previously I see hobie as 19-ish)

ps I need more spider-punk gifs theres like 3 total

so you and hobie have been best friends since you were kids

and you’ve been crushing on him since you were like 14-

and when you got your own place, it was only natural to share that with hobie

because of his struggle with being unhoused, he spent a lot of time at your place, so it wasn’t much of a change anyway

and sure the apartment was a little small, and not in the greatest neighborhood, but it was home

or at least you thought so

as hobie started coming come later and later, you became unsure if he felt the same

even worse he consistently came home with bruises/marks littering his face and arms, and you’re sure if you could see the rest of his body it would be the same

he’d always hound you for being out late because of the type of people who hung around this part of town at night, but if you even try to ask him to be more safe? he i just shrugs it off.

“it’s different” or so he claims, but you fail to see how.

not to mention that, as far as you could tell, he didn’t even have a reason to be out so late.

and as his late nights bleed into early mornings, you eventually stop being able to stay up waiting for him every night, and that worries you even more;

what if he just doesn’t come back one day? and you wouldn’t even know until the next morning!!

but your school/work responsibilities, as irrelevant as they may seem compared to your concern for your best friend, necessitated you having a full nights rest

but tonight? you can’t sleep.

hobie had promised you he’d be home in time to watch the new horror movie you’d rented. and yet, he never showed.

you had actually gone to bed early, exhausted and knowing sitting on the couch waiting would only breed more anxiety as each hour passed; but you hadn’t slept

you couldn’t. not tonight.

and so, you decide to just get up and have something warm to drink; maybe that would help soothe you

you lazily drag yourself to the kitchen, spend a few moments debating between tea and cocoa, before delicately mixing together your drink of choice

it’s then that you realize you had apparently left the tv on? the volume is off but there’s clearly light coming from your living room

so, you quietly enter the living room to grab the remote to turn it off; only to see a body laying across the small couch you had recently bought, causing you to jump

“jesus christ hobie what the fuck- WHAT THE FUCK HOBIE”

you quickly notice the crimson blood dripping from his deep looking wounds, seeping into his clothes- wait no. spider-man’s suit???

one thing at a time y/n.

“‘m sorry, just kinda crashed here” his voice is hoarse as he grabs your hand and squeezes it in some weird plea to keep himself grounded

“OHMYGODHOBIEAREYOUOKAYWHATHAPPENEDISTHISWHYYOUREALWAYSOUTSOLATEWHYDIDNTYOUTELLMEYOUREBLEEDINGLIKEALOTSHOULDNTWEBEDOINGSOMETHINGABOUTTHAT”

translation: omg hobie are you okay?? what happened- is this why you’re always out so late?? you’re bleeding like a lot shouldn’t we be doing something about that?????

you quickly stammer out before running to grab all the first aid supplies you had in the bathroom and heading back to a way too unbothered hobie

“calm down I’ve had worse”

“YOU’VE WHA-

“calm down.” he grabs you by the shoulders and makes you look him in the eye “I’m fine”

“people who are fine don’t bleed this much, hobie.” you began working on the worst looking wound, applying pressure with a cloth to hopefully stop the bleeding “why didn’t you tell me?”

“y’ worry too much; especially ‘bout me”

“of course I do! you’re my best friend.”

“we both know it’s more than that, love”

you freeze; you can’t look at him. you’re too embarrassed to let yourself admit that he’s right, because you had always been just friends. and you were terrified of ruining that.

“I’m sorry”

“look at me, y/n”

you can’t.

“feelings mutual y’know, if that’s what’s got ya all worked up” he laughs, shoving your shoulder a little in an effort to diffuse the tension you had built up within yourself “always has been; thought I made it pretty obvious. you always were pretty oblivious though”

“no I’m not!” he smiles; you always were defensive too

“pretty sure y’a are”

“I will literally let you sit here and bleed out”

“no you won’t”

no, you won’t.

you just go back to addressing his wounds, trying not to feel all giddy inside, but also doing your best not to overflow with anxiety.

what are you guys then? this changes EVERYTHING- is it weird that you live together now? is it weird-

“you’re worrying again. and don’t try to tell me you’re not; I know that face”

“it’s nothing. anyway, I’m all done; we should change the bandages in a few hours though, just to keep everything clean”

you get up to go wash your hands, and maybe heat up your long-forgotten drink, but you’re interrupted by hobie’s audible sigh

“you’re forgetting something, love”

“I am?? did I miss somewhere?” your voice gets progressively higher as you check him over, worry bubbling within you

“y’ did, yeah”

he pulls you closer to him, briefly cradling your face before allowing his lips to brush against yours

“stay? f’ me?”

[artiststarme]

Dead or Alive

After Spring Break, no one could find Eddie Munson dead or alive. His Uncle Wayne, the angry mob, even the police couldn’t locate him so everyone assumed he was dead. Some grieved his loss but most celebrated his apparent demise believing it to be what he deserved after killing Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason and hurting poor Max Mayfield.

Once the town recovered enough, Wayne bought a headstone for an empty grave and dutifully washed off the new graffiti that appeared each day. The kids of the Party mourned the loss of their idealistic Dungeon Master and disbanded Hellfire Club out of respect to him. And Robin and Steve disappeared to Steve’s empty house to grieve the loss of a friend (or so it seemed).

Because while everyone thought they were grieving and finding support in each other, they were actually caring for Eddie’s wounds and watching gay movies on Steve’s couch. They are junk food, cuddled in front of the TV, and appreciated being alive.

Steve couldn’t be around the party because he was supposed to be broken-hearted but it was the opposite. While he left the Upside Down the most recent time with more scars, both mental and physical, it also gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It took him away from the job he hated, gave him more time to spend with Robin, and it gave him a prospective boyfriend.

He felt bad keeping Eddie a secret away from the kids and his uncle but he had no other choice. Until he and Robin could brainstorm a logical explanation for his innocence and return from the dead, it’d be the three of them in hiding. Which to him, wasn’t a bad thing. Between the love of Robin and Eddie, his house felt less like a crypt and more like a home.

After a few weeks, they’d all gotten used to their solitary. Imagine their surprise when someone walks in on the three of them watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show right on the scene of Rocky showing off his fishnet clad calves. Imagine Officer Phil Callahan’s horror when his eyes landed on an injured homicidal maniac sitting half on his brother’s lap while drooling over Tim Curry. And imagine Steve’s mortification when his brother stood unmoving in the doorway of the living room with one hand on his hip and the other held over his open mouth in shock.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS EDWARD MUNSON DOING IN OUR PARENT’S LIVING ROOM?!” Phil shrieked, his face going red in barely concealed rage.

Steve, Eddie, and Robin all spoke at once.

“Is he? Oh my goodness, I didn’t notice. Steve, Eddie is in your house!”

“It’s just Eddie, you piece of shit.”

“Ok technically, I can explain.”

Phil just looked at them like all three of them were insane. “HE’S A KILLER!”

“No he’s not. He’s just a metalhead, Phil.”

“What is that supposed to do with anything, Steve?! I don’t care that he’s a metalhead, I care that he murdered at least three people in a week!”

Steve shot up from his seat so he was nearly eye-level with Phil. “Woah, he did not! I was with him the entire week and neither of us killed anyone.”

Phil just shook his head in confused exhaustion. “Is he dangerous?”

Steve looked him directly in the eye, “no! He didn’t do anything and he’s one of my best friends now.”

“Fine. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight. You,” he pointed at Eddie, “don’t kill anyone. And Steve, do not wake me up before ten AM unless someone is getting killed. Jesus Christ.”

He stomped up the stairs, grumbling under his breath the entire way. Meanwhile, Steve sat back down next to Eddie and gave him a small smile. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Eddie looked at him in disbelief, “did it Steve? Did it?”

(It, in fact, did not. The next morning, Steve had to tackle Phil away from the phone when he tried to call the chief and then had to hold him down while Robin rambled the entire story in an impressive four minutes. He only gave up once Steve threatened to disappear himself and Eddie (and Robin) forever without ever contacting Phil again.)

Should I make this into a longer fic? Let me know in the comments please!

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 19

part 1 | part 18 | ao3

November

As annoyed as Steve is to admit it, Dustin’s plan actually works.

(And he is annoyed, for the record. That little shithead should be glad he’s still grounded because Steve’s sorely tempted to invite him over just to give him a wedgie.)

Somewhere in the weeks following The Abduction Incident, he and Eddie become friends. Like, real ones. Friends who talk and laugh and shoot the shit in passing, who trade movies and mix tapes and ask each other if they saw the latest headlines in the morning paper.

They haven’t really had much chance to properly hang out, but Steve sees him most mornings, because he promised Wayne to keep making sure Eddie doesn’t sleep in on school days, and sometimes when they’re both around in the afternoons they’ll have a couple beers together, share a cigarette on the lumpy loveseat on the front porch of Eddie’s place. 

And Eddie’s…

Eddie’s funny. Oddly charming. Theatrical and weird. Steve already knew that last part, but it’s so much better when it’s not being used as an offensive weapon against him. He likes being in on Eddie’s jokes. 

Just plain likes Eddie, if he’s honest. 

“Steve?”  

Which should be crazy. It is crazy; if someone had told him a couple years ago that he’d be spending his free time with The Freak — that he would regret missing the guy’s Halloween show because of a Family Video shift, or that he would spend a week working up the courage to ask him if he wants to ride to school with Robin and him in the mornings? He probably would have kicked their ass for the mere suggestion. 

But now he’s half-orphaned trailer trash who knows that monsters exist, so. Eh.

“Steve! Hello? Earth to Steve.”

Steve blinks, focuses on the fingers Robin’s snapping in front of his face. “Huh?” he asks dumbly. 

He expects her to roll her eyes and pretend to chastise him with some butchered version of his name— ‘Steven Cardamom Harrington, were you daydreaming again?’ — but she just snaps her fingers again and begs, “A little help here? Please?” Her eyes are wide, her shoulder scrunched up to her ears with stress, and Steve realizes that:

a) he’s been staring blankly at a cart of go-backs for ten minutes instead of actually doing his job, and

b) the store is suddenly packed.

Friday night, and the rain that’s been hanging over Hawkins all week finally let up, so now everyone and their mother is apparently out running errands. 

He moves to man the front desk because the line is almost out the door, and Robin buzzes around the room like a shaken can of pure panic, her bangs sticking to her forehead as she zooms up and down aisles with the restock cart. She keeps making crazy eyes at parents when they stop her to ask about new releases or the age-appropriateness of films, because the parents are distracting her from intercepting their little gremlin children, who keep putting movies on the wrong shelves on purpose just to piss her off. 

“Dumbo! Does not go! In the horror section!” Steve hears her bark at a group of third graders, and he has to crouch down behind the counter for a second so she doesn’t see him laughing when she follows that up with a strangled, “Ugh!!!”

Okay. 

Entertaining as this is, he’s not getting chewed out by Keith again for missing quotas because Robin blew a gasket and scared off all the customers. 

“Hey, Rob?” he calls out to her as he hands a woman her change. 

“What?” 

“Go take a smoke break?” 

He knows she doesn’t smoke. He also knows that sometimes rushes like this get to be too much for her — the noise, the lights, the chaos of a crowd (“the mouth sounds, Steve; good god, the mouth sounds”) — and she needs a minute or twelve to go stand outside in the cool air, flap her hands around and scream behind a dumpster or whatever until she calms down.

Her eyes flash at the suggestion like she’s about to snap at him, but then she takes a deep breath and marches herself out the back door without another word.

With Robin cleared out, the crowd thins out pretty quickly. Steve gets the line taken care of at a speed he’s definitely not getting paid enough to maintain, and the kids get bored of playing ‘rearrange the inventory’ and wander off to the arcade. 

It’s sort of soothing, the mindless flow of it: scan, click, click, make change, “thanks for choosing Family Video,” print receipt, repeat. His mind wanders again as he works, but it doesn’t sink into its usual sludge of despair; doesn’t wail ‘house bills mom pills stress fuck-fuck’ like a tornado siren in his head until he gives himself a migraine. 

No, he’s thinking about denim. About cigarette smoke.

Crooked smile; Chiclet teeth.

Patches and pins with strange names and stranger artwork.

And then he’s thinking about how this is the second time tonight he’s started daydreaming about Eddie and wills himself to knock it off.

What? The guy’s friendly with him a handful of times, and suddenly he’s, like, obsessed with him?

He’s not. 

He’s not. 

He's just… pleasantly distracted by him; that's all.

“Thanks for choosing Family Video,” he tells the last customers as he hands them their receipt. The second they turn to leave, he slumps over the counter with his head pillowed on his arms, a wave of exhaustion hitting him because holy shit that was so many people and thank god the store’s finally empty. 

The bell over the door dings.

Goddammit. 

Steve lifts his head, reminds himself not to scowl at paying customers because he really needs this job, but then— 

“Eddie! Hey!”

— 

part 20

tag list part 1 below cut let me know if you want to be added tomorrow

@heartsong18 @hellion-child @hiimlevi @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @marklee-blackmore @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @noodle-shenaniganery @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @pending-dope-username @perseus-notjackson @ppunkpuppyy @questionablequeeries @remosdeerica @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @shamelesspatrolshepherdcowboy @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @spookednsaucy @steddieas-shegoes @steddie-island @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @taleah-bonnick @teatimeeverybody @th30ra3k3n @thealwithnoname @thespaceantwhowrites @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve @wormdebut @yourmom-isgay @zoeweee @zombiecreatures

[proxima-writes]

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever. 

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool. 

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges. 

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in. 

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router. 

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message. 

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis. 

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you’re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely. 

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath. 

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once. 

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does. 

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time. 

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach. 

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are. 

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied. 

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.” 

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door. 

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this. 

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting. 

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one. 

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps. 

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out. 

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.” 

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts. 

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask. 

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house. 

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally. 

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town. 

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds. 

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning. 

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall.  He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin. 

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks. 

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest. 

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex. 

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims. 

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee. 

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside. 

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him. 

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side. 

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

Joel Miller taglist: 

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-cat @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @dreamingofdaddydin

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

[wcbblife]

Paige as a girl/boy mom HCs!

a/n: So, keep in mind that some of these could be switched. Like this is just me exponentially running my mouth. I actually might do another part. Enjoy!

Boy mom:

Paige would absolutely be too excited for her son to be strong and old enough so that she can play with him. You constantly have to remind her to be patient and to at least wait until he can walk lol.

She would 100% put a basketball in his hands the second he has his first steps. I actually think she would even do it while he is still using his baby walker. Once he actually makes a basket, she’ll run laps around the house screaming because she enjoys the belly laughs her son makes.

She would read him stories and get too involved. Especially if they’re comics. She’ll be shouting out the sound effects and you have to walk into them bursting into fits of giggles. They both would have matching pouts once you tell her that he’s past his bedtime. (Btw she's definitely the fun mom)

Video games. That’s it. Although you two had a conversation about getting him into video games later in life, as soon as he set his eyes on Paige playing, he had been so adamant about playing that you both gave in.

She buys him a new set of clothes literally every other day. “Babe, just imagine him in this. He’ll look like a little gentleman.” Like it's crazy how much clothes he would have.

She definitely takes him to her practices sometimes and even teaches him as soon as he shows any type of interest in basketball. (This reminds me...Paige would never push her kids into one particular sport BUT she would push them into an active lifestyle so trust she will always be doing something with them.)

Him and KK would be besties btw. Even when he used to babble out incoherent words, I can just imagine how chaotic KK would be with a baby boy and Paige would 100% not make anything better. “Bababa.” Your baby blows a raspberry. “You heard him!” KK shouts, turning to him, “Damn little man, I couldn't have said it better myself.” “KK, language.” You deadpan.

Once he’s out of that fragile baby faze and into that toddler stage, I get the feeling she’ll definitely fling him around (safely ofc). Like she’ll pick him up and just throw him to the couch or on to his bed, loving the sound of his laughs.

Beach days go crazy with them two. Literally two kids. Sandcastles, water fights, beach volleyball. I get a feeling they go home completely covered in sand and Paige carries him back to the car while he’s too sleepy to open his eyes.

She’s just so fun. Always in an adventure with him especially if it’s really active. Like camping, surfing, hiking …etc.

Horror/Space movie nights with a pillow fort and popcorn.

Whenever she does anything fun with her teammates or travels for her games, her first thoughts are about you and him and how much fun you guys could have. Def keeps a bucket list of places for you guys to visit

You’ve definitely found her sound asleep in his bed with him curled up to her side. It happened when you ask her to put him to sleep after practice but she’s way too tired herself to get up and out of his room.

You think she secretly enjoys playing with his toys more than he does lol. Like you’ve definitely found her playing with them while he's long gone.

She could not cook for shit in the early days of your relationship but as time went on, she learned just to be able to cook for you guys. I actually envision her as a grill dad lol. She’ll definitely wake up early in the morning, step out into the cold weather and cook you guys some breakfast.

"If they punch you, punch them back harder." Mom.

Paige strikes me as a mother that would particularly show an abundant amount of love for her boy. She recognizes that, just like girls, boys need reassurance and love.

You constantly find them breaking into fits of laughter and giggle alone. It's the cutest thing ever.

Girl mom:

Paige is absolutely smitten and head over heels even before the baby girl is born. She’ll lay her head softly on your stomach and talk for hours to her.

Once she’s born though it’s a whole other side of Paige. She’s usually clumsy, but you never see her be so cautious like when she’s holding the girl. Literally sloth pace once she has her in her arms. Honestly kinda funny.

She’d be way too excited and paint everything pink and have everything ready for her MONTHS before she’s born. Before she was born, you'd catch her just looking or sitting around the room all alone.

Geeks about small girl clothes. Especially dresses and little sandals. You have to constantly deal with her sending you a bunch of pictures of clothes whenever she goes shopping with messages like “We’ll have a little princess walking around in our house soon.” or “I can’t wait to put this on her babe.”

Paige will 100% let her daughter put on makeup on her and it doesn’t matter how bad she looks; she’ll walk out with it on in public if her daughter asked her. Just imagine her sitting in a chair that’s wayyy too little for her, hunched over as your daughter tries her very best to apply some of that cheap kids makeup. omg.

Puppy eyes work on her almost too easily. And it’s hilarious.

“Hey…What did I tell you about candy at this hour?” Puppy eyes “Hmmmmm. Fine. But don’t tell your mother. And this is the last one!” Or… “I’m too tired honey…” Puppy eyes “Fine, let’s go.”

She does her signature hairstyle on her daughter’s hair, and it makes you laugh because she turns into a miniature version of Paige. Talking about a miniature Paige...trust that her daughter would literally copy her mother's sass.

Same with the makeup, Paige would let her daughter paint her nails. She always gets made fun of in her practices, but she couldn't care less. Strangely I think she would actually like going through her game pictures and seeing the chipped and uneven colors all over her nails because it was her baby girl who did them.

Protective as hell I’m afraid. Like she will not hesitate to smack the shit out of someone or scream at them if they're being weird or disrespectful or mean etc.

Matching fits. I think she would love to either match fits or color with her daughter (and son too dont get me wrong). Especially when showing up to games and they’re photographed together.

Watching princess movies with her is Paige’s favorite downtime activity. After a tough match or practice she absolutely loves getting home to her angel and just lounge around on the sofa while watching “The Princess and the Frog.” Especially when they either both fall asleep, or her daughter falls asleep and she carries her back to her room.

You’ve definitely found her sleeping on the floor next to the crib in the early days.

Paige in a rocking chair with her daughter sleeping on her. >>>>

Instagram feed would be full of her daughter's pics without her face. Even if fans know what she looks like she still likes to do it.

Paige would find it strangely soothing to play with her daughter's hair or even fiddle with her tiny little fingers absentmindedly.

[megamindsecretlair]

Sunday

Pairing: Tyrone x Black!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, multiple uses of the n-word, refer to female anatomy as "she". You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem receiving), cum play, breeding kink if you squint, possession kink, size kink, all consensual. Mentions of drug use and drug dealing, allusions to violence and murder.

Summary: You usually visit your grandmother on the weekends but manage to cross paths with Tyrone one day and your life was forever changed.

Word Count: 3,025k

A/N: You ever get an idea you just can't get out of your head? This was me with this fic and I had too much fun writing it! John Boyega got no business being that damn fine and I am absolutely feral. Enjoy my brain rot. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @wakandas-vibranium @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs

Tyrone knew that you didn’t want to mess with no banger. It was only by accident that you two even met. You were visiting your grandmother early in the afternoon. You usually went on the weekends, early in the morning to watch her stories with her and then you were long gone by the time Tyrone rolled out of bed and headed to the corner store.

You happened to be in the neighborhood and stopped to check on her. She was doing fine as usual, except she wanted some ice cream. As always, you told her to get her sugar down and maybe you’d sneak her something. She always managed to find the little piece of candy in your pocket. It was your secret and it didn’t hurt. 

As you were walking out of the house, Tyrone pulled up blasting music with the windows rolled down. He caught you looking and gave you one of those fuck boy smiles. Licked his lips and looked you up and down. You intended to ignore him. But hell, you weren’t blind. 

He had gotten out of the car lazily. Swinging his legs out of the car and stretching a bit, showing his stomach as his black shirt rode up. He walked up to you confidently and held out his hand. 

“Tyrone,” he said. No other words, no other fake ass compliments. Just his name because he was that damn cocky. 

You shook his hand and gave him a polite smile. You told him your name and he rolled it around his tongue. “Pretty ass name,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes. “How many little girls does that work on?” You had asked him. 

He nodded and shrugged. “A few, I ain’t gon’ lie,” he said. 

“Good, ‘cause I’on like liars,” you told him. 

He put his hands in the pockets of his sweats and eyed you up and down once more. He took in the horror movie on your T-shirt. “You watch that shit?” 

“I wouldn’t wear if I didn’t,” you told him. 

From there, it spiraled into Tyrone waking up just a bit earlier to see you come out of your grandmother’s house. He’d give you shit about whatever was on your T-shirt for the day. Sometimes, you’d wear something wild just to see what he’d say. 

“Pussy: Push until she screams yes?” Tyrone read your shirt and burst out laughing. He was so damn sexy. From his cornrows to his big, sexy ass lips, and his deep voice. It was hard not to crush on the man. But you didn’t want to. You didn’t want all the drama that came from his world. Not like he made it fuckin’ easy to resist him. 

He was always finding ways to touch you. Whether it was to get your attention, push you, poke you, or pull you closer by your shirt. “I’m just trynna read it, damn!” He’d say and pull you too close where you knew damn well he couldn’t read that shit. 

The heat of his body was like a furnace. Like touching a hot stove. LA was already fuckin’ hot this summer. The sun wasn’t pulling punches and neither was Tyrone. 

“Come chill for a bit,” he’d say. 

“Boy bye, I’m not coming in there with you!” You’d tell him. 

It was cool. He’d try again the next time he saw you and the time after that. Your crush got so bad that you were starting to linger if you arrived before he got up. If he wasn’t sitting on the porch when you pulled up, he was definitely sitting on it when you got out. He’d wait patiently for you to visit with your grandmother and he’d ask how she was doing. 

Your grandma used to tell you about the nice young man next door. She was always dropping hints about that nice boy who helped her with the groceries sometimes. You thought it was just some punk kid looking for a favor. But to actually meet Tyrone…yeah, you kind of got it.

He was the perfect mix of hood, toxic, and a good man. You didn’t know how it was possible. He probably had a couple of bodies on the gun hanging out of his backside. You couldn’t help but notice it every time he turned around. You were already staring at his juicy ass. The gun made you uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. The chief among them being that at any point, his ass could be taken out by other hood muthafuckas on the block. 

That one fact kept you from ever getting too close. It was hard to tell your heart that. The poor idiot just wanted him. So you always found some excuse to leave or bow out. You’d blame it on meeting up with your friends or your parents or work. 

Tyrone just gave you that same cocky smirk and he’d tell you he’d miss you. He’d watch you walk away and get in the car. You’d feel his eyes on the back of your head. 

“Come chill for a bit. And don’t give me no shit about work or whatever. I know yo ass lyin’,” he said.

“I’on like lying,” you told him. 

“Then give me a good reason why you won’t come inside,” he said. He stared at you intently, daring you to contradict him or give him a lame excuse. 

“I don’t fuck with bangers,” you told him. 

He’d playfully roll his eyes and wave you off. “I don’t even bang like that,” he said. 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. Sometimes he’d be out here with his friends. You knew dope dealers when you saw them. They were constantly passing bottles and pills back and forth with all kinds of people. Getting money in exchange to do whatever the hell he did with it. Probably spent it on some girl he was fuckin’. 

You weren’t jealous, by much. You’d seen the way he walked. That nigga was cocky for a reason. And you wanted no parts. Okay, maybe some parts. 

He finally tugged on your hand and led you inside of his house. You were expecting it be gross or filthy. But it was surprisingly clean. He had a couch and some chairs, minimal artwork, and the kitchen was decent. He had a flat screen TV on turned to some game. 

He sat down on the couch and pulled you close until you were snuggled up against him. “I’m not fuckin’ you Tyrone,” you said.

He laughed and shook his head. “That’s yo nasty ass mind in the gutter. I just wanted you close to me,” he said. 

“Mhm,” you muttered.

His phone rang and he picked it up. You couldn’t hear what the other person was saying but you knew it was a woman. You smirked at him while he looked at you. “I’m a little busy,” he said to the person. 

The person began yelling and Tyrone hung up the phone and tossed it onto the glass coffee table. 

“Who was that?” You asked with a smirk. 

“Shit, I’on know,” he said. 

You shook your head. “You probably got a girl for every day of the week,” you said. 

“I’m just missin’ Sunday. You free?” He asked.

“Boy, shut up!” You laughed. You stole his remote and flipped through channels until you landed on a thriller you love. You caught it near the beginning and you told Tyrone what he needed to know to catch him up.

“I can’t believe you don’t watch TV. Like…everyone watches TV,” you said. 

He shrugged. “I just don’t watch it like that. I got shit to do,” he said. 

“Yo ass just like sitting outside to see what you can get into,” you said. 

“I just like watchin’ yo pretty ass,” he said. 

You sighed and twisted your lips at him. “You already know that shit don’t work on me, Tyrone,” you said. 

He chuckled and pulled you closer. You were already so close to him. You could smell his clean, soapy scent mixed with weed. He kissed your cheek and smirked at you. “I been seeing you round here for weeks. I see the way you look at me,” he said.

“Like you crazy?” You asked.

“Naw, like you trynna see what this dick can do for you.”

You choked on a laugh and slapped at his stomach. It was solid under your hand. Not super thick with corded muscles but he had some meat on him. Strong, capable, tough. “Now who’s got the gutter mind?” 

He pinched your shirt and released it. “How many licks does it take?” He asked. His voice was low and rusty. It sent tingles up the back of your thighs. You shifted in your seat and tried to lean off of him but he held you to him. Not giving you an inch. 

“Tyrone…” you warned him. You didn’t want to start this shit. But he looked at you like he was trying to eat you for dinner. He licked his lips and looked at your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. His hand roamed over your bare legs, exposed in your cut off shorts. So what if you wore it just for him? It was harmless. Until his fingers played with the distressed hem. 

“Let me see what it taste like,” he said. 

Your pussy contracted and you felt yourself getting wetter. You were always wet whenever you spoke to him. Some days, after seeing him, you’d go home and take care of yourself. You’d even set the mood. You’d replay the conversation and his flirting while running a bath. Setting up some candles. Laying on your bed and using your vibrator as you came just to the image of him in your mind. 

But it paled in comparison to feeling his body next to yours. His fingers on your thigh and his arm around your shoulders. He leaned down and captured your lips in his. His juicy lips were wet and hot and he sucked on your bottom lip. Your kisses were loud and sloppy and you wiggled on the couch trying to find some relief.

“Let me see what it taste like,” he said again. 

“Ain’t yo momma at home?” You asked.

He shook his head. “She don’t never come out her room. Her TV too loud, she won’t hear shit,” he said. 

You scowled. The last thing you wanted was to meet his mom with your ass up in the air getting pounded by her baby boy. He saw the look on your face and smirked. 

He grabbed your hand and pulled you to his room. It fit him. There were posters on the wall and his clothes strewn about. He picked up some of it off of his bed and closed his bedroom door. 

Then he was back to kissing you and running his hands over your ass. He squeezed and kneaded the globes of your ass and you moaned into his mouth. Your hands grabbed his shirt and yanked it off of him, finally giving you an entire view of his body. Fuck, he was so hot. His sexy brown skin was lickable. Your ran your hands greedily on him. 

Tyrone slipped your hoodie off your shoulders and then unbuttoned your shorts. He pushed it and your panties down your legs. Then he got rid of your shirt and bra until you were standing buck ass naked in his room. 

You reached for his sweats and he batted your hand away. “Get on the bed,” he said.

“Who the hell you talkin’ to like that?” You asked.

Instead of answering, he grabbed you and pushed you onto the bed. You bounced as you sat down. You opened your mouth to say something but he grabbed your legs and pushed them as far as he could. 

He studied your wet pussy and the way you contracted as he looked. He smirked and looked at you. “Needy little fuckin’ pussy, ain’t she?” 

You gasped and huffed out a laugh. He got to his knees and ran his tongue down the crease of your fold. He moaned. “Goddamn, you taste fuckin’ good. But how many licks does it take?” 

He was quoting your shirt again. Your hands were braced behind you to keep you upright. Your chest bobbed up and down as you started to hyperventilate. You had imagined him between your legs for weeks. Too cowardly to say anything to him. You hid behind the “I don’t fuck with bangers” line. You were sure that little bit of armor was all you needed to resist Tyrone. If that were true, you wouldn’t be moaning at the sight of him kneeling before you.

His nose nudged your pussy lips and he inhaled. “Fuck,” he whispered before kissing you there. His tongue darted out and he began to lick you, kiss you, suck on you until you were a whimpering mess. 

Your legs were shaking as he tongue fucked you. “Oh fuck, oh shit, Tyrone. Fuuuuck,” you moaned. You leaned on one hand while you dug your nails into his hair. 

“Stop fuckin’ playin’ with me,” he said. He stared at you, almost angrily, as he went back to eating you out. 

Your stomach was on fire as pressure built low and steady. He flicked the little nub until you were sobbing and cumming on his tongue. He leaned up with that signature cocky grin. Your juices were all over his mouth and chin. He wiped it away with his hand. 

“Got a nigga sprung over here,” he said. “I wanna see what else this pussy can do,” he said. He drew down his sweats and his cock sprang free. 

It was long and thick and your eyes widened. “Where the hell you gonna put that?” You asked. There was no fuckin’ way that was fitting inside of you. It was truly a one-eyed monster. Thick and veiny. The head was already leaking a little bit. 

He grinned as he stroked himself. “Sit yo pretty ass back,” he said. He didn’t wait for you to comply. He pushed on your stomach until your back hit the bed. He grabbed your fleshy thighs and yanked until you were half hanging off of the bed. 

He wrapped your legs around his waist as he dipped his cock inside of you. There was already a slight burning and you moaned. “Fuck, Tyrone. You’re too big,” you whined. 

“Suck it up, ‘cause this finna be my favorite spot,” he said. “Shit, this all mine now.” 

You laughed but it turned into a gasp as he started to work himself inside you. He pleasantly stretched you out as he gave shallow strokes to wet his dick with your arousal and make him sliding in easier. 

Then, he added his thumb to rub circles on your clit. You clenched around his dick and he moaned. “Just like that,” he said. He continued to rub circles, making you relax and take all of him. He still hadn’t bottomed out, but he was starting to increase his strokes. 

“I knew this fuckin’ pussy was gonna be good. I ain’t know it would be this good,” he said. His voice was low as if he weren’t really talking to you. Your nails grazed his stomach as you tried to push him away. You didn’t want him to stop, it just felt so fucking good to finally have him inside of you. 

He grabbed your hand and slammed it onto his bed. He leaned over to do it, so he was driving in a little deeper. 

“Shit, I think I can go deeper. What you think?” He asked.

“There’s…no…way…” you said in between gasping and moaning. 

He licked his lips and winked at you before increasing the intensity of his strokes while slowing down the tempo. He shoved in once and then twice and he seemed to unlock some hidden level inside of you because he did go in a bit deeper. 

“If you keep on, I’m gonna…fuckin’...shit…” You were close to cumming and his finger on your clit was making you dumb. Boneless and shivering. You couldn’t think, let alone say anything. 

The unexpected slap to your titties half woke you up. You couldn’t focus on him. He was fucking all common sense out of you. He pulled on one nipple before leaning down and suckling it into his mouth.

It was like a straight shot of desire straight to your pussy. You clenched around him and he moaned around your nipple. He tugged on it with his teeth, running it back and forth.

You came with his name on your lips. You didn’t care who heard you. There was noway to hide what ya’ll were doing in here. The whole block could hear you and you didn’t care one bit. The orgasm tore through you, ripped through you; it sent you into another fucking dimension where you lost all sense of self. There was just his dick still slamming inside of you.

Your vision winked in and out and your eyes rolled back. Is this what dying felt like? Complete bliss and peace unlike you had ever known? Tears slipped from your eyes and disappeard into your kinked hair. 

Tyrone grunted as he pounded a few more times before spilling his cum inside of you with a string of curses. He pumped you full until you were near bursting with his cum. 

“I’ma put a baby this pussy and keep you forever,” he said. He collapsed on top of you and you giggled while he kissed his way up your chest. He kissed the top of both your titties before kissing your neck, your ear, your jaw, and finally your lips. 

You were still joined and he rocked a little bit. You groaned. You were riding a fine line between pleasure and pain. 

“Naw, I’m gonna keep you,” he said. He grinned and kissed you. You were too fucked out to speak. To think. To register what just fucking happened. But you wouldn’t mind being kept by him. 

You’d keep him too. 

[willowser]

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

[slxsherr]

Tell Me, Does It Hurt?

read part II here and part III here

pairing: charlie walker x bimbo!fem!reader

summary: you don't know much about horror movies but charlie doesn't mind helping you out.

wc: 2107

warnings: fem!reader, cursing/swearing, loss of virginity, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (p in v)

New students senior year are pretty rare, especially new students like you. Your skimpy clothes are what make you the talk of the town when the school year starts, most of your classmates having caught a glimpse underneath your skirt on your first day. Even if you noticed, it’s not like you’d care. It’s also why Charlie completely forgets about Kirby when you strut over to him and Robbie during Club Fair, asking to join Cinema Club. 

Your glossy lips stretch into a cute smile, writing your information down on the sign-up sheet, and Charlie takes advantage of your position, memorizing the view of your tits as you lean over. He’s surprised to see that you’re not wearing a bra, eyes fixed down your shirt. Before he can process the sight, you’re standing up, winking at him before walking off. His heart jumps and breath hitches, knowing he’s been caught, but he doesn’t have much time to think about it when Kirby comes to sign up for the first time in four years. 

He’s surprised when you actually show up to Cinema Club meetings, sitting pretty next to Kirby, looking awfully confused when the discussion begins. You’re quiet throughout the meeting, coming up to him once the meeting is over, brushing off Kirby to talk to him. 

“Hi, um, I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of the movies you guys are talking about,” you say, nervously fiddling with one of the rings on your fingers. 

“That’s okay, what genre do you usually watch?” Charlie asks, trying not to get nervous as you get closer to him. 

“Usually sci-fi or animated, I really like the visuals,” you explain your answer.

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite?” He asks, wanting desperately to grab your hand to stop your fidgeting, and to feel your touch. 

“The Fifth Element,” you answer eagerly. 

“That’s a good one,” he says, smiling at the way your face lights up. “But we do focus mainly on horror movies. Do you like scary movies?”

“Not when I’m alone. Do you think you could help me catch up?” You ask, batting your eyelashes.

“Uh, s-sure,” he answers, stuttering over your bold request. 

“Thank you! Are you free this weekend for a marathon?” You ask, tilting your head at him.

“Yeah,” he says, breathless from the idea of spending the weekend by your side on the couch, watching movies that’ll have you clinging to him. 

You give him your phone number, as if he couldn’t have gotten it from the sign-up sheet, telling him to text you when he’s free. He waits until Friday morning to text you, letting you know that he’ll be free tonight. You text him back after lunch, giving him your address and telling him to come over at six, that you’ll buy dinner. 

He’s nervous when he rings your doorbell, the stack of DVD cases threatening to spill out of his sweaty grasp. You open the door quickly, smiling at him and pulling him in. He can barely process what you’re wearing, short shorts that barely cover your ass and a tiny, tight tank top that he can see your nipples poke through. You lead him through your house, pushing him towards your couch when reaching your living room. 

“You’re just in time! The pizza just got here,” you say as he takes a seat on the couch, and he spots the pizza box on the coffee table. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got water, sodas, juice,” you offer, listing his options.

“Just a soda,” he answers, and you disappear briefly before coming back with two cans. 

“Okay, what movie should we watch first?” You ask, putting the cans on the coffee table with the pizza.

“We should definitely start with Peeping Tom,” he says, handing you the case. 

“Awesome, I’ll put it in,” you say, walking towards your TV to start the movie. “Thank you for doing this for me, by the way,” you say, and his face flushes at your appreciation, as well as the sight of you bending over in those shorts. 

“No problem, it’s my pleasure,” he says, pulling one of the blankets to cover his lower body as you finish up, walking over to join him on the couch. 

“I hope you don’t mind a plain cheese pizza,” you say, bringing the box to your lap and opening it as the previews begin to play. 

“Not at all,” he says, accepting the napkins you pull out of nowhere, underneath the box he assumes, and a can of soda. 

“I’m really glad you came over, it’s kinda hard to make friends at a new school during senior year,” you say, your words followed by the crack of your can opening. 

“I get it, not the new school stuff but the making friends part,” Charlie says awkwardly. 

“Really? But you’re so cool!” You say after taking a sip of your drink. 

“You think I’m cool?” He asks, his ears beginning to ring from the compliment. 

“Totally!” You say, and the way you’re looking at him as if he hung the moon and stars reassures him that you’re not lying. “Oh! Movie’s ready,” you say, realizing the menu has popped up. 

The movie starts, and the two of you fall silent, eating and drinking as the first act begins. By the third act the pizza box is back on the table, empty cans joining it. You’re inching closer and closer to him, hiding your face in his shoulder when it gets too gory for you to watch. 

Slowly, the two of you make it through Charlie’s essential picks. You’re shamelessly clinging onto him after the second act of the second movie, and he’s able to muster up the courage to wrap his arm around you by the third act. After the third movie you stop flinching so much, getting used to the jumpscares and violence of the genre. Before he can put in the fifth movie, you stop him, and he’s sad, believing the night is already over. 

“Can we watch the last one in my room? The couch is getting uncomfortable,” you ask, and his heart nearly does a flip at your request. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, following you to your room. 

“Just take your shoes off and you can lay on my bed,” you say, taking the DVD case from his hands to start the movie. 

He does as you say, slipping off his shoes and laying on top of your duvet. You join him on the bed, laying your head on his shoulder and pulling his arm around you. He starts giving you background on the movie, telling you about the Woodsboro murders that inspired the Stab franchise as the previews play. You give hums of affirmation, and he tries to ignore your gentle touch on his thigh. 

“Charlie?” You say his name softly after the shower scene. 

“Yeah?” He responds, hating how soft his own voice sounds. 

“Are you a virgin?” You ask, sitting up to look at him. 

“W-Why would you-” He begins to respond, but you interrupt him. 

“It’s okay if you are, baby,” you say, climbing onto his lap. “I wouldn’t mind being your first,” you say, rolling your hips, and he can feel the heat of your pussy through all the layers of fabric separating the two of you, his dick hardening at the sensation. “Do you want me to be your first?” You ask, leaning your head closer to his.

“Yes,” he manages to say between moans as your hips keep moving. 

You smile at his answer, connecting your lips with his, moving his hands to your hips. He’s kissing you sloppily, hands crushing your hips as he tries to get you to slow down. He groans when you pull away from him, perking up when he sees you taking off your top. 

“Do you like my tits, baby?” You ask almost innocently, pulling his hands up to your chest.

“I love them,” he says, thumbs brushing over your nipples, eliciting a quiet moan from you. 

“Lift your hips, I wanna suck you off,” you say, undoing his belt and his jeans. 

He follows your instructions eagerly, allowing you to pull his jeans and boxers down his legs. He kicks them off, breathing heavily as you let your spit dribble over his cock. Your hands slowly pump him as you lick at his tip, tongue gliding over the sensitive skin, soft lips leaving faint kisses. 

“Please, stop teasing,” he moans, hips moving on their own when you suck on the head. 

You smile before you swallow his cock, bobbing your head, hands holding his hips down. His hands twist the fabric of your duvet, flying to your head when he feels the smooth muscle of your tongue trace a vein as you move. You moan when he accidentally pulls your hair, and he gets embarrassingly close to blowing his load right then from the vibrations.

“Mm, you’re doing so good, baby,” you say, pulling off his cock, one hand squeezing his base to calm him down. “Bigger than I’m used to, though, hurts my jaw.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, desperately moving his hips for more friction.

“It’s okay, baby, don’t apologize. Wanna feel my pussy now?” You ask, languidly pumping his shaft. 

“Yes, yes, please,” he says, voice breathy from pleasure.

“Take this off then,” you say, tugging on his shirt. 

He sits up fully, eagerly following your directions. He strips his flannel and undershirt, throwing them to the side. Your short shorts are halfway down your legs, lacy thong not far behind. As soon as it’s all off, he’s on top of you, spreading your legs and sliding his cock between your slippery folds. 

“Oh, you wanna be on top for your first time?” You ask, arms circling around his neck. 

“Yeah, wanna make you feel good too,” he says, one hand sliding between your bodies to press messy circles on your clit. 

“Fuck,” you moan at the stimulation. “Go ahead and put it in, baby.”

He presses into you, thick head stretching your hole deliciously. You pull him closer to you as he bottoms out, your sweet moans right next to his ear as he buries his head in your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin to distract himself from the way you’re clenching around him. 

“Move,” you say, a plea more than a demand. 

The drag of your walls as he pulls out has him groaning, hands pushing your knees to your chest to support himself before he thrusts back in. He sets a slow pace, his hair falling in his face as he leans down to kiss you. You pull his hair back into a makeshift ponytail, moaning against his lips.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he groans out after pulling away from the kiss to breathe. 

“That’s okay, baby,” you reassure him. 

“No, want you to come too,” he says, and you’re sure he’s gonna leave bruises with how hard he’s gripping your thighs.

“Go harder,” you tell him, moving one of your hands down to rub your clit.

“Like this?” He asks, and your vision starts to blur as the pleasure burns through your body. 

“Yes! Feels so good, Charlie!” You moan, hand stopping in its tracks to grip his bicep. 

As he fucks you into the mattress, he moves one of his hands to rub your clit, hoping to get you off before he busts. Your room is filled with your sounds, the moaning, heavy breathing, the slapping of skin against skin, but especially your voice. You’re babbling nonsense, nails leaving red marks across his shoulders, legs shaking as you reach your peak. 

He doesn’t last much longer after you, fucking you through your orgasm not recognizing the signs of your release. Rutting into you, he lets his hot cum fill you, too fucked out to remember to pull out. His hips stutter against yours as he rides out his high, groaning as he pulls out, allowing himself to lay on top of you when you pull him down to you. 

“You did so good, baby,” you say after a while, fingers combing through his hair.

“Yeah?” He asks, carefully rolling off of you. 

“Yeah. Wanna stay the night?” You ask, turning over to face him. 

“What about your parents?” He asks, suddenly worried about getting caught. 

“They won’t be back until Monday,” you answer, smiling as you place a hand on his chest.

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you all alone for the whole weekend?” He asks, pulling you to hold you closer.

[yearningaces]

As someone who is a sucker for different styles of courting between monsters and a very oblivious human I'll provide a early morning thought

Say you've moved to a new town that's more supernatural than human, you quickly gain a good friend out of a large selkie named Gale.

Gale is a bit of a big guy, soft and warm with a healthy layer of soft fat to keep him warm in the colder climate of the town. Dark scruffy hair and dark eyes but when you told him he's your favorite person to hug cause he's always warmer than most and he's soft? Oh the brightest blush. See, you've essentially told him you think the most of 'him'. That he specifically makes you comfortable and 'Warm'.

Warmth is a big thing for selkies. Their seal skins are the only thing that keeps them warm. Even in human form with the seal pelt wrapped around them it somewhat keeps them warm. Most selkies are chubby or fatter than other species as that's what keeps them the warmest given the cold nature without their pelt on. So you telling Gale that he makes you warm?? Well... How were you supposed to know that's what a bonded pair of selkies would only say to one another... And he doesn't even realize you don't understand you've essentially told him one of the most important things selkies might confess to each other.

So imagine your confusion once you wake up in the early of the morning and he's outside of your little home, hammer and nails and a few stray boards, leveling the next wooden board he's replacing. When you ask what he's doing he just looks up to you with the brightest smile, saying that he had some spare wooden boards and your porch needed some replaced.

And you thank him by making breakfast and bringing it to him, sharing food... Another thing you're unaware are important to courting and eventually bonding with a selkie. And Gale is so excited for food in a way you haven't seen him before but you give him a hug, not noticing how wide his smile is or how warm his face is.

Or how on another morning you go down to the shore to see a large walrus lounging on the shore, when the walrus sees you it shuffles over, hopping somewhat, happily so. And you know this is Gale, you've seen his other form before. Happily you sit down as he shuffles over and sets his head in your lap. Careful to now crush or hurt you with his tusk.

After some time of lounging he looks out to the sea and moves into the water. You're watching the cold waves from your spot in the sand until Gale comes back to the shore, a decent sized fish in his mouth and he brings it to you. And another one. And another one. Eventually you devolve into a laughing mess at this giant walrus bringing you fish after fish.

Gale for his part might have forgotten you can't eat lots of raw foods, or have no way to prepare the fish to your liking on the shore, but the sight of you laughing so happily makes it all worth it. And he's seeing this as you accepting his next courting step of proving he can provide, after showing he can keep your home safe and comfortable.

It all comes to a head when you invite Gale over for supper one night. There's a new horror movie, a trilogy of the series and you both decided to watch the entire series that night. He comes to your door with drinks and a gift and a bright smile, greeting you with a big hug first.

Cooking is fun as always, you begin and he quickly tries to help and it ends up with him trying to do it all for you if you don't smack his hands away. It's a back and fourth and ends with good food.

While you're getting the plates and drinks ready to bring to the living room, Gale sneaks away to fix up the couch.

When you go to the living room, tray in hand, he greets you, taking the tray and setting it on the coffee table and showing the very cozy setup he's very proud of. Gale has found almost every pillow and blanket and has made the softest arrangement for the two of you to lounge in. To you, this is a sweet gesture.

To him? This is his way of proving he can keep you comfortable and safe and Warm.

So his elation when you're both bundled up is a bit confusing but sweet, you don't mind.

You both enjoy the food and the movies and you're bundled up, full and settled together.

Gale finally wraps an arm around you, slowly pulling you closer with a happy little sigh once you're settled against him. And of course you lean into his larger form cause he's warm and is good to hug and cuddle.

Eventually though, in his quiet mutterings you realize he's saying very sweet things, sweeter than what a friend usually would. Which sparks you to ask what he means, which begins the conversation of 'did you not know I've been courting you??' Verses 'what in the world are you talking about?'

Once actually calmly having this discussion he explains all of the things he's been doing, both cause he likes helping you and seeing you happy, also because it's something of an instinctual situation for him to want to prove to you that he can keep you happy, fed, safe, comfortable, and emphasis on Warm.

Gale has been courting you, in a romantic way, wanting to see if becoming a bonded pair would be possible with you. Neither of you realized each other's species has different ways of handling romantic courting.

Knowing this though, and knowing how you feel about Gale, quietly you ask him to lean down towards you.

Hesitantly he does with a confused but hopeful expression.

And really as soon as you pressed a kiss to his cheek did you learn just how bright red his face could blush