#BUT BOY DO I LIKE TAFFY-

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Eddie has rainbow decorations on his store. he is gay.

Sally's house is mostly rainbow. therefore-

[musubiki]

i have like 3 pages of my sketchbook dedicated to taffy timeskip hairstyle

[bunnys-kisses]

how can i take your order? all you have to do is pick a dessert, drink and driver/character of your choosing! are you in the mood for a mille-feuille or a big slice of chocolate cake! please, please, please indicate who you want me to write about!!

the servers are from the following: formula one, call of duty, baldur's gate 3, haikyuu, one piece, jujustu kaisen, detective comics (dc), marvel comics (but i am open to any other fandoms you might have in mind! please do not hesitate to ask!!)

i do also accept polyam relationships! (pairing + reader), up to about four people! just to make it manageable on my end!

all orders can be made to the inbox for @bunnys-kisses and i'll get your order together asap! also let me know if you want it extra sweet or a little more spicy !

mille-feuille: “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

butter tart: "let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

sugar pie: “gonna let daddy hear ya?”

zebra cake: "well, what do we have here?"

carrot cake: "swallow it. all of it."

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family."

pots de crème: "if a picture is worth a thousand words, then i could probably get a million dollars for this photo."

oat flapjacks: "i'm not scared of you."

persian rolls: "it's mandatory i finish. you getting to finish is a treat."

spice pie: "i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut."

mushroom pie: "if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up."

lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making."

swiss roll: "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you."

pumpkin pie: "i've met strays who were more obedient."

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work."

sausage roll: "i wonder how much i could get for photos of this cunt."

pithivier: "if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you."

tiramisu: “my little slut to ruin.”

sponge toffee: "aw, is someone mad that they can only cum because of me?"

pull-apart bread: "i love you"

powered sugar donuts: "marry me."

blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”

pudding chomeur: "i don't share."

ice cream bars: “did you see the way he was eyeing you? he need to know you're mine."

chocolate cake: "do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day."

soufflé: "i'll be gentle."

fried dough: "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours."

apple pie: "now be good and beg. thank you."

vanilla cheesecake: "where are your manners?"

berry trifle: "wrong. try again."

maple cream pie: "either you wear the necklace with my name on it, or wear my bruises around your neck."

s'more: "The accent gets to you, doesn't it?"

belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night."

pancakes: "if you bite me. i'll bite you back."

loaf of whole wheat bread: "you're going to shut that mouth and take me."

jos louis: "does someone need a daddy?"

maple taffy: "oh my god you're stupid."

snowballs: "don't worry, drug tests aren't till next week."

shortbread cookies: "and who does this belong to?"

flan: "i'm not possessive... i'm obsessive."

peach cake: "if you spill a drop, we start all over."

angel food cake: "if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you."

red velvet cupcake: "if you don't like being called a whore, then stop acting like one."

mince pie: "i'm not jealous."

banana bread: "i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name."

crumb cake: "if you just listened, all of this could've been avoided."

chocolate chip cookies: "you're beautiful when you smile, but you're the prettiest when my cock is in your throat"

nanaimo bars: "who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it."

coffee cake: "knees. now."

sourdough bread: "i'm going to breed you."

blueberry muffins: "i don't think it'll fit."

pound cake with strawberries: "you know i hate going over rules, but just because i like seeing you embarrassed, i'll tell you them again."

croissant: "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."

crepe: "pretty girl."

french toast: "you're trying to make me jealous!"

churros: "if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?"

shortbread squares: "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match."

savory pastry: "let your brother find out."

sweet pastry: "i'll make it all better."

eclairs: "the family's precious little girl. under me like a slut."

boston cream pie: "yeah, i'll use protection."

bagel: “gonna paint you with my teeth.”

crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”

tres leches: "i wonder if your brother know i cum in you."

peanut butter bars: “scratch me, bite me, just mark me sweetheart. show them I’m yours.”

eton mess: "be careful. your breath smells like cum."

scones: "but what if they see us!"

english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?"

honey cruller: "i forget how small you are sometimes."

banana split: "don't look at me like that."

beer brownies: "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog."

fudge: "your father is pissing me off."

sticky toffee pudding: "the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant."

hot cross buns: "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up."

brownies: "you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

chocolate mousse: "the only necklace you need is my hand around your throat"

tim bits: "stupid little thing."

fruitcake: "i'll make tonight special."

cornmeal muffin: "i need you most."

devil's food cake: "you're my most unhealthy obsession."

crème caramel: "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?"

banana & chocolate muffins: "i'm only doing this because you need to learn how to behave, rules are rules, and you need to follow them."

custard tart: "i've never done this before."

cinnamon rolls: "no one needs to know."

mango sorbet: "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?"

date squares: "you look better with my marks on you."

figgy duff: "if i buy it, will you stop pouting?"

spicy upside down cake: "let's play a game: don't get caught."

cream puffs: "let me finish inside."

profiteroles: "come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go."

with a side of:

coffee: rivals

tea: semi-public/public sex

juice: cockwarming

mocha coffee: breeding kink

bubble tea: daddy kink

a vodka shot: rough sex

sparkling water: gentle sex

coconut water: alternate universe

energy drink: doggy style

champagne: sugar daddy situation

hard lemonade: possessive behaviour

espresso shot: dirty talking

a glass of wine: cowgirl position

ice capp coffee: werewolf au

bloody mary: vampire au

martini: mafia au

frozen latte: dumbification

frozen lemonade: consensual non-consent

cranberry juice: mean!character

glass of water: aftercare

chocolate milk: tenderness

milkshake: size kink

pina colada: pregnancy

cider: body worship

mai tai: loss of virginity

margarita: unprotected sex

mint julep: punishments

chai: biting/hickies

earl grey: big cock

fishbowl cocktail: protected sex

tonic water: age gap

matcha latte: collars/bondage

root beer: filming/recording

soda: jealousy

americano: oral sex

whisky: degrading language

vitamin water: dom/sub dynamic

irish coffee: high sex

sangria: drunk sex

dark roast coffee: sub!character

dark hot chocolate: sub!reader

iced tea: accidentally launching relationship

lemon water: university/college au

naked & famous: bimbo/ditzy!reader

on the house: author's choice!

ORDER UP!

[zweiginator]

college!patrick corrupting you...you're study partners in your anthropology class and patrick loves to listen to you talk. loves to hear you explain concepts to him, pointing to your notes with your purple pen. scooting your chair closer to him.

"can you see now?" you show him the diagram you drew; it's labeled and highlighted and patrick smirks because you wrote his name in bubble letters on the top of the page.

your skin flushes. the broken air conditioning in your dorm made the early september heat unbearable enough. and now you're humiliated.

you cover it with your forearm but it's too late.

"what's all this?" patrick moves your arm easily. his finger traces over the P in 'patrick', adorned with a little heart.

you look up at him and shake your head. "we need to focus. it's nothing--i was bored in class."

patrick moves wherever your gaze is directed. he doesn't let you escape him. the small wooden chair he's sitting in skips and screeches across the linoleum floors, his knee bumping against yours so it sits snug between your legs.

"do you have a crush on me?" patrick asks. he's so confident, because he knows the answer already, and he could've guessed long before that too. not that you were overt before this--it's just the kind of person he is. attractive in its rawest form.

you do have a crush on him. but you're a virgin. you've never even kissed or been kissed.

"i guess a little." you say, softly.

your voice is low; patrick has to lean in to hear you. but his eyes look kind, a twinkly dark green. and he smiles at you; it's a grin that crinkles his eyes like soft tissue paper.

"is that bad?" you ask, uncomfortable from the lingering silence.

"no." he says it immediately. "have you ever made out before?" patrick adds. he says it like he's been waiting for it and you shake your head.

"fuck."

"sorry." you shrug.

patrick now shakes his own head. "what if i taught you? would that be okay?"

you're embarrassed that a boy this well-known will feel the struggle of your lips against his own experienced ones. he probably kisses like a well-oiled machine, pulling sweet moans out of girls like strawberry taffy and here you are, gulping. literally swallowing your own pride as you say yes please. as if you're ordering at a restaurant.

patrick moves to your bed and you sit next to him. you don't know what to do or where to look so you focus on your socks, how one is pulled taut, the other slouching against your ankle. and then patrick tilts your face towards his.

his breath smells good. peppermint and camel lights, you suppose. his lips are parted and so close to yours and you're about to lose your balance. your open palms grab onto patrick's thighs, just above his knees. he looks down and smirks. and then he tilts your chin up and plants a kiss on your lips. just one kiss. but his lips are wet and he prolongs the sound of them puckered over yours.

you feel a pit in your stomach. but it's a good feeling, a pit that reminds you of being on the beach and wanting to dig into the sand more and more until it collapses in on itself.

you close the gap this time, feeling his shoulders. they're so firm and broad under his white t-shirt. he opens his mouth wider. experiments with you. you inch closer to him and then you're pulled into his lap and his arm supports your back, his hand holding your chin in place while he licks into your mouth, prying it open with his tongue. he moans in approval when you start to move in sync with him; his lips wrap around your bottom lip while yours find their home on his top one--and he is being patient.

he's getting hard--really hard--but he takes it slow with you. this is just kissing. so he doesn't move you against his erection but you feel it and pride swells in your chest because your crush is kissing you and it feels so good.

it gets sloppier; his spit is melding with your own and as he pulls away to look at you, a string of it prolongs the kiss--but you don't let him pull away. you whine and pull him in by his collar. adjust yourself on his lap and he pulls you closer. impossibly closer.

he kisses you like he wants to eat you alive. your lip is bitten and raw and swollen from him and you mewl and moan when he gently pulls your hair. you pull his back and now he moans, just for you.

the sand pit in your stomach becomes a sinkhole and you feel a tingling sensation you've never felt before.

"this feels so good." you say, bluntly. your hair is a mess, and patrick's forehead is dewy with sweat.

"oh my god." patrick dives back into you at full force. your teeth almost clash, and you tug at the bottom of his shirt, feeling the tightness of his abs underneath and then he's pulling it over his head and even the one and a half seconds without his lips on yours feels like fucking torture for both of you.

your mouths stay open against each other, like even the widest they could go could never let each other in enough.

patrick starts to slip the strap of your tank top down your shoulder when your roommate comes in. you look at her wide-eyed, wiping patrick's spit off your face. he breathes heavily, leaning back on his elbows. sheer pink lip gloss pants his stubbled cheeks with iridescence.

he covers his erection with his t-shirt.

[the-californicationist]

he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to. 

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting. 

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking. 

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled, 

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him. 

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly. 

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop. 

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained. 

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin. 

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull. 

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning. 

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke, 

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear, 

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely. 

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish. 

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy. 

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior. 

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes. 

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail. 

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked. 

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming. 

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat. 

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony. 

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

[dc-comics-enjoyer]

Batfam as Bob's Burgers' quotes

Tim (about Damian) : You don't want to mess with my brother. He'll wear down your self-esteem over a period of years.

---

Damian (13 years old) : Speaking of Christmas, here is my annual list of demands.

Bruce : "My own apartment."

Damian : And it can not be a studio. You have exactly 7 shopping days to comply. If it rolls into day 8, there will be tears and violence.

---

Bruce : We'll have to cut down on expenses. What can we live without ?

Damian : Probably Tim and Jason.

Stephanie : That's a good start.

Tim : Huh. Well that makes the things I was gonna cut irrelevant.

---

Bruce : They're not here ! I got Jason's diary, let's see if it says anything. "Dear Diary, tonight we're sneaking into the dangerous taffy factory. Also, if boys had uteruses they'd be called duderuses".

Dick : Ha, "duderuses."

---

Stephanie : I like sandwiches.

Jason : You smell like you do.

Stephanie : You smell interesting too. You own a toothbrush, or are you still shopping around ?

---

Jason : You know that boat that I've been fixing up?

Tim : You've mentioned it.

Jason : Well, I finally got her shipshape, and I thought it'd be fun to take you all out.

Stephanie : Kill us?

Jason : No, take you out for a boat ride.

---

Tim : Why'd you head-butt me?!

Jason : I was going to punch you, but I'm holding wine.

---

Dick, at some point : Bruce, Jason, look at yourselves ; you're father and son ! You're supposed to love each other, not kill each other. This isn't the Bible !

---

Bruce : I should write a parenting book. Call it, "Hey You, I Saw That! Put It Back !"

[ataraxiaspainting]

Morningstar's Road.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan.

Synopsis: Your routine is average, to say the least. But due to Chrollo’s orders, Feitan cannot snatch you up yet – so he simply mirrors your behaviors instead for self-satisfaction. His boss does so too.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, a few suggestive actions, manipulation, some descriptions anxiety/depression for the reader, animal death, and violence/some gore.

Word Count: 4.4k.

*~*~*~*

Feitan is so close to you that he can just about hear your beating heart. He could only see the back of your head, hair loose and surely will be knotted by the morning sun, but he can smell you whenever he is this close.

You always smell so nice, but for some reason, you smell even better – of that floral-scented oil you put on your neck and wrists before you go to bed. Maybe you added extra because it is the weekend.

You are on your right side – the fetal position was always your favorite – and hugging a plush that resembles your childhood cat. This was typical behavior for you; you had cried for days when your older sister called to say he had passed from old age. You weren’t weeping anymore, but you were when you saw the stuffed animal near the window of that dollar store you pass by daily on your way to work. You named it Silky, the same as the real thing, and tuck it in whenever you are in and out of bed. Feitan somewhat wished he could get the same treatment, to be in your arms as you sleep and to feel just a hint of your comforting warmth.

Feitan brought his own blanket.

It isn’t pastel pink like your sheets or your pillowcases or your pajamas and it has holes from moths and years of being stretched as he grew and his fights came to have higher and higher stakes.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time he was stabbed were just under the giant white skull pattern, although since most of the blanket is black it wouldn’t show even in the brightest of lights.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time it was stolen are still there too; on the bottom right corner.

“This type of nen won’t last forever, Fei.”

Feitan turns his neck, his bandana doing little to hide the slight scowl on his face. “I know.”

“Now, now… I never said you did not.” Chrollo responds while giving a small smile, still having the Bandit’s Secret in his right hand while your diary is held in his left. He turns to the next page while Feitan goes back to snuggling up beside you.

If Chrollo had a third arm, he could have the rest of your coffee you didn’t finish and left in your fridge. There is a lipstick stain, the color of that tint you often sport when in your office space. A light taffy color, he muses. 

Very fitting.

“I simply wanted you not to fall asleep too slow or too deep, we do have to leave by dawn after all.”

Feitan said no answer. Chrollo is used to that – a little too used to it, maybe, but Feitan has always stood out from fellow people from Meteor City even by the Phantom Troupe’s standards.

“Same oil?” He asks, and on cue, Feitan gives a loud sniffing sound.

“Yes.”

“Cute.”

Around your waist Feitan’s left arm lays, and his right hand holds the blanket tighter than a noose.

If Chrollo were to guess, if Feitan had a third arm he would put two of its fingers on your lips to feel how soft they were. Chrollo had done so before, but his friend hadn’t. He almost chuckles at the irony. The member of the Troupe the most intimate when it comes to matters of anatomy and torture felt that his fingertips having pink on them was a line he could not cross. It’s almost funny in a way. It’s adorable.

“Boss.”

“Hm?”

“For just a while,” Feitan starts. His tone is shy, like a little boy about to ask his classmate crush for their hand in marriage. “Can you read it to me?”

“‘It’?” Chrollo teases slightly, yet he knows what Feitan is talking about.

“The thing in your hand.”

“‘Thing’?”

Feitan huffs a bit and follows it up with a sigh.

“The… diary. Please.”

*~*~*~*

I think I’m getting worse and wondering if I have ever been happy with myself.

There is this girl that sits at the desk across from mine, Lyra is her name, and I don’t hate her by any means.

I just wish I was her, you know? She gets along with everyone in our office, Her hair is always nice. She has only been here since February and has already been promoted to the status it took me three years to get. 

Don’t get me wrong, she is incredibly nice and I always have a few laughs with her from time to time. Maybe it’s just my insecurities getting to me.

I wonder if sometimes she has similar thoughts when with other people, or even me if that were possible. I know she has a habit of procrastination and has a record of not handing in her work until a few days or weeks later – those are qualities I don’t have, but maybe she doesn’t feel anything negative about herself.

I’m known as the quiet and sweet girl at my job.

I’ve always had a bone to pick with the title, in a way. All my life that is what I was labeled as. People come to me for advice, and it does make me feel good, but I wish I could be a jokester like Lyra too.

That’s all I have… at least for now, I guess. I’m going to drink tea with honey and go to bed.

May 8th

*~*~*~*

The duo entered through the front door this time. You were gone tonight, as evidenced by the messy pile of umbrellas and house shoes that flooded the entrance, so they could break in without much sneaking around. They know where you headed to – and for now, Chrollo orders Feitan not to slit the man’s throat and gouge out his eyes. Your boyfriend, the only one of your past romantic interests not yet dead. Francis.

He’s quite the simple fellow as Chrollo had noted. Feitan was only focusing on where his organs started and ended when they both saw you with him near midnight months before.

“Not yet.”

Chrollo turns his head and looks down at Feitan as they walk down the hall. 

“I know you’re still thinking about it, but your actions may cause our plan to fail.”

No verbal response, though Chrollo notices how Feitan’s steps get slightly louder.

“Fine.”

“Are you saying you’re fine? Or are you still agreeing to not go haywire on the man yet?”

“New one.”

“Hm?”

“New word.” Feitan’s nails retract slightly from your walls as he rolls his eyes. “Hay… wire.”

His hand stops at a photo of your dead cat framed on the wall – he’s a kitten in this one, with his first collar and teenager you hugging him – but your face is cropped out.

He moves the hand away from it for just a few steps. Chrollo finds it polite of him – as polite as Feitan can be with others, anyway.

At the same time, they consider bringing the photos you took off your walls and onto whatever penthouse walls Chrollo has rented out for the next few months or so. It would be cute seeing smiling pictures of you all over, especially since you’ll be switching locations soon enough, and in turn, that expression will soon enough become rare. 

But when Chrollo thinks about the idea further, a problem arises. Your photos aren’t focused on you. They’re focused on your friends and family. You are always in the corner or hidden behind someone else. It’s of your own volition. Chrollo is sure of it. Perhaps he can get Shalnark to work his magic on them and ignore the teasing. Feitan would do nothing more than threaten to bash in his teeth, as with friends he is nothing more than a ‘grumpy wet cat’ – those are Shalnark and Uvogin’s own words. Not Chrollo’s.

“No.”

“Hm?”

“I’ll cut ‘em,” Feitan suggests while putting his sharp nails on your bedroom’s door frame.

“How do you intend to do so when there’s near nothing to cut out?” Chrollo asks. Feitan goes silent until he sits on your bed.

It’s still unmade. You must have ignored that chore list of yours again and opted to work extra hours instead.

Chrollo sits down at the small part of your room that is clean; your desk. It’s mainly used for just reading and video games, hence why the only two things not neatly in piles are a book and your computer. Shalnark told them both the password, but neither of them had decided to tread into that territory for multiple reasons. Firstly, neither of them knows a single thing about the internet and simulations. Secondly, Shalnark can just get whatever information they need without them looking inside it themselves anyway. Thirdly, they already know you enjoy wholesome things on there – the opposite of what you’re reading, if the books on your unfinished read pile mean anything to Chrollo – so there is no point in venturing for unneeded facts about you.

You’ll surely tell them yourself one day. 

Eventually. In maybe weeks. Months. Years. 

Eventually.

It’ll feel like forever and a day if you decide not to talk to either of them. Chrollo and Feitan have agreed without any argument that if you want something, you will ask them. Nicely, of course. 

Broken fingers aren’t necessarily something people flaunt. 

You wouldn’t brag about being forced onto a lap for hours out on a balcony either. 

You’ll eventually tell them. You have to. For your sake.

Eventually. Nothing lasts forever, after all.

“Fei. I promise you that this will be worth the wait.”

Feitan shakes his head, scoffing. “Will it? It would have been easier to just grab her and run.”

“I know,” Chrollo leans in a little, putting his elbows on his thighs. “I know. But you’ll lament it. I would have too if I had agreed with you to go down that route.”

A stare is the response.

It isn’t anger, Chrollo knows that much.

No. 

In all the years Chrollo has known Feitan, Feitan has never gone back on his loyalty to him and the Troupe.

But. But.

Chrollo hasn’t ever seen him have such a concurrence when there is still such division in his eyes.

“Are you sad?” He asks.

“No,” Feitan replies, looking at your cat plush instead of his leader of the full moon outside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

*~*~*~*

Francis lives outside the city in a farmhouse. It’s up a tall hill with no pathway aside from little rectangular stones here and there – and if you ignore the animals and their housing, people would think that the place is deserted.

Feitan and Chrollo make their way to the white picket fence surrounding the chicken coop. They continue to bite down into the soil for worms or leftover grain. All female. Only three were brown; the others were smaller in frame and white.

“I’ve heard his eggs go for high prices in markets,” Chrollo grins a little. “Maybe I’ll raise some chickens of my own in my later years.”

Feitan raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was joking, Fei.” He clarifies.

“Ah.”

Feitan continues to walk with his hands still stuffed into his coat pockets. 

Chrollo looks at the farmhouse up at the top of the hillside. The lights are still on, meaning you were most likely still up and about in there.

The rooster resting on top of the mailbox makes eye contact with him for a few moments.

“Don’t scream,” Chrollo murmurs, his words sweet as sugar.

“What?” Feitan asks, not even bothering to turn around.

“I’m talking to the rooster.”

“[First]’s rubbing off on you too much.” His friend rolls his eyes and makes sure not to step on a twig.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how these animals look at us.”

“They’re animals now. What came before… that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Maybe to you – but I find it intriguing.”

“Talk later,” Putting his hand on the fence gate that leads to Francis’ garden, Feitan turns his head for just a moment. “Near. Quiet. Look.”

For once, Chrollo is the one that does the nodding.

The gate gives off a little squeak as it is opened. It reminds them of Francis’ prized pet pig Annie – though she is only allowed to be inside.

There are all sorts of vegetables and some fruits back here. Cucumbers, chili peppers, watermelons, corn, tomatoes, peaches, pears. They’re all in pristine condition, and so are the flowers growing in pots near the far-off window sills.

Feitan considers giving you the daisies. 

Chrollo considers giving you the marigolds.

They both look at the pig’s head hastily buried under the soil, her ears still popping out and facing the moon. Despite the interment being new, perhaps even being dug today, flies have already spread to the top part of the head and ears. They’re happy you didn’t see her because that would be quite an awful gift from your boyfriend.

Francis is probably happy too, not that they care.

From what Shalnark was able to gather from someone who barely has any social life, Francis moved here from another country about four years ago. He acquired this farm and its land almost immediately afterward. 

From a lottery, Shalnark had explained to them. Or an inheritance. Either way, man’s life is going pretty dang good. Too good, actually, because my senses are tingling too much.

Shalnark was right in that regard. Francis may adopt animals from time to time from farmers’ markets, but a majority of them suddenly appear a few days or weeks apart. There were three white chickens he had purchased. Then after a month or so, there were twelve. The three brown ones came all at once one day.

“Where’s Annie?” They hear you ask as you open one of the windows to get some fresh air. “She usually runs to the door to see me…”

Using hatsu to conceal their presence, the pair aren’t detected among the plants.

“She ran away.”

Feitan almost snickers at your boyfriend’s answer, looking down at the flies and corpse rotting beneath his feet. He didn’t mind the smell of rotting flesh – he has almost always enjoyed it since he was in his teenage years.

Chrollo’s feet don’t dig into the soil – he has opted to instead stand on the few pieces of stone that are by the cucumber plants. He makes a note to go to the laundromat after this; even though it has already been the third time in a row this week alone.

If he can convince Feitan, they’ll steal some things from your place to wash up too – Francis has always been touchy, after all.

“That’s weird,” You say worriedly, not looking into the garden anymore but instead inside; to Annie’s little bed huddled next to the window. “Did you leave the gate open?”

“Yes, I’m still rather upset about it but I’m sure she’ll be found soon.”

Soon. Chrollo grins a bit as he closes his eyes, imagining the moment he’ll save you from this man. Soon isn’t enough. No. This…

This is the moment.

This is the day.

This is the time.

“Feitan.”

“Hm?”

Francis will die today. Or tomorrow maybe, Chrollo isn’t completely sure.

“Don’t make it too bloody,” He instructs, getting off the stones and onto the dirty tiles of the garden’s path to the back door. “I’ll focus on her. We’ll leave the others alone.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Feitan looks confused for a moment. If Chrollo were someone who hadn’t grown up beside him, he wouldn’t have noticed the small millisecond of his friend showing emotion. ‘For what?’ He wants to ask. 

Chrollo knows it. He knows it so he answers the silent question. “For being more vulnerable with her and I. [First] seems to have rubbed off on you too much too, huh?”

“I don’t like your jokes,” Feitan replies as he stuffs his pockets even more – perhaps to hide his balled-up fists. Whether they were made from the hatred of Francis or the annoyance of everything else is up to interpretation. No one will be getting an answer anyway, even Feitan himself. “You’re very happy lately.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Chrollo’s grin widens just a smidge more. “We’re about to rescue a princess.”

From that look, he knows Feitan agrees with his reasoning and is happy as well.

*~*~*~*

“You’re beautiful, darling.”

You’re laid out on Francis’ bed. It’s rather large for a room this size, but it is comfortable to undress on. You picked a periwinkle blue dress today with buttons on only its top front side. Francis wanted to help but you declined. You don’t decline a lot of things, especially when it comes to him. Francis is annoyed by that but he tries not to let it show. He hides a lot of things from you.

“Thank you.” You sheepishly smile, a light flush on your cheeks as you start to undo your buttons.

“Of course,” You’re his favorite by far. You aren’t stuck up or are with him just for his money. You’re so nice to him. You’re so sweet to him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, honey.”

You aren’t like those whores, those sluts, those fucking cheap little bitches.

“I’ll take it slow since it’s your first time and all.” He promises.

You look up at him.

Your frown is just barely noticeable – but noticeable enough for him to see.

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks.

“Lyra’s still missing… I’m worried.”

“Why?” Francis asks, getting more annoyed the more time you spend covered up. “Why are you so worried about her right now? It’s not the time for that.”

“I don’t know,” You look at the open window, cool air still blowing in along with the slight scent of flowers. “I really don’t, I just… have suddenly gotten a little sad just now.”

You’re shivering a little.

“Ah, you must be cold.” He deflects. Having only his shirt on now, he walks up to the windowsill and looks at the vegetable patch. With both hands, he pulls the window closed. “Better?”

You must not have heard him, because you keep playing with your buttons instead of being fully undressed already.

“Could you…” 

Ah. You did hear him, but you seem concerned for something else. That’s fine, as long as you aren’t playing with him and will soon attempt to run away. 

“Close the curtain? Please? I’d really… appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Francis replies, his smile returning to his face. “Anything for you. Just get comfortable, pumpkin.”

The wicked thing came all at once before either of you could blink. Shards of glass flew into Francis and into the bedroom walls. Francis screams as his bleeding hands are quick to go to his eyes, his fingers attempting to get the glass shards out of them before his vision is gone for good. In front of you was a stranger in a suit – he pushed you out of the way in a fraction of a second and onto the floor. The bed had shielded you and him. 

“Are you alright?”

You’re too shocked for words, peeking from behind the bed to where Francis is still screaming.

In front of him was a man in all black stepping on the back of his head with one of his feet. The soles of his boots seemed lodged into Francis’ scalp, and it takes you a moment to realize why. There were spikes on them; not that you could see them much because of how hidden they seemed to be right now. They’re silver judging by the color of their slight sparkle, but the rusted kind. No. Maybe that’s just the bloodstains.

The feeling in your chest is so horrible like you’re very sick. There’s pressure on your heart. It’s strangling you, despite the taller stranger’s grasp on your shoulders being so pleasant. So tender.

“What are you doing?” You screech. The sound doesn’t make either of the intruders flinch. Francis does instead. “Let go of him!”

The shorter man doesn’t look at you, opting to wedge the spikes of his shoes further into Francis’ brain. You try to get up but the man in the suit pulls you back down, shushing you as you protest and cry. “Don’t… it’ll be over soon. I told him to be gentle, you see.”

“Gentle?” You repeat.

“Yes, my dear.” One of his hands rises from your shoulders to where your eyes are. You struggle some more and the stranger whispers something in your ear. “Behave – I can always tell Feitan to torture him the amount he deserves if I wanted to. I know he wants to.”

You deflate and your eyes are forced shut by his palm. “Please stop… I don’t know what we did, just please-”

“You didn’t do anything,” The other man – Feitan if the taller man had named him right and he wasn’t just some assassin he hired; he said his name so tenderly too like he is an old friend – interrupts you. “He did.”

You feel like you’re about to throw up all the wonderful food you just ate. Chicken pot pie, beef tenderloin, roasted pork belly – it all feels like it is about to release from your throat and onto the wooden planked floor below.

“Oh dear,” Another hand covers your nose and mouth. Instead of blood you now smell cologne – sandalwood and amber. “Can you please hurry up, Fei? She looks like she’s about to collapse.”

*~*~*~*

“It’s a wonderful time to be alive,” Chrollo says as he puts the key into his car’s lock. It’s embedded with little multicolored jewels – he had commissioned some artist to customize it for him a week or so ago while Feitan went into your home on his own. “Or at least a wonderful night. Wouldn’t you say so?”

You’re in the passenger seat. You fell unconscious after Francis’ barely alive body got its fingers broken one by one. Some of his blood got on your skirt, but Chrollo is sure that the laundromat will fix that just like the workers will fix his clothes. As long as he pays them enough or threatens them enough. The latter would be more fun for Feitan but the former would let him be seen as a kind patron. Whichever way the coin flips. 

He doesn’t blame you for fainting. If he hadn’t been born in Meteor City and hadn’t been raised in a constant state of fear and a constant battle for power over others, he would most likely do the same. 

Feitan is in the back, silent. His hands now have gloves on them and are now brushing through your hair.

“Should we make the pit stop or go straight?” After the second question, the car’s lights turn on.

“Bed.”

The car starts moving into the barren street. 

“Alright,” Chrollo chuckles a little at the insistence in Feitan’s tone. “We can get some of [First]’s clothes tomorrow then. She’ll probably sleep throughout the day.” 

He doesn’t explain why because they both already know the reason. There is a short chain attached to the main bed. Depending on your behavior early on, it will either lengthen or become briefer. 

There are also some syringes in the mirror vanity that Feitan asked him over and over to keep in case of an emergency. He doubts there will be any real threat where they would have to use them. 

Feitan doesn’t. Feitan doesn’t doubt many things.

“Blankets too.” 

Feitan doesn’t ask for many things either, much less demand them.

“Ah,” Chrollo makes the left turn as his fingers tap on the steering wheel. It’s a song you enjoy listening to on your avenue home. He knows you aren’t listening to it but that doesn’t matter right now. He’ll continue to do so until your mind associates the tune with small controlled adventures to and fro and not you having a life of your own. “All of them?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You don’t say that word very often,” He teases, looking at the flat glass mirror overhead.

“Hmph.”

Putting his hand on your thigh, Chrollo continues to drive while still glancing upward now and then. 

*~*~*~*

Your heartbeat has calmed down. Feitan is now able to look at your face as you sleep. 

You look at peace now. When he had placed you on the bed, your eyebrows furrowed for a moment – perhaps your subconscious being afraid – or disgusted – by him.

The flowery scent of your perfume vanished long ago and has been replaced by a stinging one. Feitan doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

Unlike the bodies of those who have died by his hands, Feitan places the white blanket on top of you gently like you would shatter if he was just a tad bit rougher. 

Well… Body bags don’t really count as blankets, do they? They are meant to be ripped open and stuffed full of parts no wandering soul hopes to find.

Chrollo decides to break the silence. “After she adjusts a little, we’ll leave. Or you can stay if you want. I can carry her things on my own.”

Feitan turns to look at him.

“Pictures.”

Chrollo sighs. “Alright. But we’ll get Shal to edit them. No cutting.”

“...Tch. Fine. Silky too.” A thumb is pressed against your lips. After it is lifted, there is a light pink that covers its print.

“It’s a pretty color, isn’t it?” Chrollo muses, hanging his suit jacket on the edge of his sofa as he holds his book. “I’ll try to get the same shade for her when she runs out of it. Though I suspect it will be a while before then, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Feitan states, rubbing his thumb against your lips more. “She will always be pretty to me.”

“Never took you for the romantic type, Fei.”

“Hmph.”

[luveline]

JADE I love Hotch sm I’ve been waiting for you to mention him again! If you wanted could you do something about reader having been through a rough relationship and just being so happy about how domestic and gentlemanly hotch is (when he’s home)? Tysm I love everything you do, constantly cheering for you babe!! ❤️

hi! i think i made reader more confused than happy but i hope this is still okay, ty for your request lovely! tw for bad/unhappy previous relationship, fem!reader

You didn’t know men could be so kind when you’re in a relationship. It’s not as though you’ve never met a sweet guy before, you met Aaron through Spencer, and Spencer’s nice. It had been his interference that eventually led to Aaron asking you out, and his assurance that made you confident enough to say yes. 

But being friends with Spencer hadn’t really erased any of your boyfriend-related assumptions. They’re boys. They don’t want to be suffocated by you and your need for affection. What Aaron wants, if the past is any indication, is a relaxing weekend with space and time alone. 

He’s lying on his couch. He woke before you, and you don’t understand why he hadn’t woken you up too. To get some time away from me, your brain supplies cruelly. It isn’t a fair assumption. Aaron wouldn’t have invited you to spend the night with him if he didn’t want to see you. He wouldn’t have asked you to go steady with a bouquet and a shiny tennis bracelet you’ve yet to take off a month later. 

Right?

“Come in here,” he calls. 

You put down your cup of coffee and walk into his living room. Aaron holds out his arm, touching you as soon as you’re in reach. He sits up and it’s so odd, why would he bother? It’s only you. 

“What, you don’t want to sit with me?” he jokes. 

“I didn’t know you wanted me to,” you say, a little too fast, a little too strung-out. 

He’s kind about your unsure moments. Likely because he knows exactly what you’re thinking —considering his job, and his ability to analyse even the criminally insane with brutal accuracy, Aaron must know why you act the way that you do. What you can’t understand is his patience. 

“Well, for future reference,” he begins, collecting your hands in his and giving them a squeeze, “I always want you to sit with me. As long as that’s what you want.”

"Oh, good, “ you say, taking back control of one of your hands, pressing your palm to his broad shoulder. 

Aaron smiles sweetly, like his lips are glued with sticky taffy. You take it as an invitation to stand between his legs, and slowly, so slowly, wrap your arms around his head and neck, your cheek pressed to his hair. He grasps your waist with a mirrored fondness. He smells so nice. He always smells clean and warm, sandalwood and something earthier in his aftershave.

It doesn’t take him much manoeuvring to sit you in his lap, or rather sit you in the corner of the couch with your thighs over his. You laugh as you settle, your hands falling down his chest. 

"I'm really glad you could come over. I know I've been busy with work. You never complain," Aaron says. 

"Why would I complain?" you ask, wanting to put your head on his shoulder. 

He looks at you long and steady. 

"You can do it," he says. "You can lean on me." 

"How do you know?" you mumble ruefully, doing as he allows, your face hiding in his warm arm. 

"I'm very good at reading people. And I like you more than I like most people, so I'm even better." He drags a lazy hand up and down your leg. "I know you like affection more than you like air…  and I know you don't like asking for it. I know you think it bothers me when you do ask." 

His hand slides between your thighs. "But it doesn't," he says warmly. "Whatever you've been told, it won't bother me." 

"Are you sure?" you ask. 

Aaron leans down to kiss you. You have to sit back to make room for it, and you feel strangely like crying as he presses his lips to yours. It's chaste. His hand squeezes your thigh. 

"I want you here," he says. 

Oh, you think. "I knew that," you murmur. 

"Good. I don't want you to doubt it. Things were hard for you before, and it was difficult for you to believe me when I said I–" He presses his lips to your cheek. "Had feelings for you," he says against your skin. "I'm sorry people haven't been kind to you." 

"Why would you be sorry for that?" 

"Because I care about you, and the things that happened to you." 

"It wasn't your fault. I was the idiot. I'm the one who stayed." 

"I would love," he says, gently, slowly, so you're sure it isn't a scolding, "if you could be as kind to yourself as you are to everyone else. Please don't blame yourself for how you've been treated. It's not fair." 

"I just don't get why you're so nice to me," you confess, sitting back again. You're surprised he can hear you, you talk so quietly. 

"Because that's how this works. That's how love is supposed to work," he grins, like he's aware of how close he is to sounding corny. "I'm nice to you because you mean everything to me. There isn't a single part of me that wants to be mean to you." 

"He wasn't mean," you say. You bite your tongue hard. After a moment, you continue, "He just didn't like me the way that you do." 

"He," Aaron says, pulling your legs into his chest, "should have. I don't want to keep on at you, I'm too used to telling people what to do, I'm sorry. I just want you to know that it wasn't… normal. Alright?" 

"This is normal?" you ask, smiling, feeling better for his reassurance but wanting to move on before the day becomes all about you. 

"No, this isn't normal. This is perfect." 

You laugh, delighted by him even if it is corny, and turn in his grasp to hug him. He laughs too, a rare sound. It's strange —he doesn't hug tightly, but you get an overwhelming feeling of security regardless. For the first time in a long time you indulge in affection without thinking that the person you're cuddled up with wants to be somewhere else. Aaron wants to be here, and nowhere else, and he wants to be with you. 

[ericshoney]

Return of the vlogs ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Based on the video titled "Return of the vlogs!" where you, their little sister, join in also.

Warnings: possible swearing, nicknames, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were spending time with your brothers in LA and today they had planned a Wednesday vlog. You weren't bothered about being in it as your brothers had filmed with you before. They had filmed part of the vlog yesterday, where you went with Matt to the doctors.

"Good morning!" Chris cheered as you walked into the kitchen area. You saw Nick sat opposite Matt who was eating rice crackers.

"Morning." You called calmly.

"What would you like for breakfast?" He asked.

"Depends on what you got." You answered, a hint of sass in your tone.

"Teenage sass alert." Nick mumbled, you saw he was holding the camera.

"Barely a teenager." Matt mentioned.

"I'm fourteen, that's a teen!" You exclaimed, making him shake his head.

"Whatever." He grumbled.

You laughed and grabbed a rice cake too, nibbling on that as Chris rambled on about what he wanted to do.

"I'm down for anything really." You mentioned. You were just happy to be away from school and with your brothers.

After your short breakfast, you all headed to the car as Matt drove to the garage, mumbling about needing gas, whilst Chris was talking about getting a slurpie.

When you arrived, you followed Chris in, both of you rushing to the sulrpie machines, only to see they didn't have any.

"That sucks." You said, as Chris nodded in agreement.

"There's my favourite teenage boy." You heard Nick call.

"I'll kill you." Matt responded, making you giggle.

"Matt they don't have any slurpie!" Chris cried.

With that information, Matt turned around to leave, only to be stopped by Nick.

"I wanna get Skittle littles." Chris then said.

You shook your head, sharing a look with your other brothers, who were thinking the same thing. Did Chris really need more sweets? When he saw they didn't have any Skittles, he ended up getting two large banana taffies.

"You want anything, kid?" He asked.

"I'm good." You answered.

He nodded as they went to pay. You let them continue vlogging as you got back in the car, heading to the next destination, searching for a slurpie machine that works.

When you got there, you spotted the machines at the back and headed to them quickly, making your brothers laugh.

"Kid loves her slurpies as much as Chris." Nick said, focusing the camera on you.

When they caught up, they saw you were already filling your cup with your favourite flavour. Chris went and pressed the lemonade one, jumping as the drink came out and he didn't have a cup. You laughed and got close to the camera.

"We found slurpies!" You exclaimed, making the guys laugh, but Nick also shh you as you were in public.

"Do you really need sugar, sweetheart?" Nick asked.

"Does Chris? Not really, but it's good." You answered with a shrug.

He shook his head as he went to find what Chris wanted. Once you were all done in the store you paid and left. You sat in the back with Nick, as Matt explained to the camera that he bought scratch tickets and how the lady thought he looked thirteen, which made you laugh.

"I like vlogging with you guys. It's so random." You said.

"We like vlogging with you too, petal." Matt replied.

"But the challenge videos are more fun." You added.

"We'll keep that in mind." Nick said.

You smiled as Matt drove to Madison's place, as you were going to hang out with her now. You knew the rest of the day would be fun and relaxed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

@lgbtq-girl @mattsfavbigtitties @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @sturniolo-fann

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Past the Wit of Man (or, Bottom's Dream)

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 3657 Tags: comedy, attempted comedy, comedy devolving into feels, identity reveal, sex worker Hob Gadling, advancing my Men In Lingerie agenda, long-haired Hob Gadling agenda, stretching timelines like taffy, Desire and Dream get along AU, but Desire is not actively in this, Dead Boy Detectives comic spoilers mentioned, miscommunication, Dream of the Endless finally uses his words, happy ending

Notes: Kudos props and huge thanks to everyone in the Mr Sadman discord who creatively interpreted a snippet I posted of something else and launched the whole idea of Hob working for a supernatural escort service; this would not exist without y'all and your beautiful brainstorming. ❤️

This fills the August monthly @dreamlingbingo prompt Identity Reveal, replacing square A2 (creature: Veela) on my bingo card

Summary: Hob is nicely settled in a new career and a new identity and does not expect to see his Stranger until 2089. The universe, apparently, has other ideas.

On AO3

~ "Your client is Dream of the Endless. He is extremely ancient and extremely powerful, an underpinning concept of the universe. Absolutely terrible about loosening up and letting himself relax."

"Don't think I'd be much good at relaxing if I was an underpinning concept of the universe either," Hob jokes, opening the profile that the Agency rep has just airdropped to his phone and thumbing through it.

The rep, a foppish vampire with curly white hair and impeccable fashion sense, arches one elegant eyebrow at him. "Apparently his most recent girlfriend dumped him quite harshly and his sibling has arranged this booking on his behalf; he's—and I am quoting here—'absolutely incompetent at managing his own happiness'."

"He knows he's been booked though, right? I'm not gonna catch the fallout because no one told him what kind of appointment this is?" It's only happened once, a prank played on a shy ace nixie by her well-meaning but ill-informed friends; all the same, Hob does not care to repeat the experience—particularly with someone potentially more dangerous.

"He is very much aware and in agreement, yes. We promised him our top companion." The rep dimples at Hob, a smile of saccharine sincerity that shows only the barest hint of fang. "And that's you, sweet Nick."

"And that's me," Hob agrees matter-of-factly, frowning at his phone, then turning it to show his guest. "No photo?"

The rep glances at the screen and makes a commiserative noise. "Oh, yes. Unfortunate, that. Cameras have a very hard time with this fellow, something to do with his general relationship to reality." His tone takes on a simpering air of great melodrama. "We were forced to use an artist's rendition instead! Tragic, really; it doesn't do him justice."

"Huh," Hob says, turning his phone back and studying the cartoony hand-drawn image. Guy looks like he's got some sort of steampunk insect for a head, dark and bolt-laden and bug-eyed, with a trunk that's strongly reminiscent of a disembodied spine. "Dream of the Endless, you said? Looks more like a bloody nightmare."

The rep gives an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, as if shrugging off his delivery duty now that it's done, and turns to leave. "Well whatever the case, an Endless is far above the average client, darling. Give him your best."

"'Course." Hob grins. "That's why you brought the assignment to me, after all."

"Just so." The Agency rep gives a lazy wave in parting and Hob closes the door, still scrolling through the profile as he makes his way to the kitchen.

"Dozens of titles and names", he murmurs, glancing through the list of them. "King of Dreams and Nightmares, alright. Contains the entire collective unconscious of every living being in. Every…universe…?" He shakes his head. "Has never taken a vacation ever. Bested Lucifer Morningstar and oversaw the reassignment of Hell—okay, wow. Billions of years old." He whistles, a long sound of awed disbelief. "Maybe I throw in a free massage for this guy; sounds like he could use it."

He shakes his head again, pockets his phone, carries on with getting breakfast together.

Bug-headed workaholic foundational concept of the universe. Won't be the weirdest client he's ever serviced.

~

It's been ten years since his stranger showed up late for their meeting and smiled so openly and named him friend. That had been their longest meeting yet, lasting all afternoon and on into the evening and it wasn't until the Inn had started closing up for the night that they wound down. His stranger had spoken briefly of the missed appointment in 1989, making clear that something at least mildly traumatic had kept him away and also that he did not wish to elaborate, and Hob had let it go. There was so much to tell of his own century past, his friend remarking with interest on a great many of his stories, and it was enough. His stranger, his friend, had come back, and they'd had a lovely long meeting. Perhaps in 2089 he would be comfortable sharing more of his own story, but even if not, Hob didn't mind. He was confident once more in the friendship he'd declared back in 1889 and willing to coax it out bit by bit, meeting by meeting. He had all the time in the world, after all.

Within a year of that meeting he'd wrapped up his teaching career, arranged for ownership of the New Inn to transfer to a 'relative' in the States who'd keep it running the next few decades, and started searching for a new career for his next identity.

He stumbled quite by accident into the broader supernatural world after being stalked by two dead teenagers helping that de Rais creep who wanted to steal his immortality. It all turned out fine in the end but opened Hob's eyes to exactly how much the supernatural had integrated into the modern world around him. And once old Hettie clued him in to the existence of a certain Service Agency catering to supernatural clients, his next career path was all but decided. What was he going to do, not seize the opportunity for fantastical sexual exploration when presented with it? Life was for living! Werewolves, vampires, sirens and fae and merfolk, the occasional ghost and even an extra-terrestrial or two; scales, feathers, tentacles, knots—Hob's shown them all a good time and earned a stellar reputation among the Agency's clientele. He doesn't plan to do it forever, but he enjoys exploring new avenues and stretching his limits and 'Nick Bottom' is the perfect persona to let him do so.

And now sweet high-priced in-demand Nick has been booked to rebound-fuck an uptight concept in humanoid form who looks like something straight out of a nightmare.

Hob can't wait to completely take this guy apart one orgasm at a time until he's a boneless puddle of satiation and send him home afterwards a brand new man.

Concept. Entity. Whatever.

~

The booking is scheduled for the following day and when the time comes, Hob is fresh and clean and set up in the Agency's most lavish suite. He's let his hair grow the last few years, sports a proper Hozier-like mane at this point, is wearing it down for this appointment. His beard is several weeks old, trimmed to artfully-scruffy perfection and well-groomed. He's lounging on the bed in a short open silk robe and a pair of lace panties that hug his hips and leave most of both arse cheeks exposed, a popular outfit in his repertoire sure to please the classiest of clients with the most discerning taste. Both pieces are a matching vibrant cobalt blue that complements his skin tone beautifully. He's wondering what fucking a concept is like, idly massaging his dick now and then to keep it primed, when finally there's a peculiar displacement of air and then a figure in dark robes with a weird spine-trunked bug-eyed head is standing in the middle of the suite. He's taller than Hob and inhumanly rail-thin; the robes plunge deep from the neckline, displaying milk-white skin without a hint of chest hair and clavicles that beg to be nibbled on. He's in profile, angled slightly away, and Hob has the distinct sense that this is a deliberate pose meant to make an impression, to instill awe and possibly fear in him.

So Dream of the Endless has a flair for drama, got it.

"Hello," Hob greets in his best breathless-and-sultry tone, rising from the bed to approach his client. He layers in a suitable amount of awe, pitching his voice toward 'smitten' with a subtle ring of sincerity to support it. "Oh, wow. You must be Dream of the Endless; I'm so delighted to get to meet you! I'll be taking care of you today; you can call me Nick."

The guy, the concept, Dream of the Endless, he goes stock-still as Hob speaks, and it's like the air in the room pauses with him. He turns, slowly, until Hob is face to face with his…oh, possibly that's a mask, then; the bug-eyed lenses are somewhat translucent in the light though Hob still can't see beneath them.

"There has been some mistake." The voice is deep and distorted through the helmet-mask, bone-rattling in an almost-pleasant way and, somehow, somewhat…familiar? "I was meant to be meeting with 'Nick Bottom'." The quotes around the name are audible.

"That's me!" Hob says, raking a hand back through his hair and shaking it to settle around his shoulders attractively, flashing his most charming smile. "At your service, love, whatever you need. I'm here to make sure you have a very good time, and—"

"Hob Gadling."

That draws him up short. He's currently Robyn Gadrin for tax-paying purposes in the outside world, but the Agency wouldn't give out his current identity let alone his true name, so how—

Hob's brain is babbling insistently about the note of familiarity in that voice and he finally lights on why as Dream of the Endless reaches up to remove his helmet.

Hob finds himself staring at the slightly-more-than-human-but-still-very-familiar face of his Stranger, his centennial touchstone, his friend.

Everything about his reality tips a little bit sideways, dominoes crashing one after the other in his brain until all that's left is that awful ringing alarm tone that features in emergency broadcast alerts on American telly.

Between them, the silence stretches awkwardly, until finally Hob breaks it, the first thing that comes to his tongue spilling out while his poor brain is still rebooting.

"Six-hundred some-odd bloody years, and this is how I learn your name?!"

~

It is five minutes later. Hob is sitting on the side of the plush bed in his short silk robe and lace panties, clutching a bottled water and seriously considering availing himself of the bar in the next room because his emotions are all over the place. His Stranger—Dream of the Endless, apparently—is seated next to him. His eyes are not the blue that Hob is used to, are fully black with actual stars winking in and out of them; it's gorgeous but uncanny. He's currently not looking at Hob, has got the weird bug-spine helmet gripped tightly in both hands. Which are still so pretty, Hob can't help noticing, his fingers longer and more spindly than normal, splayed wide around the curve of the helm, nails painted black. Or maybe not painted, maybe they just are black.

Pretty, regardless.

Not a helpful thought at this juncture.

It's not like he'd thought his Stranger was actually human, obviously, and okay yes the possibility of meeting up with him via this particular career choice had crossed his mind once or twice, might've featured in a private fantasy or two; but also he'd never seriously imagined it because it felt so entirely implausible that his prim and lofty Stranger would ever engage in something so mundane. So casual.

Apparently, Hob was wrong about that.

He's not sure how to feel about it, either.

The smooth inhumanly-pale chest on display in the plunging vee of those artfully-draped robes is also not helping anything.

His Stranger—Dream— moves slightly, glances at him with those starry eyes, flexes those pretty fingers on the helmet. "I will. Arrange. For another. To take your place, Hob, you need not—"

"Now hold on a minute," Hob interrupts, sudden direction presenting itself for his floundering emotions to flow. "What do you mean, 'arrange for another'? What's wrong with me?"

Dream, his name is Dream of the Endless, Dream looks perplexed. "Our. History—"

"Oh yes, our illustrious storied history wherein we have met all of seven times before now and, may I remind you, you took offense to my suggestion that we might be friends until you'd had time to digest it properly, yes."

"Eight."

"Eight?"

"I visited your dream, before undertaking a daunting journey from my realm to another. We shared wine. You gave a most thoughtful toast."

"I. Okay." He remembers that dream, yes; he remembers the wine that followed him out of it, and now with the knowledge that his Stranger is apparently King of all dreams and nightmares suddenly it all makes brand new sense. But he will process that later. "Eight. Still not a factor in my ability to do my job."

Mostly. It is his Stranger, after all, and it's not like he hasn't ever wanted—

"Sex would be. Awkward," Dream insists, and Hob loses it, never mind he'd half-thought the same thing until a second ago; Dream saying it makes him refute the assertion with everything he's got.

"You dare," he says, setting aside his water.

Dream boggles at him, cosmic eyes wide, mouth slightly parted.

"You. DARE. To disdain my professional services just because we know each other?!"

"Hob— "

"No. No, your booking was very clear that you were to have the very best, and that. Is. Me. So you will not be re-booking with another companion on the grounds that our acquaintance makes it 'awkward'; if you mean to partake of the services you've hired you will partake of them with me."

"My sibling."

"What."

"My sibling hired your services. Did they know—" He's half talking to himself and Hob sighs, forcefully pulling the conversation back on track.

"Yes, right; your sibling booked you and here you are. Did you want to get laid today?"

"You need not be so crude about it."

"Forgive me. Of course. Did you come here hoping to have a sensual skillful sexual experience with a stranger intent on your pleasure with no judgments or expectations placed upon you in return?" He makes a valiant effort to rein in his sarcasm. "Because I can still provide that. Minus the bit where we're not strangers."

Dream looks positively miserable, a sodden wet cat of a man in sex-appeal robes hunched on the edge of the decadently-plush bed, and there is certainly an understandable element of embarrassment to the situation but Dream is taking it so seriously. Hob is not surprised, exactly, but christ—he's more than willing to follow through never mind any feelings he may or may not want to admit to, and Dream is the one who'd agreed to the booking in the first place. You'd think he could handle this hiccup with a little more grace.

"It was my intent to. Do, as you say," Dream says at last, and Hob sighs.

"Is that still what you want, then? I promise I'll take good care of you." He's actually really warming up to the idea, not that he was cold to it to begin with. It's his Stranger after all. He's been willing to say yes for centuries. "They really did book you the best, and I would love to show you how well-earned my reputation is—"

"Hob—" Dream sounds pained, gives an artfully-dramatic shake of his head. "My wants are. Manageable. If no one else is available. I cannot simply engage with you so frivolously—"

Hob leaps up from the bed, stalks a frustrated few steps away and whirls back, spreads his arms. "Am I not appealing to you, Dream of the Endless?" He tosses his head, shakes his hair back, gestures at the blue silk and lace that he knows looks absolutely spectacular on him. "Would you like me to change clothes? I have a dozen more ensembles I'd be happy to put on if you'd rather peel me out of one of those. Would the Prince of Stories prefer roleplay? Golden-age pirate, biker bad boy, Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth, cowboy, librarian, Starfleet officer—I'll dress however you like." He's fired up, he's…it feels like anger but it's more like alarm; he is absolutely not about to let a colleague fuck HIS Stranger if Dream's looking to unwind. Not with all the thoughts he's entertained the last couple centuries, not when Dream is looking so entirely miserable about the whole experience. Hob wiggles his bare toes in the plush carpet, forcing a deep breath; he is jealous and possessive and protective all at once and has no idea how to safely navigate this storm to get Dream what he wants without pissing him off.

"Your…clothing becomes you greatly, Hob." He's sneaking a glance as he says it, like he's not allowed to look but can't help it. "Your clothing is not at issue."

"Then what is?" Hob rakes a hand back through his hair, frustration fizzling, careening toward concern. "If you're truly that put off by me, I'll let it go. But you're here, for sex, which you did say you wanted; this is my job and I'm good at it and you clearly need—" Someone to take care of you, he'd nearly said, and while Dream has been giving him so much leeway in this conversation he thinks that might be one straw too much for this particular camel's back.

Nice to know he appreciates Hob's hairy chest and his dick in blue lace, though.

Dream levels him with a look that almost puts him right back to 1889, and Hob has half a second to start panicking before Dream closes his eyes, draws himself up, sets his bloody weird helmet on the bedside table with a soft leathery clunk. When he opens his eyes again, they are resolute, resigned, the eyes of a man headed for the gallows despite the stars winking hopelessly in their depths.

"I do not wish to be intimate with you. When you view it as simply a job. I. Would like—but not. If it is a transaction. If I am merely a client."

Oh. Oh.

Oh shit, really?

Impossible.

Really?

"You want. You want it to mean something?" Hob is embarassed at how small his voice comes out.

Dream closes his eyes, something like shame written all over his beautiful otherworldly-pale face. "I had thought. At our fifth meeting. That perhaps there was the possibility of. Attraction, between us." He opens his night-sky eyes again, meets Hob's resolutely. "Had we not been interrupted…" He shakes his head. "I pondered the idea until next we met, anticipating the possibility of. Seeing, where we might have come to. But you named what was between us friendship, you named me lonely; I perceived your words as mockery and acted accordingly. I spent the next century with a surplus of time to wander my own thoughts. They turned to you, Hob Gadling, with regularity. As I expressed when last we met, I regret leaving our previous meeting so abruptly, so harshly. Your friendship is of great value to me. I am content to let it remain friendship, in the interest of keeping it. But I am unwilling to engage with you, who named me 'friend', as I would a lover when I have yet to fully bury the wish. That you might have been my lover in truth."

Hob is desperately trying to keep from bluescreening again and while he's focused on that, his mouth runs along without him. "You never even gave me a name, but you wanted us to be lovers?"

"I am. Aware, of how foolish my wishes—"

"No, oh no. Dream. Love." He absolutely cannot let him think that. "All you ever had to do was ask."

Dream looks at him, starry eyes full of misery with the faintest spark of hope underneath, glimmering with unshed tears. "I. Could not—"

"That was then. Water under the bridge. What about now."

Dream shivers, his more-than-human face wary and pleading and resigned all at once and the last of the fight drains out of Hob. He approaches gently, until he is directly in front of Dream on the edge of the bed again; he half straddles Dream's lap with one foot still on the floor and a bare knee sunk on the mattress beside him, threads both hands into Dream's hair behind his lovely ears, tips his pale face up.

"Ask me now. Please."

Dream's hand settles above his bent knee, a gentle, tentative touch; his eyelashes flutter, and the sound that leaves him steals Hob's breath. That hand travels softly around to grip the back of Hob's thigh, slides hesitantly higher, and then it's Hob making the helpless noise as Dream's fingertips card beautifully through his leg hair, run up beneath the short robe. Dream's spindly black-nailed hand caresses up over his exposed arse cheek, squeezes, and all the while Dream's beguiling uncanny eyes are fixed on him, wet and wondering, full of blossoming hope.

"Hob Gadling." His voice is hushed, almost reverent. "I should like to have you, as my lover. If you are amenable." His face is tipped up, so close between Hob's hands, and Hob.

Hob's shaking. He's actually trembling, pent up, a little scared; daring, as he leans down and his hair falls around them both, hoping—

He brushes his lips to Dream's.

He kisses his Stranger, his friend, his touchstone.

And Dream of the Endless, who is all of those things, kisses him back.

It's nothing like he might have imagined, and ten times as wonderful, and over before he realizes he's ended it.

"Do you mean it." His voice is breathless, the words spoken directly against Dream's mouth. It's a stupid question, in light of the entire conversation gone before and the hand still on his arse, but he can't help asking. This entire turn of events is just too good to be true.

"Yes."

But true it is, apparently, and Hob's heart soars.

"Then. Dream of the Endless. My Stranger. My friend." He presses soft kisses to those plush pink lips between each moniker, dizzy that he's allowed. "Let me add another title to the list, darling. Take me to bed; the suite is ours 'til tomorrow. Let me learn how you would have me. Let me show you how I would treat you. And let me, at long last, name you mine."

= Started: 8/21/24 Drafted: 8/27/24 Posted: 8/30/24

If you're looking for a spicier take on this concept, @delta-pavonis has you covered: Dossier 54392 - please, give it a read, it's delicious.

(and here, have a post-script-y epilogue-exchange of sorts that did not quite fit:)

= "You chose to name yourself Nick Bottom?"

"What better name for a callboy to the supernatural than the bloke who got unwittingly embroiled in a fae lovers' spat and ultimately survived the entire encounter unscathed? Feels pretty relevant to me. Empowering, a bit?"

"Nick Bottom was less 'empowered' than simply lucky, perhaps."

"Perhaps. I'll not turn my nose up at good luck, either. But a name like Bottom in this business is also too good a pun to pass up, and I figure old Shaxberd would approve."

"I believe he would, indeed."

"The irony being that fully half of my clients want me to top them, heh."

"I do not wish to speak of your clients while you are in bed with me."

"Got better uses for my mouth, have you?"

"Other sounds I would prefer to hear from it, yes."

"Fair enough. Why don't you tell me what you want, Mr. Sandman, and see if I can make your dreams come true."

"Must you be so cliché?"

"You love my clich—mmph—"

"Stop. Talking."

"Yes love."

(Dream will tell him about commissioning A Midsummer Night's Dream at some other time 💖)

= Nick Bottom's lines from A Midsummer Night's Dream that lent themselves to the title: I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was and also The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this dream: it shall be called Bottom's Dream

[trashmouth-richie]

ᴴᴱᴬᵀᴱᴰ

CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE DOSED

HEATED

≛ modern!eddie x female reader x modern! steve

≛ summary: a week after being stranded on the side of the road with eddie and steve, you finally figure out what you’re going to do. Can the boys agree to what you have planned?

≛ THIS CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE FIC

≛ chapter warnings: MODERN AU, 18+ only I can’t be anymore clear about that, fuckgirl! reader vibes, Steve’s kind of a dickhead, oral m & f receiving and giving, mentions of birth control, reader gets eaten out by a girl, drug use, mention of alcohol, modern themes including texting, snapchat, iced coffee, crumbl cookie lmao etc, no y/n used, readers nickname is taff or taffy (bruh I hate using y/n catch me using any dumb nickname) Eddie picks reader up in a hug, real simpy Eddie behavior.

“I just don’t know Robin,” you explain, pulling literally at your hair from the root, “what should I do?” 

Ever since that day in the back of Wayne’s truck, you hadn’t had a single night of peace. Both Eddie and Steve were blowing up your phone. Begging for your attention. It was flattering at first. Two of Hawkins hottest at your beck and call. Each vying for your undivided, not knowing that they were competing for it. 

“Quit squirming,” Robin says in a huff between your legs, her mouth blossomed red and slick with spit, “I’ve been down here for thirty minutes and you aren’t any closer to coming than when I started.” 

Her apartment was hot and sticky, the oscillating fan on its last leg, and you were both stripped down to nothing to keep cool on your planned girls day in. A day to forget about the boys stressing you out and for Robin to get away from her annoying ex. And just like how it usually happened with her, you ended up snorting lines and making eachother buzz with orgasms. 

“Ugh, sorry,” you say annoyed, leaning up on your elbows to see her pretty face, “I just can’t relax.” 

“Tell me about it,” she says around your puffy clit, the tip of her tongue flicking it like a snake. 

You had made the boys swear to secrecy that they wouldn’t tell a soul about what had happened. But you didn’t promise anything. 

And the moment you had gotten home, you sent a text to Robin explaining every single detail, down to girth and length. 

“I think, you should date them both, try em out, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” 

“You think so?”

“Yeah, now please shut up, you’re taking forever and I’m bored.”

-

The next morning you woke with a smile on your lips. Any turmoil left in your mind on your decision had gone with Robin’s idea. 

The alarm clock on your bedside table illuminated 9:15AM and before even slipping your toes into some slippers, you sent two text messages to two recipients. 

The normal routine of your morning commenced without fail, washing your face, scrubbing your body in the shower, putting on light makeup before making a pot of coffee. 

Eddie arrived first, his motorcycle echoed loud off the parking lot as he backed it into a spot against the sidewalk. His dark curls were honeyed by the sun, a bag of Chinese takeout in one arm and a dozen roses in another. The prettiest dimples displayed on his stupid gorgeous face. 

“Hey beautiful,” he smirked, wrapping you in a hug and kissing your cheek. He smelled like muted cigarettes and bourbon cologne. The creak of his leather jacket echoed in your ears as he lifted you off the ground into a bone crushing hug, making you squeal.

“Sleep well?”

Before you could answer his smile had faded into a scowl when the door swung open and Steve stood at the threshold.  Wielding a pink box of gourmet cookies and two iced coffees, his wire framed Ray Bans pushed into his hair. 

“Munson,” he greeted, nodding to his friend in that jock head jerk. Stepping around him, Steve sets the coffees on the counter and gathers you into a hug, kissing your neck and whispering that he had missed you. 

His golden retriever vibe of tanned skin and forest colored eyes bore through you when he licked his lips. 

You pull away and smile at them. They both look so good but in completely different ways. 

Eddie’s tattoos were peeking out from under the tight white shirt he was wearing, as was a silver chain necklace. 

You were practically drooling to get your lips on his skin again. 

Steve was in light colored shorts and a casual button up, exposing the dusting of chest hair that your fingers ached to be wrapped in. If you had your way you’d take them both right here right now but that’s not what today was about. 

“Why are we both here, baby?” Eddie asks, setting the bouquet and the Chinese food on the counter, pushing away the pink box of treats from his competitor.

“It’s obvious.” Steve says with a smirk pulling on his lips, “she’s gonna let you down easy and go out with me.”  

“Always so cocky,” you tsk, trying not to look at the way his shorts are cinched at the zipper. 

You look between them, big doe whiskey colored eyes stare at you in longing, while the mossy floor ones squinted with a smirk. 

 “We need to talk, and rather me having this conversation twice- I figured we are grown ass adults and can talk about what happened.” 

Eddie nods and crosses his arms, leaning forward to not miss anything you were about to say. Meanwhile Steve leaned a hip into the wall, checking his phone. 

“Before I stroke your egos, you both know you’re hot, so I’m not going to tell you how fucking great that day was.”

“fuck yeah it was,” Steve chimed in, adjusting his length in his shorts. 

Eddie blushed a pretty salmon and shot you a wink. 

“But— I’m not choosing between the two of you, I can’t, ask Robin, I about gave her a brain aneurysm yesterday trying to figure it out.” 

You were the one on the verge of an aneurysm when you came allover her lips but that’s another story. 

“So, we’re gonna do this with no strings, no feelings, just friends hooking up and playing around. Cool?”

Eddie’s eyes fall to the tops of his boots.

“So let me get this straight,” Steve gaped, eyebrows pulled in, “you’re going to go out with the two of us... at the same time?” 

“Yeah, kinda what you do with every hussy in town Harrington.”

Steve’s gears are grinding but Eddie hasn’t said a word. 

“What the fuck Taff?” Steve huffs in annoyance. 

you banter back talking to him like he’s a child, “what’s the matter Harrington, don’t like sharing?”

“Rich boys are used to having their way.” Eddie gloats. 

“Oh fuck off,” he pours, “what about sex? Or is this like a PG thing, eating pizza at Chucke fuckin’ Cheese?” 

You cross your arms, and lick your lips, “oh we’ll be fucking, but not until you’re clean, both of you.” 

Eddie’s eyes finally perk up, he hasn’t been with anyone since last year and he was checked three months ago. 

“Oh come on!” Steve whines, “MaKenna is a virgin, and Blair and  Nicole have only blown Tommy since being with me— no need to fuck anyone else catch my drift?” 

“Sorry Harrington, I’m not risking catching anything and giving it to Eddie because you fundipped your way across campus. Show me you’re clean and it’s game on.” 

He pouts, “Jesus Christ… I’ll even wear a condom, c’mon.. I swear I’m clean.” 

“What the fuck is this 1990? I have an IUD, just get clean and we can do whatever you want.” 

Eddie feels like he has the upper hand for the first time since arriving at your apartment, “W-when does this start, sweetheart?” 

“Right now,” you shrug, “ I know you had to take off work today so I’m yours, see ya tomorrow Stevie.” 

“Such bullshit.” 

“Don’t worry buddy, I’ll take care of her while you’re off swabbing your pee hole,” Eddie says with a wave to his friend,  cockiness in his stance. 

“Be nice, boys.” 

You don’t expect what happens next but Steve grabbed your wrist and twisted you into him, kissing you square on the mouth just as firm as he did in the bed of Wayne’s truck. Rough and giving no grace he leaves you spinning even after he’s left. 

“Text me if you get bored with this one,” he says, licking his bottom lip to get one more taste of you as he walks through the door, “bye.” 

You cross the kitchen to the counter, lips still buzzing from Steve’s kiss. You pull out two forks from the proper drawer and rip some paper towels from the roll. 

Pulling out the white cardboard containers of Chinese food from the plastic sack, you plate them with shaky fingers. The fork in your hand slipping every once in a while and clanging loudly into the ceramic plate. 

“Hungry?” you ask over your shoulder.

“Starving actually,” Eddie says, “but there’s something I wanna do first.” 

You tear open a foil packet of soy sauce between your teeth and squeeze it all over the fried rice, “yeah, and what’s that?” 

Not noticing how close he was to you, his hands rest hotly on either of your hips, fingernails grazing the cotton of your shorts.

In a quick spin, you’re suddenly facing him, fork in one hand, soy sauce packet in the other. His eyes are impossibly dark, and a twist of a smirk lays on his pretty lips. 

“I wanna kiss you.” 

His lips ghost over yours and your tongue reaches for his lips but is met by nothing.

His breath fans across your lips, the sweetest of pouts escapes you, and his adam's apple bobs in his throat, swallowing your annoyance, “not here.” 

His fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, cold steel of his rings icing into your skin, dipping into it with a tentative touch. 

The zipper of his leather jacket bites into your palms as you pull him closer into you, and just like that day on the side of the road, it felt easy with Eddie.

You share the same bated breath as his fingers plunge deeper and push your underwear out of the way.  Between your slick folds he teases at your clit with his middle finger, swallowing the pretty noise you emit. 

“Wanna kiss you here,” he said with a thick fingered flick against your clit making you moan through your teeth but lips,  “need to taste you, again.” 

You moan his name and he helps you wiggle out of your shorts in a hurry. Feeling like you’re possessed at the sight of him dropping to his knees on the cold linoleum of your kitchen floor, like a sinner praying for mercy in a cathedral—you’re practically begging for his tongue where you need it most. 

Two weeks ago you and Eddie were just friends, and now he’s pulling the prettiest noises from you that would make the angels sick with worry,  

His lips kiss your thighs feverishly in his travels. Dark curls tickling against the spit from his sloppy mouth. Every sensation in your body was screaming, and you cursed out loud when he hooked your leg over his shoulder like a guitar strap. 

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he pushed this tongue into your slick, flicking against the hood of your clit, “so fuckin pretty baby, been seeing her in my dream for a week.” 

Nerves wrecked already you’re practically a puddle at his simping words, trying like hell to balance on one foot and carving your nails into the underside of the counter. But Eddie’s face could have held you up alone. 

He’s buried in your pussy. The happiest of graves. Nose, mouth chin- gone. All you can see of him down the plain of your own body are his curls. But you can feel him everywhere. 

Devil's tongue stuffed between your legs, thrashing and lapping up like a mad man starved. His groans vibrate around you and your legs quake. His fingers are pushed deep in the well of your velvet walls, another circling your ass and putting the tiniest bit of pressure there making you cry out. 

His name falls from your lips like a chant, faster and faster until your orgasm peaks and blinds you, your body losing all control from his tongue, your knuckles go white when you grab his hair, holding him right where you need him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit once more before he adjusts your panties back into place. Your fingers ache from the grip you had on the counter and in his locks. 

Kissing the delicate fabric around the apex of your thighs, he whispers softly, “I could do that everyday.” 

He helps you step back into your shorts, that glorious tongue poking out in concentration, and he looks up at you with a shy smile, standing and holding your hands.

“With a tongue like that, I might let you.” 

“Don’t tease me Taffy, I’m still hard.” 

And now it was your turn to be needy. You pull the lapels of his leather jacket into you and you kiss his slick coated lips, he tastes like you and the salty soy sauce that was still on your lip. 

Kissing Eddie was different than Steve, he painted your mouth the same way he lapped at your folds. If you never caught your breath— that would be fine with you. Your head spun around his web and you were tangled in it. 

His hands wrap around your back and one holds your face. It was deeply passionate, and your heart was bursting, your lips move to his neck and you suck and bite a mark into him, and he whimpers when your kisses go small. 

“This is gonna get cold Eddie,” you say against the column of his throat. 

“Let it, I’ll buy more.” 

You grin into his skin and he laughs when you tickle his sides, “c’mon,” you urge. 

And Eddie gets in one last kiss before breaking away, pulling your lip down with his thumb, and you shudder at the way he looks at you as if you’re the only girl on the planet, “if you say so.” 

-

The Chinese needed to be s microwaved but it was still good., The hunan pork was tender and juicy, and the lo mein noodles were to die for. You and Eddie sat side by side on the barstools and talked like you always had. He had a gig this weekend and when he asked if you were coming you said of course you were, a quirk to your brow. 

“Alright,” he said, putting alot of effort and concentration into twirling a noodle with his fork, “just wasn’t sure.” 

You leaned forward and kissed sauce from the corner of his mouth, and your core ached and pulsed at the sight of his boyish grin and blushing cheeks. 

“Wouldn’t miss it, even if it is Steve’s night.” 

He accepted a bite from your fork of fried rice, and almost melted when you held pinched fingers up to his mouth of a ripped piece of crab rangoon. 

“We’re still cool, right?” he asks after crushing the bite between his teeth, his eyes watching you put your fingers in your mouth and nodding. 

“So c-can I ask you something as a friend?” 

His brows are pinched in a furrow and you know he’s uneasy about something. 

You slurp a noodle into your mouth and talk with a mouthful, a hand in front of your face, “spit it out, Munson.” 

His fork clanks on the plate as he sets it down and gives the plate away. He runs a hand through his hair, and leans on his elbows and picks at his rings. 

“So, why— I mean, why the both of us. You and Harrington can’t even stand each other.” 

He was right, before last week you and Steve could barely be in the same room together, and now you were agreeing to fuck with no strings attached. 

“It’s physical with Steve, like pure animalistic instinct. There’s no thoughts, and I think us hating each other just makes it that much better.” 

Eddie’s weight shifts on the stool and his eyes never leave his rings, spinning them in a nervous habit. 

“So you don’t like him like that?” 

And the truth of his question falls through but you refuse to answer it, you have your own questions to ask, you toss the paper napkin onto your plate and mimic his actions, pushing it ahead on the counter. 

“Eddie.. are you jealous?” 

You leaned into him, the pads of your fingers daintily walking up his thigh, your eyes blink slow in a lazy seduction and fuck he’s practically putty in your hands. 

He licks his lips feverishly, suddenly hot around the collar and his heart hammered a rhythm loud enough to make a tune out of it. 

“N-no,” pppft he stammers, “I’m not jealous,” he tries his best not to catch your eye but once he does those hersheys bars give him away and a bubble gum blush tickles his cheeks. He clears his throat with an ahem, and raps his knuckles on the counter. 

You stand and wiggle between his legs, pressing one hand further into his crotch and the other on his chest, toying with his necklace, your finger skating the pick left and right the chain making a zippered like noise. 

“Tell me what you want, baby.” 

Eddie is floored, wilting like a flower— all the oxygen and water ran out from the                                                            √≈petals. His mouth was almost glued shut, it’s so dry, Sahara would be jealous. 

Your lips pucker behind his ear and the filth you’re whispering to him sends shivers down his spine. It’s lust  licked and heavy, want me to touch you, or do you wanna touch me? 

He answers with a dry groan and a swallow, and his hands find your hips spinning you around,his lips ghost over your neck and you throw your head back into him, pushing your ass into him to feel the swell of his bulge in his jeans. 

He’s rutting into your doughy ass, his fat cock loving the friction you’re bouncing against him, you move your hips and grind further into him. 

“Fuck baby,” he moans hot against the shell of your ear, catching in his throat. 

His hands creep under the hem of your shirt and skate against your skin, the smooth of his nails electrifying each touch. They work along your curves, his big thick hands touching every inch of your skin, rubbing along the lacy edge of your maroon bralette. 

The pads of his thumbs graze against your peaked nipples and you exhale. You're surrounded by the sharp spice of his cologne, the muted cigarettes clinging to his jacket, it encompassed you, held you like a hug and had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. 

It felt too good. His lips hummed against your neck, vibrating hot and sending goosebumps along your skin, and you wanted more. Needed more. 

You followed his hands, tracing the veins on the tops of them with your fingers, pushing your palm flat against them, making him squeeze at your tits, and you purred out his name, a shade away from whining. 

Fuck you wanted him so bad. And judging by the firmness of his cock beneath your asscheeks, he wanted you just as badly. 

You spun quickly, grabbing his hands and leading him to the couch, his lips were red from sucking on your neck, bangs were pushed up awkwardly from the position his head was buried into your shoulder. He looked drunk, enamored with something you didn’t recognize.

The leather of his belt was heavy in your fingers as you unraveled it through the buckle and the first loop on his jeans. His eyes never left yours as your fingers flipped the button and pushed his jeans down his hips. 

He shuddered a breath when your hand cupped him in his boxers, the velvet of his skin soft and warm in your soft grip. He was bigger than you remembered, thick like a stout of beer.

“Christ Taff,” he breathed when you stroked him fully, the pad of your finger running over the vein that ran along his cock. 

You looked at him through your lashes as you lowered yourself to the ground, dragging his jeans and boxers with you, “this what you wanted big boy? Wanted me on my knees for you?”

He hums and holds your chin, brushing his thumb across your lips. 

Licking the tip of his thumb, you hold his heavy cock in your hands, stroking his shaft slow then fast, “you’re so big, Eddie.”

He swallows his next words when your tongue circles his head, collecting the precum with each devilish swipe. You stick out your tongue to show him the pearl in your mouth, and he almost combusts when you swallow it with a hum. 

“Yummy.”

He’s certain he’s going to die right here in your living room, looking at you with your pink tongue swirling around his cock, the way your lips suction around him, fuck, you haven’t even put him fully in your mouth yet and he’s a goddamn mess. 

The teasing is too much but he’ll take whatever you give him, if you were to stop now he’d be completely satisfied, he’d have to pump his cock furiously when he got home to make the ache go away but, he’d do it. 

But you don’t stop, fuck no. You’re just getting started. You like him like this, flushed in his cheeks and waiting patiently for your mouth. His mouth opening as yours does. Waiting, pleading, hoping that you would finally let your wet warmth surround him. 

And then you do. 

He stretched your mouth cheek to cheek, a literal mouthful. And he hums. Is he thanking God? You hide your giggle, deciding to take him further into your throat as you hollow your cheeks and slide him deeper with the help of his canting hips. 

You hum around him and it tickles him, but he’s so drunk on your mouth he’s muttering sentences that don’t even make sense. 

Pumping your hands along his shaft you dribble spit from your throat to the head of his dick, a slimy string connecting you mouth, one that you slurp back up and take him in deeper. His knees are bent and he pulled his shirt under his chin, wanting to see you fully with his cock stuffed in your mouth, your pretty eyes are teary and he can feel you gag around him before he pulls out and you come back for more. 

He’s not sure how long you’ve been at this, and he’s trying to keep his mind averted to anything other than your slippery throat and the cute way your eyes are looking up at him. 

This was better than the way you sucked him off in the bed of Wayne’s truck. You were solely focused on him here. No other distractions, just you and him. 

“Look so fucking pretty, baby,” he moaned, reaching down to hold your cheek, his thumb wipes away some of your smudged make up from your eye, “ do you know that?”

You nod with him in your throat, and he breathes more nonsense as he looks to the ceiling and runs his fingers through his hair, trying not to convulse, but he can’t take it any more, you're working his dick like you’re short on rent. 

“Fuck, sweet girl, fuck,” Eddie whines, scrubbing his hands down his face, his stomach burning to give in to you,  I— shit shit shit, ‘m gonna come.”

He works his hips away from you but you wrap your arms around the back of his knees, holding him with his dick still in your mouth, waiting like a kitten for milk.

He cums hard, biting through his bottom lip to keep himself from yelling out loud. You don’t stop bobbing your throat, swirling your tongue, around his length and puckering your lips around him. 

With his load in your mouth you paint his cock with it, moving it around and around with your excess spit, a hurricane against your tornado tongue, you finally swallow, sucking in your cheeks once more, and cleaning Eddie off in one swoop. His cries fill the room and you finally release him with a pop. 

“Jesus, fuck.” He exhales, sleepy eyed. His reddened swollen cock hanging between you both, “c’mere.” 

He helps you to your feet, and you tuck him back into his boxers gently. He mutters an embarrassed thanks, you’re smiling up at him with a cocky little smirk. Completely ready for him to pull up his jeans, maybe get himself a beer from your fridge, but he doesn’t. 

Eddie holds you to him, his forehead leaning on yours, big hands wrapped around the small of your back. His erratic breath plumed through his nose and his chest was beating fast. You’ve never seen him like this, “Eddie?” 

He doesn’t let go, doesn’t say anything, he just moves back to press the lightest of  kisses to the tip of your nose. “You, “ he finally says, licking his lips and rolling his eyes into the back of his head, finally focusing back on you, he pulls you closer, enough that his eyes are all you can see.

But whatever he was going to say is stuck in his throat, he never finishes what he was going to say. Just pulls you into him and holds you there, his lips on your neck, kissing you softly. It was a perfect day. You should have known it wouldn’t have been weird between you and Eddie, falling back into sync as best friends and laughing while snacking on m&m’s and smoking from his dab pen. 

You end up falling asleep on your bed together, tired from exerting so much energy and bellies full of Chinese. Netflix asks, are you still watching YOU? on the tv on your dresser. Eddie’s tossing and turning wakes you and you grab your phone to check the time. 5 o’clock. Taking an almost four  hour nap, but in reality it felt like four days straight. 

But that's not the only surprising thing on your phone. 

A litter of texts. From the same occupant. The other half of this agreement. 

hope you enjoyed, seems like Steve isn’t too thrilled right?

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar

@tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @crybabyddl @zenathebeautiful @astela17 @taintedcigs @bettyfrommars @munsonsuccubus @munson-blurbs @hollandweather @serasvictoria @steviesgrl @sweetsweetjellybean @curiositydooropened @ashyyboyy @urlbitchin @sllooney @lame0o @ali-r3n @bangaveragewhitewine

[chaosheadspace]

17 with Dreamling for the kiss thingy? Hope you'll feel better soon 💜

Thank you! I couldn't not make this library boys, hope you'll forgive me.

Hob protectively clutches the treat bowl as he steeps his tea. He hasn’t slept well, and he’s got the last double shift in the stacks so he’s figured he’s entitled to the last handful of candy from the kitchen.

The tiredness is manifesting as a slight backache and heavy limbs, just pronounced enough that he has to remind himself to be careful so as to not spill the contents of his mug in the elevator later.

His mind preoccupied with the lazy imaginings of tea slopping over the porcelain rim, splattering floor and trousers and burning his thigh, Hob’s sluggish brain doesn’t pick up on the footsteps coming towards him until spindly, familiar hands and arms wrap around his middle. Hob hums, lays his free hand over Murphy’s. The parts of his brain that don’t immediately light up and wake fill with warm affection. It seems like the presence of his fiancè revitalises him like nothing else, like mana to his soul. As it should.

But then. Oh, the fiercest of betrayals by the one closest to his heart.

“Might I convince you to part from one of the caramel ones?” Murphy’s warm voice seeps into his ear. Beguiling traitor.

“No,” Hob says quickly. “You can go home in thirty minutes while I have to stay until eight.”

“Mmmh,” Murphy hums, “I see.” He nuzzles the shell of Hob’s ear. “And how about a kiss? Might I have that?”

Hob turns around in his embrace and solemnly lays his hands on Murphy’s shoulders. “You can safely assume that if I ever refuse you a kiss I’m probably dead,” he says.

Murphy’s lips are soft and warm, and the slow drag of them against his drags his brain back to thoughts of dim rooms and plush bedding and sleep-heavy cuddles. Hob is so tired, and he wants so badly to lay down for a nap, preferably buried under said fiancé and a blanket.

Murphy’s hands wander to the small of his back, fingers working lightly up and down the muscles next to his spine, massaging until hob feels a lot like a puddle and nowhere near enough like a human to even be able to begin to fathom how he will get through the rest of this day.

With a last, small peck, Murphy withdraws and Hob can’t help the whine that escapes his throat at the loss of warmth, at the loss of external stability for his taffy-structured bones.

But Murphy is right, they both still have work to do, they both—

Murphy is biting his lip, failing to hide a grin. One of Murphy’s hands is hidden behind his back, and Hob’s ears catch the finest hint of rustling cellophane.

“You didn’t.” He says, scandalised, secretly delighted at Murphy’s sly deception. He absolutely would. He absolutely has.

“You are right, I did not,” Murphy cheerfully agrees, shoving his hand into his pocket with an even more obvious rustle, a tiny flash of gold blinking from his fist for a second. “I would never.”

And with another grin and a wink, he sprints out of the kitchen.

“You criminal!” Hob shouts after him, not even pretending to give chase. “You’ll regret that later!”

His only answer is a bout of raspy, deranged laughter that he holds close to his heart.

Maybe, just maybe it’ll get him through the rest of the evening.

send me a kissy prompt or read the other ones here

[jojosbizarrecandyland]

Chapter 1: Joanne's Sweet Endeavor / A Sweeter Encounter

Pages: 5 Words: 1978 Summary: Joanne, a determined twelve-year-old, runs the Sweet Tooth Candy Shop while her parents are away. She expertly assists customers, helping a grandmother pick out the perfect gift for her granddaughter, and manages a group of mischievous kids attempting to steal candy. Joanne sternly confronts them, offering a small treat and a lesson in honesty. As the day winds down, a suspicious group of men loiter outside the shop. Joanne senses danger and prepares to defend the store using the magical abilities of her candy bear, vowing to protect her parents' business no matter what.

The Sweet Tooth Candy Shop was a beacon of color and joy in the heart of town, its windows lined with every kind of candy imaginable. From sugary rock candy to chewy licorice, the shop was a paradise for anyone with a sweet tooth. Today, however, the shop had a special charm—it was run by Joanne, a twelve-year-old with a knack for business.

As the bell above the door jingled, Joanne looked up from behind the counter, her brown curls bouncing with her movement. She adjusted her apron and greeted the new customer with a bright smile. “Welcome to Sweet Tooth! How can I help you today?”

The customer, a middle-aged woman with a fondness for bright scarves, smiled back. “Hello, dear. I’m looking for something special. It’s my granddaughter’s birthday, and I want to get her something sweet.”

Joanne’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “We’ve got just the thing! Follow me.” She led the woman to a display of colorful candy jars. “We’ve got some beautiful candy gift boxes that can be personalized. You can choose a selection of candies to fill them.”

The woman’s face lit up. “Oh, this looks perfect. I think she’ll love these gummy bears and the chocolate truffles. How much for a box like this?”

Joanne calculated the total quickly. “That’ll be twenty-five dollars for the box and the candies.”

The woman nodded and handed over the money. “Thank you, Joanne. You’re doing a great job here.”

“Thank you!” Joanne said, ringing up the sale and packing the box with care. “Have a sweet day!”

As the woman left, another customer entered—the local neighborhood kids. Joanne recognized them instantly; they were often found eyeing the candy jars with more interest than was strictly allowed.

“Hey, Joanne!” greeted Danny, a tall boy with an impish grin. “We’re just browsing.”

Joanne’s gaze was sharp, and she was ready. “Uh-huh. Browsing, right. Make sure you don’t touch anything without asking, okay?”

The kids exchanged glances, and Danny’s grin faltered a bit. “Sure, Joanne. We were just... um, looking for something.”

Joanne kept a close watch as the kids wandered the aisles. Her instinct proved correct when she saw them covertly trying to slip candy into their pockets. With a decisive motion, she grabbed the broom that was always at hand behind the counter and walked over to them.

“Alright, enough of that!” Joanne’s voice was commanding as she brandished the broom. The kids froze, wide-eyed. “You’ve been warned. Either pay for what you want or get out.”

One of the girls, a smaller kid with pigtails, looked particularly nervous. “We’re really sorry, Joanne. We didn’t mean to steal.”

Joanne’s expression softened slightly, though she kept her stance firm. “Well, if you’re sorry, I expect you to apologize properly. And if you’re still hungry for candy, here’s something on the house.” 

She reached into a jar of sour taffy and handed them each a piece. “Now, scram. And don’t come back without paying.”

The kids mumbled their thanks and hurried out, the sour taffy already making their faces pucker in surprise. Joanne shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. She could be tough when she needed to be, but she had a soft spot for kids who made honest mistakes.

Later that afternoon, the shop was buzzing with the usual assortment of customers. Joanne’s attention was split between ringing up purchases and keeping an eye on the stock. She had just finished wrapping a box of chocolate-covered almonds when a group of older customers entered.

“Good afternoon!” Joanne called out brightly. “Can I help you find anything special today?”

A tall man with graying hair and glasses smiled warmly. “Yes, actually. We’re looking for some old-fashioned sweets. My wife and I are celebrating our anniversary, and we thought some classic candies would be perfect.”

Joanne’s eyes lit up. “You’ve come to the right place! We’ve got a great selection of vintage candies. Follow me.”

She led them to a display of nostalgic treats—root beer barrels, jawbreakers, and nougat bars. As the customers browsed, one of them, a woman with a gentle demeanor, asked, “Joanne, your parents must be proud of how well you’re running the shop.”

Joanne’s heart skipped a beat. She offered her rehearsed response with a casual air. “Oh, they’re on vacation. I’m holding down the fort while they’re away.”

The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, you’re doing a marvelous job. We’ll take some of these root beer barrels and a few of the nougat bars. How much do we owe you?”

Joanne quickly rang up their purchases and bagged the candies. “That’ll be thirty dollars.”

The man handed over the money, and Joanne gave him a receipt with a cheerful “Thank you for shopping at Sweet Tooth! Have a great day!”

As the last customer left and the shop quieted down, Joanne began her closing routine. She swept the floor, restocked the shelves, and prepared to lock up. The sky outside was turning dusky, the streetlights casting long shadows.

But as Joanne turned the “Closed” sign on the door, she noticed a group of men loitering nearby. Their presence was unsettling—there was something off about the way they hovered around the shop. Joanne’s instincts went on high alert.

She grabbed her trusty stuffed bear from her bookbag, her fingers brushing against its soft, comforting surface. With a quiet murmur, she activated its special magic, and the bear’s plush exterior shifted into a glossy candy material.

Joanne felt a surge of determination. She would protect the shop, no matter what. The men approached, their intentions clear. Joanne gripped her candy bear tightly, ready to defend her parents’ store with all the courage she could muster.

And so, as the evening shadows lengthened and the Sweet Tooth Candy Shop closed its doors for the night, Joanne prepared to face whatever challenge lay ahead with the same fearless resolve she brought to running her beloved shop.

_

The Sweet Tooth Candy Shop was buzzing with energy as Joanne prepared for a new day. She had been working tirelessly to set up a new display of lollipops, each one intricately shaped into stars, moons, hearts, and other delightful forms. These were not your average flat lollipops; they were grand creations, each one a piece of edible art propped up on sturdy sticks. Joanne meticulously arranged them on the counter, her excitement evident in the way she adjusted each display.

The morning sun was just beginning to shine through the shop's windows when the bell above the door chimed. Joanne turned to see a young boy about her age stepping in. He had tan skin, dark spiky hair, and was wearing goggles perched low on his forehead. His clothes were worn and somewhat shabby, giving him a rough-around-the-edges appearance.

Joanne offered her usual friendly greeting. “Good morning! Welcome to Sweet Tooth. Can I help you find something special today?”

The boy glanced around the shop with a dismissive air. “I don’t want to buy anything from you,” he said, his tone a mix of defiance and disdain. He looked Joanne up and down, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Though he tried to hide it, a faint blush colored his cheeks as he found himself captivated by her determination and spunk.

“I came here to take some candy,” he continued, folding his arms defiantly. “Those kids who came in yesterday? They were working for me. I’m here to take what I want.”

Joanne’s smile faded, replaced by a look of stern resolve. “If you’re here to steal, I won’t go easy on you. I’ve got a job to do, and I won’t let anyone mess it up.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed, and he shrugged with a hardened expression. “I don’t care. I’m a thief, not a saint.”

Joanne’s frown deepened. She wasn’t about to let him walk away with her candy, not after everything she’d done to keep the shop running smoothly. “Fine, if that’s how you want to play it.”

Without warning, she grabbed a handful of the newly displayed lollipops and hurled them at him. The colorful confections flew through the air, but the boy was quick on his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he transformed his left hand into a large, bladed sword, blocking the incoming lollipops with ease.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” the boy taunted, his sword-hand slicing through the air as he deflected the candy missiles.

Joanne wasn’t deterred. She grabbed more lollipops and continued her barrage. “I’m not giving up so easily!”

The boy, who had been ready to steal the candy, now found himself engaged in a fierce battle of attrition. His ability to morph his body into mechanical constructs gave him a solid defense, while Joanne’s candy-throwing skills kept him on his toes. The shop was a flurry of colors and motion as the two clashed, the floor littered with shattered lollipop pieces.

Joanne’s eyes darted around the shop, searching for more lollipops to use as ammunition. Her focus was momentarily distracted when she noticed a giant candy sculpture on a precarious stand. It wobbled dangerously, tilting towards her.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Look out!” she shouted, but the boy’s attention was already drawn to the falling sculpture. Without hesitation, he dashed toward Joanne, tackling her out of harm’s way.

With a swift motion, he shifted his back into a deformed shield, his body morphing to absorb the impact of the falling sculpture. The candy crashed down onto the shield, and for a moment, everything went quiet. When the dust settled, the boy and Joanne were lying on the floor, safe and sound, though surrounded by candy debris.

Joanne looked up at him, astonished. “Why did you save me?”

The boy’s face was flushed, and he looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t want to kill you. I’m a thief, not a murderer.”

Joanne’s expression softened, and she could see the sincerity in his eyes. “You really mean that?”

The boy nodded, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah. I’m sorry for everything. My name’s Luke. I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. I’d like to make it up to you. If you’ll let me, I could work here at the shop and pay off any damages.”

Joanne’s initial hesitation melted away as she considered his offer. She could see the potential for redemption in his eyes. With a bright smile, she extended her hand. “Alright, Luke. Let’s start fresh. We’ll clean up this mess together, and you can work here to make things right.”

Luke took her hand, his expression a mix of relief and gratitude. “Thanks, Joanne. I promise I’ll work hard.”

Together, they began to clean up the shop, sweeping up the candy shards and resetting the displays. As they worked, Joanne could sense that Luke was genuinely remorseful and willing to make amends. The two of them worked side by side, their earlier conflict forgotten as they bonded over the shared task.

By the time the shop was cleaned up and ready to reopen, Joanne and Luke had formed an unexpected alliance. The Sweet Tooth Candy Shop was back to its cheerful self, and Joanne felt a new sense of camaraderie with her unlikely helper.

As they prepared to open the shop again, Joanne looked at Luke with a hopeful smile. “Let’s make today a great day, shall we?”

Luke nodded, a smile of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. “Absolutely. And thanks for giving me a second chance.”

With a fresh start and a new friend by her side, Joanne was ready for whatever the day might bring. The Sweet Tooth Candy Shop was once again a place of joy and sweetness, and Joanne couldn’t have been happier.

[taffycandyqt]

Hi taffy!! Idk if anyone has done this but its been on my mind for a while now. YouTuber reader and editor donnie. Where Donnie has a little avatar that pops into videos and reader talks in the video to him for when he edits (kind of like a Markiplier and Lixian kind of thing?) Thanks soo much! Lots of love!

Yesssss!!!! I absolutely love Marks and Lixians dynamic! Oh this is gonna be so fun!

You didn't specify what version you wanted so I'm just gonna assume you want rise Donnie and do that👍

Masterlist

Request Rules

Little Editor Boy

You found your video editor a couple years after starting YouTube. He's great at his job and you enjoy talking to him. You never met him in person though, so imagine your surprise when you find out he's a giant mutant turtle!

Rise Donnie x gn reader

Headcannons

Fluff

Before dating

Othello was the best person you had ever worked with and one of your closest friends.

You hired him after he had edited one of your videos for his own channel.

It was purely for satire but you loved his sense of humor and he was good at what he does.

Now you guys call practically all the time and he even feeds you ideas for new videos.

You loved pushing your dynamic on your videos too!

Talking to him like he was in the room with you and teasing back and forth like he was there responding to you.

It was fun!

You hated watching your videos but you loved to go to the parts where you "talk to him" just to see his witty comebacks.

He never ceased to make you laugh.

With all this though you've never met in person, nor have you ever seen his face.

He always avoids the topic or makes some sort of excuse.

No he doesn't have a working camera on any of his technological devices despite his fluency with the stuff, yes he really does live in Zimbabwe even thought he consistently talks about going to places exclusively in New York

Yes he is busy Ninja training, no that is not a lie, unfortunately he is planning on being sick the next two weeks that your free so guys can't visit each other.

Safe to say, you were done with his bull.

So on your next phone call you cornered him for the truth.

Little did you know that the truth was, he did want to meet you, but he couldn't.

Now it should be known that Donnie isn't ashamed of how he looks.

Is he aware? Yes.

Does he care? No.

If someone else has a problem with it, it's just that, their problem.

But with you, he wants you to like him, and he HATES that.

He wishes that taking the chance to meet you in person didn't scare him so much.

He doesn't want you to scream, run, call him a freak, and fire him!

So when you put him in tight position to meet you, he was kinda freaking out.

Not that his "bad boy" persona would ever let him show it.

Donnie's knee bounced under the table as he waited for you to come into the shabby diner you both decided to meet at. Purple hoodie and mittens with black jeans and sneakers. Normally he hated wearing all this junk but if he could avoid the inevitable freakout as long as possible then so be it. With his hood pulled up to shield his face from the occasional passer-by. The yellow lights flickered periodically and it made him wish he was back at his lab fixing up whatever project he felt like instead of watching that persistent technological annoyance.

The minutes ticked by and he was starting to wonder if you were coming at all. Maybe you had seen him from afar and decided you didn't actually want to meet him? Maybe you were freaked out? At this point he couldn't decide which one would distress him more. The prospect of meeting you or the idea that you no longer want to meet him. Panicked thoughts started rushing through his head and the plasticy covering of his booth seat was becoming increasingly uncomfortable the longer he sat there alone. If felt like he was in the splash zone waiting for a wave to smack him.

Before he can go any deeper into this panic though, you say down in front of him.

"Sorry I'm a little late. Hopefully five minutes wasn't too long a wait!" you laughed to yourself as you slid into the booth seat across from him.

"N-nope! All good here! A ha..." he mumbled awkwardly.

You both talked as your food came and he stayed draw in on himself and refused to let you see his face.

He would get more comfortable with the conversation as you talked and things seemed to be getting into a better note but his body language still seemed to stay uncomfortable.

You just kept the conversation up and hoped he would come out of his shell.

Nothing seemed to be working until you got on the topic of Jupiter Jim and you mentioned how underrated Atomic Lass and Atomic Lads dynamic is within the franchise and fanbase.

He'd sit up so fast that his hood flew off is face as he released an exasperated "EXACTLY!"

Now it was your turn to be shocked.

You didn't know what to expect but it wasn't green skin and less than human features.

Your bewildered staring clued him into his fatal mistake.

He'd sink back into the booth seat choking out an awkward forced laugh.

You so badly want to ask "What are you?" But that seemed a tad dehumanizing. Though you guessed he wasn't really human.

So after the initial shock wore off, you decided to say something a bit different.

"There's the face I've been dying to meet," you smiled.

"Pardon?" He looked up at you a tad surprised.

This was the first time he made eye contact with you since you got here.

"I haven't been trying to meet you in person for so long just so I could catch a glimpse of your fashion sense you know,"

After that he played it off like he knew you would react that way and immediately straightened his posture at the table.

The time there also got a bit more comfortable as you both chatted freely.

He still kept the hood on but was no longer using it to obscure his face.

Eventually you noticed his hands had been degloved and saw his green three fingers.

You didn't stare like you did at his face but you made a mental note to ask him about it later.

You were still curious okay?

While Dating

Once you two start saying it becomes increasingly obvious to you followers.

Your interactions with Donnie's little character slowly went from boss employee teasing to ridiculous romantic jokes to just straight up calling him pet names.

When you find out about Donnie's family and their mutant situation you were actually really interested.

Though it did make you a little sad at the realization that his behavior when you first met in person was because he thought you'd think of him differently.

Because of this one of your favorite names for him becomes "handsome boy" or "handsome man".

You'd ask him to edit something for you in one of your videos and when you were done explaining it you'd say "thank you my handsome boy!" And continue playing the game.

The first time this happened he was just watching the video to edit it like he normally does, only to get jump scared by the nickname.

Don't get me wrong, he loved the name, but he just didn't know what to think.

It took him a good ten minutes to recover from his flustered state of mind.

After he got out of it he would consider just editing that part out.

For.... reasons.

But ultimately left it in since the cut would be too awkward.

Needless to say your followers are BEGGING for an Othello face reveal and you just have to keep saying no😭😭

Outside of that you are like the OTP for Internet couples.

It gets to the point where you guys kinda become a meme

Some fan of a different streamer will talk about how that streamer and their partner and perfect for eachother and then one of your fans will just be like "yeah but are they as perfect as y/n and Othello von Ryan?"

It even evolves I into "peanut butter and jelly are the perfect pair" "not as perfect as y/n and Othello tho..."

or "UGH! GUYS! My fit EATS! Almost as much as y/n and Othello!"

It's all in good fun, and you find it absolutely hilarious.

Donnie is amused and anytime you show him these memes he simply nods and says something along the lines of "well I cannot disagree with objective fact."

Overall, very cute, very fun.

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

if you still do them, is it okay you do like one shots with ROTTMNT boys and a little sibling reader?

but here’s the thing, the reader is a little pink gecko with yellow spots, they’re around 10 or 9 years old and can run just as fast as sonic the hedgehog and basically have the energy of a golden retriever, they’re like a tiny dragon and it’s adorable yet SO. FREAKING. EXHAUSTING!!

❝ pink bubbles and banana laffy taffy!! ❞

₊˚꒰🥞꒱‧ — 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐠𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

｡˚ 𓂋 🍋﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

❝l ɑׁׅ֮/ꪀׁׅ : okay i had to squeeze this one out because OHMIGOSH it is SO. CUTE!!!! i literally got soso excited when i read this because how did you know i'm legitimately obsessed with geckos?! 😭 i literally downloaded picsart to make that collage and wrote this in the span of a day or two because i got so excited aausghshdh !! fluffybun24, fluffy, darlin'. grips your shoulders and brushes your cheek tenderly. thank you. also, i'm just now realizing you asked for one shots after the fact ajsjjhd I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T REALIZE UNTIL AFTER RE-READING IT after writing this whole thing out XD DX but foremost, i must tell you that i mostly do my fandom writing in headcanon/reaction formats !! :(( one shot(s) aren't really my forte . . . albeit, i do hope this is just as good !! o7

(honorable mention: @agentturtlecupcake *HARSHLY NUDGES YOU* HEY. HEY LOOK. LOOKLOOKLOOOKLOKKOKLOKOOOKKLLOOOOOOOK. IT'S the, k-KID-🩷💛)

˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ oh my goodness me, you are the simultaneous love and light, the bane and exhaustion, of everyone's respective lives.

don't get me wrong, your family absolutely adores you!!

especially since you're :(( the baby :(( aww :(((

it just, kinda freaks everyone thafuq OUT when you zip and zoom and flash everywhere

just. a maniacal streak of pink and yellow.

they don't know peace because of you. (affectionate!)

like they will be mindin' their whole business in its entirety and here you come

"*walks into the main living room* heeeeeyy, anybody seen my jupiter jim issue— [*nyooom!*] SWEET MOTHER OF G O D–"

it's not like you ever have ill intentions, tho 🥹 so it's okay.

"they're cute so it's okay!" — all of your siblings at one point, probably

while they do accept your golden retriever tendencies, it be givin' them gray hairs fr 💀✋

especially because you're so f a s t

you're there one moment then next thing they know you're halfway across the entire lair, tittering and chirping happily away.

˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ so, over the course of your life, they've all developed their own designated role when keeping up with you:

raph . . .

being the oldest definitely feels the most responsible for you and acts on it! he himself has developed a sixth sense for when you zoom by and can catch you with (relative) ease every time, and has definitely saved your butt from like. accidentally crashing into a wall or smth sjsjsj

but big bubba can't prevent everything :\ so you have gotten some owies !!

but you can always count on him to be there to help you feel better.

he's your biggest bro 🥹 he always makes you feel better.

but i imagine u're also a maniacal little shit (*cough* thanks leo *COUGH*)

so sometimes you just, str8 up run away from him like ACTIVELY escape his grasp

it deffo takes some effort 😮‍💨 (petition : #saveraphfromhissiblings /lh)

"[NAME]?! Get back here, you little speed monster!!"

*cue toiny baby gecko squealing and The Daily Chase commencement*

oh yeah. it's a daily occurrence.

you stress him out 🤣😭 but it's okay. :))

(after catching you in his hands, holding you up to eye level): "Alright, you little goober. That's enough outta ya today." "But Raaaaph!!"

and then you can't really do anything because raph knows your sweet spot, your little switch, that melts you like putty - a little patch riiiight in the center of your upper back, a well-pressurized scritch is all it takes really, and oh. there we go. down for a nap !

however you simply must have your grand rebellion moments and give him arm gummy bites the entire time but he's the just personification of "😇😌"

ain't no doubting he loves you tho. adores you, really; your bright bubbliness is what makes him smile most days, and even tho your energy is a bit much for him to keep up with, and he'd really like it if you stopped fighting him for afternoon naps sometimes, i don't think he'd change it for the world.

leo . . .

is one who's fairly on par with your hyperactivity, so he's the one we all turn to when your excitement is bubbling over into something a liiiiittle too much :'))

playing tag when you're zooming to and fro is one of you guys' favorites.

but sometimes he doesn't play fair and uses his odachi to teleport >:((

and if you get genuinely upset, he just scoops you up and blows raspberries on your soft lil tummy.

he's the only one who can wear you out so he's an essential part of everyone's lives asksksjd

but bc of this

HE PROBABLY USES YOU AS COLLATERAL TO GET THINGS HE WANTS I'M NOT EVEN PLAYIN

"LEO!!! Ugghhghhh, can you please handle them?!"

"Mmmhmmmmmmm....."

"L E O ಠಗಠ! For the last time, you are NOT choosing for movie night tonight and the kind of pizza!! You've had it all week!!!"

"Ohh, suddenly I have no capability for one very specific baby cotton candy-banana pudding gecko..... Shame. Woeful, horrible, terrible, shame—"

"LEO!!!"

he's a jerk, but he's highkey your idol and he would give the entire world for you in a heartbeat, so :))

donnie . . .

acts like your hyperactivity is an inconvenience...... but in reality, he doesn't mind it.

(only when it compromises his tech. you've only had one to two incidents involving his lab before permanent damage control was done and it's been this way ever since. 😭✋)

sure, sometimes your wild nature can make him cringe on bad days, but what's a sibling if they don't get tired of your antics once every while?

it's healthy development !!

plus. he himself has his moments where his lowkey descent into madness shows its peak, so he can't really talk.

you've all got your quirks, y'know? (/ref)

in truth he accepts it as a part of you, and he loves all of you - i mean c'mon, you're his baby sibling.

and even tho he doesn't openly admit it nearly as much as the rest of your family - he really does think you're adorable.

and in more truth: donnie takes care of you a lot. like- as soon as you started showing signs of your speediness and just-consumed-five-bags-of-candy excitement levels, he completely baby proofed the lair 😭

and you can't tell me he didn't know you'd possess those superhuman levels of speed bro you CAN'T

that man is a scientist and he leaves no stone unturned, especially when it comes to his family.

he has you microchipped too sjjsjdh

[ i just thought of this just now, actually: he and leo are a team when it comes down to your genetics/biological health. donnie researches with his stem-augmented brain and studies your dna down to the very microfiber; leo adapts with his medical affinities to make sure you're the healthiest little gecko mutant kiddo you can be. <3 ]

WE MAY HAVE MADE FUN OF HIM AT THE MOMENT, because how much harm can one baby gecko do Donnie you silly fool honhonhonhon BUT HE'S THE ONLY 👏 ONE 👏 WHO CAME IN CLUTCH.

very much "who's laughing now?"

certainly donnie. my bet's on donnie.

"THEY ALL LAUGHED. THEY CALLED ME A SILLY FOOL. BUT FEAST YOUR EYES, BRETHREN. EATETH THY WORDS!!" "..... Raphie! Bonbon's doin' that crazy scientist shtick again!!" "[NAME]. >:("

on another note, i feel donnie would extend that branch of 'baby-proofing' and relate it to the gift he created for you. [ ref: s1/ep2 — "donnie's gifts" ]

maybe it was something like . . . a malleable sludge, some sort of putty, that melded perfectly over your legs whenever you were starting to get too speedy.

you were initially excited over the cute little metal band anklets gifted to you by your older brother, buuut once it activated .... :((

it made you big sads. :((

being a little speedykins was your most defining trait !! why would donbon try to take that away from you?? :(( donnie :((( donbon why :(((

.... what you don't know, (and me either tbh, we never got that 'explanation' from the inventor himself), is that donnie made it with your specs in mind.

geckos are able to climb vertical surfaces (with some exceptions of course, but for the most part !!) — when activated, those little "putty bands" would've aided in that.

because donnie knows how much you love to run around, especially climbing up the walls, but you can't stick up there forever.

was it made to simultaneously slow your ass down? yes. 🤣😭

(he's only one man what do you want from the poor guy ☠✋ your drive by's were enough to send him into cardiac arrest every time)

...... was it made to adhere to nearly any and every surface texture known to man & mutant kind? for an unprecedented amount of time? with the intentions of you having so much fun with it? also yes.

was it made with intricate care and with, overall, your best interests at heart?

yes.

but after the whole ordeal, he really did mean it when he says you're great just the way you are. :))

in your calmer moments, he likes to have you wrap around his shoulders like a fashion designer scarf and taps at your cute little tail, half as a stim, half as a gesture of affection, while he's in the lab focusing on his latest project

or even just. vibing. y'all are primetime vibey.

he finds your weight comforting. like a tiny weighted pillow.

and he'll never admit that he feels his heart nearly burst with love and pure fondness when you yourself happily curl up into your brother and fall asleep there, cooing softly into his ear.

he built a little comfort bed/pillow extension for you in his battle shell for such occasions <3

but he prefers the sibling cuddles without his shell on.

he trusts you, after all.

(i will never financially recover from this aksjddh SOBBING)

mikey . . .

is exceptionally good at matching all of your moods: your bubbly hyperactivity and bringing you to a calmer, serene state !!

how does he do it. 🧍

he catches you in his arms and strokes/scratches your back to calm you down, and it works like a charm every time !

he never has to use dr. delicate touch on you. despite being the closest in age, surprisingly, you listen to mikey very well !

call it survivor's intuition ��� orrrr just the fact that you and mikey are very close and in-tune with one another,

whenever he calls it quits for you - no matter how much you might whine and pout - you genuinely do tone it down.

i know i said this for leo too but i feel like mikey just has that magic touch. yenno?

no pun intended. ha.

but en ee wayz !! yusssss, mikey and [name] are the cutest little goobers.

y'all deffo get roped together being the "babies" of the family,

and despite mikey wanting to outfit that mold — mostly by means of appeasing to raph's overprotective tendencies — he babies you a bit too !!

you like to poke fun. you're observant, clever little thing. you call mikey out on it, going so far as to call him a hypocrite,

and whether you guys have a serious discussion or not is completely up to you !

but for the time being he just pets your head and affectionately tells you to hush, and keeps right on babying you.

he likes being your older brother !! so sue him !!

dynamics change the older you guys get =] so who knows what the future has in store?

you're one of his favorite muses. your color palette never fails to strike inspiration within him 🎨✨

when he catches your pink n' yellow blur in passing, he can come up with an entire idea for murals to tag around, don't play w him

he likes to do body paint on you too !! :))

(completely safe + free of harmful chemicals wbk)

probably makes flowers out of your polka dots (he definitely calls them that) or connects them to make a bigger picture.

he made an entire field of flowers and koi fish pond encompassing your back one time and you absolutely loved it.

you'll always be his little muse 💔

"[Nameeee]!!~ C'mere, polka dot! You wanna see if I can make a constellation this time?" "YAY!!!!" "Wait- waitwaitWAITWAIT SLOW DOWN—" [ *cue wii bowling ball strike sound sequence* ]

˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ ahaaa. overall, you're their cute little ball of sunshine. their little sugar carnival. their little pink bubblegum and banana laffy taffy gecko baby! and — while you being.... you, can get just shy of unbearable sometimes, they wouldn't trade you for this world and all the others.

after all, what's a family if you don't accept every part of them? no matter how exhausting it is. <3 you're a handful, but that's why you've got six pairs. and as the years go on, it only grows.

@chachachannah + @sweetparty for the dividers 🩷 @cureqt for the cute emoji combo 💛 & pinterest for the pictures! [the collage is by me!!] 🥰

⟆ ˙🍋 ̟ !! ─ further author notes . . .

™ : as always, susceptible to future editing for grammatical/formatting corrections !!

i absolutely loveddd writing this!! and for the intricacy, this is the quickest i've ever pulled a request-bun fresh from the oven!! :o kudos to you, fluffy! <3 i do hope you like this as much as i did aaaa!! now i've got polka dot gecko sibling brainrot. 🥴 it's true: you never know it's a good idea until it's presented to you !!

a couple of fun facts: "sugar carnival" is a term coined by me, in reference to one of my free verse poems a while back! i, also, consider myself a sugar carnival being at most times ˶ᵔᗜ ᵔ˶ & i came up with the title on the spot after hearing + envisioning "pink gecko with yellow spots". ideal color combo, criminally underrated. fluffy your brain deserves a pedestal and i will personally create it for you with my bare hands.✋🩷💛

╰┈➤ tues. jan 23, 9:18 pm, '24.

[silverzoomies]

silverzoomiezzz hi hi i was eating my cloudberry ice cream and i dont know why i start to think about peter and then i think about you. and i have a question for you. what do you think peter’s fav snacks that he would save it for you because he wanted you to enjoy and love it as much as he does? this is so silly lol but anyway have a great summer <3

💗oh my gosh, hello anon sweetie !! i'm sorry for answering so late !! i hope your summer has been nice !! it's been pretty decent here, aside from the lame ass humidity.🔥🫠🔥

i'm so honored you would think of me, after thinking of our beloved speedy boy. 💗honestly, i take that as such a huge compliment !!

⚡snacks i think peter maximoff would like (he hoards them, cuz he's the snack hoarding type. ty dofp 💗):

⚡in canon, he hoards hostess snack cakes. specifically the chocolatey, cream-filled kind ⚡and twinkies. dude's got twinkies for two movies in a row ⚡like it's no wonder people assume he's a twinkie fiend ⚡we also see him with so much pepsi and mtn dew ⚡and i know it's just product placement obvi. but he does seem like a mtn dew guy, right? i bet he'd love baja blast. code red too ⚡dk if this counts as a snack, but he'd probably love taco bell. i mean, it's fast. it's cheap. it's addictive. it's easy to indulge in. mans would quote those old taco bell commercials with the chihuahua ⚡sour candy. all of it. gummy worms, airhead x-tremes, sour twists, sour patch kids. tell me i'm wrong. i'm not ⚡he'd make a mess with some fun dip, lemme tell ya ⚡any candy they used to give out on halloween? he'd be addicted to all that shit. he'd love sugary junk. he constantly needs his fix. laffy taffy, nerds, now and laters, skittles, pop rocks, m&m's - you name it, he's into it ⚡imagine the dorito fingers, anon. the cheeto fingers. the takis fingers. do y'all think he'd be more into regular cheetos, or hot cheetos? he reads as a hot cheetos guy to me ⚡he'd slam some icees. slurpees. any kinda syrupy, frozen drink. he mixes all the flavors, sucks it down, and feels no brain freeze ⚡if you took him to carnivals, boardwalks, or amusement parks; he'd put the funnel cake stands out of business ⚡sweets are his kryptonite, really ⚡i personally like to imagine he knows his fair share of international snacks too. since he can zip around the world in a blink. taiyaki. baklava. conchas. tres leches. pirozhki. european chocolate. any and all kinds of street food. he knows all the best 7-eleven instant ramen - and the best toppings for 'em too ⚡i think he'd also go hog wild over a really good steak, y'know? or some barbecue. some ribs. some brisket. all the shmeats !!

⚡snacks i think peter maximoff would save, just so he could share them with you💗:

⚡he wouldn't ⚡correction: he couldn't ⚡c'mon, do you honestly think he'd have the self control? ⚡you're asking him to do the impossible ⚡see, anon, he'd think about saving a yummy treat for you ⚡keyword being think ⚡like, just as he starts to realize he's crushing on you big time ⚡he's guzzling something tasty, when he has the thought: hey...wait a sec! you'd probably really like this!! ⚡but a second later, the treat's already gone. devoured in an instant. whoops! oh well!! ⚡he's just way too impulsive to save anything ⚡like it would have to be out of sight, out of mind ⚡or you'd have to pick from his own, secret stash ⚡because otherwise, he can't hold himself back. he'll gorge any snacks in the nearest vicinity ⚡he'd legit have to wait 'til you were both together. in that moment. if you had a few minutes. he'd be like, "hey. babe. babe. babe. babe. i got somethin' i wanna show you." ⚡he speeds you away for some mind-blowingly good street food, in some country you've never been to, nor heard of ⚡even on valentine's day. he has to snag you one of those heart-shaped boxes of chocolates last minute ⚡that, or he has to hide it from himself. if he doesn't, he'll be lookin' down at an empty box - chocolate all over the corners of his mouth - like "ah, shit."