#DILF TIME

[finndoesntwantthis]

Sexy Christopher Daniels laying down the law and ending fights oh wow thank you :)

[bodyhorrors]

˗ˏˋ N E W ˎˊ˗ muse time !

meet johnny king! former adult film actor, current radio host, and single dad to two twin teenage girls! he loves 80s music and cracks dad jokes constantly!! and yes, he's always embarrassing his girls, who constantly give him the business and sass him!! But he loves them dearly <33

[trippygalaxy]

(i was not thinking at all when i wrote this — 🐈‍⬛)

when the new tenant first moved next door, you had no intention to meet him.

when you had peaked through the curtains and shades of your window after hearing the unmistakable slam of a moving truck's sliding door and ramp, you had seen the back of a rather muscular man.

from what little you saw of his face when he turned told you it was tattooed like one of his friends that was helping him bring boxes in, solidifying your apprehension.

the following night was rowdy.

the nine of their voices had easily carried into your apartment through the thin walls. they had referred to each other by (what you hoped were) nicknames and shared their continued support of time's new apartment until the latest hours of the night.

it was only when the loudest of them fell asleep that you were able to call it a night.

it's afternoon when you wake up. you have to force yourself to work through what should be your morning routine before any more of the day slipped from you-- you couldn't let your new neighbor and his loud friends ruin it when you'd been so good at staying on top of it.

you're about to make yourself a lazy lunch when there's a heavy-handed knock on your door and you couldn't be more glad to have freshened up as early as you did. no one that you knew in the complex had a knock like that and meeting your new neighbor with morning breath would've been hell.

he's holding a basket filled with flowers, milk from a brand you recognize as lon lon, sweets, an expensive bottle of wine, and a few other cheap housewarming items you buy when you don't know anything about your neighbor.

not only that, but you realize you had grossly underestimated how tall he was. that brief view from the window didn't serve him justice.

he had given you his own up-and-down with his one eye if the way it lingered every time it roamed up was anything to go by.

you're shaken from your thoughts when he says "hey," in a low, raspy voice filled with timbre. you'd say it was gone from the night before if you hadn't heard him speak in that same voice the night before.

"i-- erm.. didn't realize you were in last night, so sorry for the noise."

it's not as though each apartment had a specific parking space and you were the only one he shared a wall with, so you'd give him that.

he brings your attention back down to the basket he held when he holds it out to you. "i just moved in yesterday, so i'm sorry if i make a lot of noise because of unpacking and whatnot."

"you're fine," and you can't figure out whether or not you meant that you forgive him or because he was an attractive man. "a heads up would be nice, though."

the man hums in acknowledgment, watching as you retreat a few steps into your apartment to place the basket on a nearby counter. "i'll keep that in mind."

when you turn back to face him, he looks like a lost puppy standing at the door.

he shifted his weight ever so slightly on his legs to the point it would almost be unnoticeable if you weren't actively paying attention. he had his arms behind his back, but you could tell he was fiddling with something behind him by the way the muscles of his arms flexed and relaxed.

the lack of sleeves on his fitted t-shirt did him no favors in revealing the movements.

"did you want to come in?" you don't know what prompted you to ask. either his pretty face, or nervous body language? it was both, more than likely. "i was just making myself something to eat."

(you don't know where you got the energy to make something bigger than a sandwich and a few fruits, but it was there now. it'd be a waste not to use it.)

you're almost self-conscious of your apartment when he steps in and closes the door behind him. the way his eye looked over every piece of furniture and the various trinkets that littered the shelves would've made you run away if it weren't your home.

he's quicker to notice you watching him when he's a few steps away from you. "i like it," he voices with a vague gesture, "it's nice. it's very-- uhm.. unique, in a good way."

you don't bother prying a better answer out of him. it'd be painful for you both.

"are you allergic to anything?"

"no," he's quick to respond, glad to have the topic change. "i don't have any preferences either. i'll eat anything."

"even poison?"

his tongue shoots around in his mouth. he looks like he wants to say something, but he instead settles on "maybe," with a playful expression.

(you think a root of hope takes place within you.)

conversation comes easily after that. he tells you about his work on the same farm he got the (shockingly high quality) milk from and a few things about his group of friends (who called themselves the chain, funnily enough) from the night before, additionally mentioning how they were all significantly younger than him and how one of them-- the other one with face tattoos-- was his son.

"what's your name again?"

he looks up from the plate of food you had long since placed in front of him, brows raised when he realizes that neither of you had, in fact, exchanged names.

"the others call me time." he huffs out a laugh when he sees your brow raise. "like father time because i'm so old. my name is link."

"the others..?"

"they're link as well."

"and so you, in good conscience, made your son a junior?"

"in my defense, i didn't realize he would make so many friends with the same name."

"which should i call you then?"

"whichever you like more," he hums. "just know it might be confusing around the others depending on which."

when he gives a belly laugh at your response of "how fun, sir," you couldn't help but be thankful that he and his wife separated.

MMMMMMM GOOD SOUP—

I love the idea of reader slowly being introduced to the other boys, either they run into eachother in the hall/street OR Time brings them to visit when thr pair becomes closer!!

Also love the thought of Time just taking but the majority of a door frame?? Its so funny to think of him shrinking in on himself as he tries to waddle his into his/others houses.

THE ‘YOURE FINE’ BIT??? ME TOO HONESTLY—

Also very very very sweet of Time to give them a basket as an apology!!! Kinda made a shit first impression but INSTANTLY made up for it <33

[lossofallwords]

I got Bill Overbeck

it seems youve landed yourself a blind date with a dead by daylight character! why dont you open the door and see who your date is?

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which door? you know :) 

(btw if you get a mix tape… thats a member of the legion)

[shushmal]

tw: for implied past emotional abuse, im in my feels today

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Hopper growls. He's not quite shouting, but he's still loud, raised voice echoing through the living room. "She's not ready to drive yet, I forbade it, and what? You two decided that you knew better?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but gamely keeps quiet. He knows Hopper's less upset with Ellie taking a spin through the parking lot and more upset about the property damage. Eddie's on her side though, that phone pole came out of nowhere. Must have been pretty rotted out too, to fall over that easily after a little love tap.

Ellie had done a damn good job fixing the huge dent in the bumper.

But if Hopper wants to be dramatic and chew everyone involved out, Eddie's not going to stop him. Whatever gets the guy's blood pressure back down.

"You're supposed to be responsible adults! Especially you, Steve!"

Rolling his eyes again, Eddie glances over, hoping to share a commiserating look with Steve.

Except Steve isn't looking anywhere but down, shoulders and spine ruler straight. Eddie stalls there, stuck on the way Steve's standing, tense from jaw down to his ankles, his hands balled into tight fists flat at his side, knuckles white. Hopper keeps ranting, pacing a wide circle in front of them, but Steve doesn't flinch, doesn't look up, doesn't react. It's like all the color has washed from him.

"Are you even listening?!"

"Yes, sir," Steve says tightly. He doesn't look up. Hopper keeps going.

Eddie watches as Steve's throat works to swallow, like he's choking. Like he can't breathe.

"Hopper," Eddie snaps. "Shut the fuck up."

Hopper whirls on him, livid, but Eddie's not looking at him, fixed on Steve as he reaches out. Tries to take Steve's hand, just holds his wrist when Steve can't unclench his fist, gentle as he touches him. Steve is tightly wound and trembling under his fingers.

When he looks, Eddie finds Hopper with deep regret on his face, struck silent. He doesn't say anything when Eddie leads Steve away, back out onto the porch. They sit on the swing, Eddie's arm around Steve's shoulders, rocking back and forth until the muscles loosen and Steve slumps, strings cut, into Eddie's side. They'll sit like that for a while more, watching the woods as the sun sets and listening to the dusk settle, crickets and cicadas and chats calling the moon up, filling their silence with nighttime music.

Later, Hopper will come out, temper cooled, and sit on Steve's other side. Will ruffle Steve's hair when Steve starts to stiffen. Will apologize when Steve eyes him warily.

Later, Eddie will scowl and glare, but ultimately keep quiet, unwilling to make the whole thing worse for Steve, another fight, another shouting match. Will stiltedly tell Hopper good night and take Steve home, wait patiently until Steve finally speaks, when he finally tells Eddie a little more and a little more, until Eddie's holding him tight.

That's later though. For now, he digs his heel into the porch, rocking them back and forth, and waits for Steve to breathe.

[wild0moon]

i bring you: my casual clothes tankman design (and steve too) i am so normal about found family tankdad

happy pride month lol

[wanderingstories]

so guess who just watched death note

[riality-check]

The eagerly awaited part 2 of the DILF!Steve concert saga is here!! Part 1, in case you missed it.

"You're not going."

"Come on! I haven't thrown up in an hour!"

"The drive to the venue is an hour and a half."

"Steve-"

"And if you throw up in my car-"

"Oh my God-"

"I'll kill you."

Steve doesn't need to see Dustin's eye roll in order to feel the full force of it through the phone.

"I'll just kill you. You'll have a headstone within the week that says Here Lies Dustin Henderson: Rightfully Murdered for Puking in Steve Harrington's Car," he continues as he packs Capri-Suns into the cooler for the car ride.

He doesn't remember ever being that thirsty as a kid, but if Anna wants strawberry kiwi, Anna gets strawberry kiwi. It helps that it's Steve's favorite flavor, too.

"I'd need a big ass headstone to fit all of that," Dustin snaps.

"Your big-ass ego would demand no less, shithead," Steve shoots back.

"Swear jar, Daddy!" Anna calls from her room, across the house because while she doesn't listen to Steve when he's right in front of her, she can hear him break the swear jar rule from halfway across the world.

He zips up the cooler, fishes a quarter out of his pocket, and throws it into the half-full soup can next to the stove.

(A quarter doesn't mean much, but Anna doesn't know that. The day Steve teaches that kid about inflation is the day his pockets become permanently empty.)

"Did she just swear jar you?" Dustin asks from over the phone.

"You baited me into it."

"I did no such thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You're not coming, though, are you?"

Dustin sighs, and, for all his teasing, Steve does genuinely feel bad. "I still feel like if I breathe wrong, I'll hurl, so, no. I don't think I'll manage the car ride, nevermind the actual show."

"Sorry dude."

"Don't be. Some dickhead will live stream the whole thing on Instagram, anyway. I'll live vicariously through them."

Steve snorts and picks up the cooler. He got Anna dressed beforehand, so it's just a matter of getting her to stop playing with whatever toy she dug up - Play-Doh has been the fixation of the week - in her room so they can go.

"Besides," Dustin continues, and Steve hates where this is going. "Anna loved the show, and you've got a reason-"

"Nope," Steve says, knocking on Anna's door. "Don't finish that sentence."

"All I'm saying-"

"I know what you're gong to say, which means you know my answer. I don't date."

Anna opens her door. From the little Steve can see inside, there are at least three containers of Play-Doh open and strewn across the floor. He thinks her Barbies are involved in it somehow.

"Time to go," Steve says, and he thinks, Please don't let there be Play-Doh in the Barbie hair.

"Five more minutes," Anna tries.

"Nope. Clean up and roll out."

"Hi, Anna," Dustin says through the phone.

"Uncle Dusty!" Anna shrieks, and she starts jumping up and down. "Are you comin', too?"

Dustin sighs, and Steve can't tell if it's at the nickname or if he's still cursing the universe. "No, but you and your dad have a great time, okay?"

"Can you, can you tell Daddy I should get five more minutes?"

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Anna, to her credit, ignores him wonderfully.

"If you clean up," Dustin says, because he's actually Steve's favorite person right now, "you get to do more headbanging at the concert."

Anna gasps like Steve didn't already tell her that earlier today, and she gets to work on putting her toys away. Steve helps, of course, and he finds that there is, in fact, Play-Doh in two of her Barbies' hair.

Fun. They're going to turn into Buzzcut Barbies when Anna goes to sleep because he can already tell that they are the furthest thing from salvageable.

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is getting Anna in the car, deploying the first two of many strawberry kiwi Capri Suns from the cooler, and making the drive to the venue, which Steve does with minimal road rage and accompanied by the Disney radio station.

Success by all metrics, really.

Dinner might as well be now, so Steve shells out a truly disgusting amount of money for overpriced chicken nuggets and fries at the venue. Anna will only eat half her portion but say she's hungry later, but that's what the snacks and water Steve smuggled in via his jacket are for.

They get to their seats, dinner finished up, just as the lights go down for the first opener. Steve looks to his left, half-expecting Eddie and his friends to be there before remembering that they won't be.

He tries not to feel too disappointed. He fails miserably.

The seat next to him, however, isn't empty. There's a note taped to the back of it, one addressed to Steve and Miss Anna, so Steve feels alright taking and opening it.

At the top, there's a messily scrawled phone number. Underneath, it says:

Here's my number. Probably a bad idea to call with all the noise. Texting works, though you should do that after the show. I'll be a little busy until then.

-Eddie

Steve puts the note in his pocket, puts Anna's ear defenders on, puts his own earplugs in, and looks at the stage, where-

Hang on.

He squints at the stage, where four guys have started playing a song that, frankly, sounds too much like literally all the music Steve listened to yesterday for him to care about all that much. The drummer is pretty small, with wild, curly hair. The bassist looks familiar. The lead singer, who is very talented but not to Steve's personal taste, also looks familiar. And the guitarist-

No way. No way in hell.

It's a total coincidence. Lots of guys have long, curly hair and heavy jewelry and big eyes and are wearing formal wear, for some reason, and catch Steve's eye, and-

"Thank you for such a great welcome!" the guitarist says, and his smile totally isn't doing anything to Steve, thanks very much.

Anna stops moving, where she's standing next to Steve, and climbs up into his lap to get a better look at the stage. She looks out, then back at Steve, then out, then back at Steve, making a face as confused as Steve feels.

Some days, he thinks he ended up with a clone, not a kid.

"I'll get off the mic in a second. I only do the talking because Jeff," the guitarist points at the lead singer, who ducks his head, "is really shy."

Jeff. That name is definitely relevant, but Steve is a permanent resident of denial.

"We fought about what song we were going to include next in our set list, so much so that we didn't decide until yesterday and had to consult a tiebreaker."

Okay, maybe Steve is a less permanent resident of denial than he thought.

"So, thank you to Miss Anna, who did great at headbanging for her first time-"

Anna whips around so fast, her forehead nearly collides with Steve's jaw.

"And to Steve, who's a big fan of American Psycho."

At the song name, the crowd loses their minds, and if Anna wasn't sitting right in front of him, Steve would join them.

Because what the fuck is happening right now?

His question isn't answered. In fact, about five more questions pop up in its stead when, during the bridge of the song, Jeff puts on a clear rain jacket and picks up a prop axe.

Please, God, don't let this traumatize my kid, Steve thinks.

Anna, thankfully, doesn't get scared. When Jeff brings the axe down, again and again, Steve's weirdo daughter fucking smiles. And giggles. It's kind of cute, actually.

When the song ends, she turns back to Steve.

"That's Eddie onstage," Steve says, and saying it, somehow, makes it real.

"I thought so!" Anna says, and she turns back to watch the show. Steve puts an arm around her waist so she doesn't fall off his lap when she bangs her head to the music.

The rest of the songs, in Steve's opinion, are better than the opening song. They're more melodic, which Steve can definitely get behind, and each of them has a gimmick onstage, all based off of various horror movies. It's ridiculous, but also really, really cool.

And Eddie, onstage, because it is the same guy who flirted with him and was so sweet to Anna yesterday, is really, really hot.

Steve has never had a thing for guitarists before. He's never had a thing for musicians before. Hell, until a year ago, he didn't realize he had a thing for men.

Eddie is. Uh. Yeah. Really doing it for him.

Steve doesn't know whether it's his enthusiasm, or the way he moves, or seeing his hair tied up, or the fucking dress pants and suspenders, or just his hands, but he does know he has to get himself in check because this is an all ages show and he's here with his daughter.

He already knows he can't add these songs to his grading playlist, not when they're accompanied by visuals of Eddie playing his guitar.

Sweet Jesus.

"Alright, that's our set!" Eddie says. "Thanks, y'all, for sticking around for us, and let's give it up for the next act!"

The crowd, including Anna and Steve, cheer as they exit and the lights go up.

Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket, fully intending to add Eddie's number to his contacts, and is greeted by not one, not two, but sixteen missed calls from Dustin Henderson.

Naturally, Steve calls him back. "Who died?"

"What the fuck?" Dustin yells, and Steve just puts the phone on speaker to save the rest of his hearing. "Did Eddie fucking Munson just personally thank you from the stage?"

"Swear jar, Uncle Dusty!" Anna says.

"Sorry," Dustin says. "But Steve. Answers. Now."

"How do you even-"

"Instagram live. Is Eddie the guy you were telling me about yesterday?"

Steve takes his phone off speaker. Prior experience tells him that this conversation has a less than zero chance of staying PG, nevermind PG-13.

"Yeah," Steve says. "He is."

"The one who flirted with you, and you forgot to ask for his number."

"Well, I have it now."

"What?" Dustin shrieks, and Steve is incredibly thankful that he didn't take his earplugs out.

"He left me his number on the seat."

"Text him."

"I was going to, until I saw that you called me sixteen times."

"Jesus Christ, Eddie Munson was flirting with you."

Steve rolls his eyes and hands a pack of gummy bears to Anna when she taps his arm. "He could have just been nice. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"Have you looked at him?"

"Wow, Dustybuns, I didn't know you were homophobic."

"I think it's the complete opposite of homophobic to try to get you laid."

"Hanging up!" Steve shouts because a part of him will never see Dustin as any older than thirteen, and no thirteen year old should ever say that.

"Text-"

Steve hangs up the call. "Can I have a gummy bear?"

"No," Anna says, mouth full, in her seat, legs swinging.

"I bought them."

She shrugs. "You gave them to me. Mine now."

Steve stares. She stares right back.

He sighs and opens a new pack of gummy bears.

With his mouth full of sweet Haribo corpses, Steve takes out the note and adds Eddie to his contacts. Before he can overthink it, he sends him a message:

I guess I don't have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we're even on that front, I'm a teacher, and Anna's full time job is preschool.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and focuses on making this a good experience for Anna, who somehow wormed her way into a conversation with the intimidating-looking couple sitting next to her.

Because it's totally not like a literal rockstar is going to text him back. Right?

Part 3!!

[realcube]

dilf december

day fifteen ⭑ kenma kuzome ⭑ want you here tonight

tw : nsfw minors dni, cybersex, f!masterbation, orgasm denial, daddy kink and "kitten"

your boyfriend only exists online.

of course, you've met him in-person before. several times. in fact, you were laying in his cali king-sized bed right now, drowning in the fluffy sheets. but it seems like he always escapes you — jetting off to different countries on last-minute business trips. you weren't even entirely sure where he was right now, all you knew was he was somewhere in asia to accept an reward related to company growth.

currently, for you, it was the middle of the day. though it was a bit dark and gloomy outside, so it felt much later. hence, you were wrapped up snug in kenma's bed, basking in the warmth his covers provided. meanwhile, it was the middle of the night where ever he was; that's the only reason he was able to find time to talk to you over video-call.

his camera was propped up on his desk, so you got a nice view of him as he tapped away on his laptop — unsure whether he was working on important paperwork or just playing video games. his hotel room was dark, and only light source was the computer screen in front of him, harshly illuminating his sharp features.

his narrow eyes darted over the screen, hardly sparing you a glance. still, you'd push your tits up to the camera for your own amusement, admiring your own reflection in the small section in the corner of your mobile phone. you pouted your lips, impressed with how effortless you look, "it's been so lonely here without you. having a big bed is pointless without someone to share it with." you whine, dramatically spreading your arm out across the length of the mattress.

" 'm sorry, babe, but this award is a big deal." his voice is soft yet he speaks in such a dull, uncaring manner. you can detect the sweetness below the surface, however. "i had to fly out and accept it in-person."

"i know.." you sigh, losing yourself and averting your gaze to the side, longingly. it was quite the impressive little charade: you were never really too bothered by kenma visiting other countries and leaving you in his mansion by yourself — the solitude was enjoyable —but you would always pretended to be in utter turmoil over how much you miss him because you know it strokes his ego.

"don't be upset.." he murmured, eyes finally pried off his computer screen, to notice the discontented act you were putting on. "i hate seeing you unhappy."

"hm.." you pout, angling the camera away from your face but still focussed enough so he could see you wiping invisible tears from your eyes.

kenma frowns, and slumps back in his chair, crossing his arms, "c'mon, baby, i'm right here." he tries to reason, between your fake sniffs and quiet sobs, "show daddy those pretty tits, hm?"

wordlessly, you turn your head away from the camera with a dramatic flip of your hair. but, as requested, you lower the camera and pull down the neck of your tank-top in order to free your tits. despite being engulfed by his toasty sheets, your nipples were still stiff upon sudden exposure to the chilly air in the room.

kenma smirks, leaning forward and admiring the view for a moment, before subtly returning his attention to the work on his screen. but not without humming your praises first, "fuck, i've been missing my girls so bad." his chest visibly heaves as he takes laboured breathes, "have you been missing daddy, angel?"

you nod, and as expected, he bluntly rasps in response, "show me."

without further instruction, you kick your sweatpants off, followed by your lacey black panties. sat pretty in the centre of the bed, you spread your legs and place the camera down between them, pointed directly at your sopping pussy, which was leaking arsousal onto his pristine white sheets,

"so wet and filthy.." he mused, only sparing you a glimpse while working. though brief, in that time he was still able to appraise your cunt and it turned him on to see how horny he made you. since he was quite a bit older, he worried that maybe you don't perceive him to be as attractive as he considers you. but seeing with his own eyes how wet he could get you was nice reassurance that he's still hot.

to you, it seemed as though he was clearly more focussed on his work than on you — but that is only because you couldn't see the lewd thoughts clouding his mind. however, it truly turned you on, to be overlooked even while you were fully on display for him. having to claw and beg for male attention was something you weren't used to, so it was certainly a new and erotic experience.

"can i finger myself, daddy?" you whine, hand already roaming down between your thighs and kneading at your plush skin impatiently.

"sure." he muttered, attempting to focus on his computer, "but don't cum. i'm going to do that to you when i get home, okay?"

before he even managed to finish his question, you were already two knuckles-deep into your pussy, moaning wildly and spasming around your own fingers. though you weren't especially fast or dexterous, any stimulation — even amateur — was enough to satisfy your hungry pussy, which yearned for your boyfriend's expert touch, but ultimately would settle for any attention at all.

your walls sucked and gnawed on your own two fingers, making obscenely wet noises as they did so, which not only echoed through the bedroom you were in, but the hotel room kenma was in too. additionally, he got an earful for your loud, staggered moans, which admittedly has his erection aboslutely throbbing in his trousers, but he was experienced in hiding his arousal.

"don't get too carried away, kitten. you're not allowed to cum yet."

[fairly-linked]

FUCKING STOP IM SIMPING FOR HIM????!!

ALREADY!!!!

He seems like the kinda guy that’d call someone doll, that name makes me weak 😩😩😩😩

@trippygalaxy TRIPPY GET UR ASS OVER HERE AND LOOOKKKKKKK

Fake dating sim part 2???

[sugarskulls99]

I wanna ride him till the end of the night.

[trippygalaxy]

(i didnt mean to become as fixated on dilf! neighbor! time as i did. it was meant to be a little one-off thing and now im here now)

(i took larger-than-the-doorway! time and ramped it to 100 because i have an unhealthy relationship with size differences :P)

(looking back at this i feel like time would live in a townhouse more than apartment if he had to live in one but were already this far in and i cant be bothered to change it)

(but at the same time i already have a very specific vision of dilf! time and im here to make that someone elses problem)

(with as much love as a almost 2,000 word "drabble" im dumping on you can have, 🐈‍⬛)

it didn't take long for you to meet time's son, nicknamed twilight because of how he would sneak onto the roof in the middle of the night and howl at the moon like a wolf as a child.

time swore you to secrecy unless you wanted twilight to brood until he went home.

(you figured twilight looked around your age from the-- notably-- physical pictures he showed you.

as for time, though he had refused to give up his age and answered with some cryptic references only people from his time would know, you'd figured time was in his mid-to-late-forties despite his younger appearance.)

as soon as a greeting of "howdy," paired with a southern accent leaves twilight's mouth, you also figure that he took most of his mannerisms from his mother.

the two share a hug filled with claps on the back, "how are you," "what all happened while i was gone," and teasing that's stereotypical to a father-son pair.

it had taken a minute of twilight taking in the apartment for him to notice you sitting on the couch, watching them interact as quietly as a mouse.

(throughout the week it had taken him to visit his dad-- or pops, as he called him-- you'd helped time arrange, rearrange, and unpack his furniture, dishes, and other accessories.

the look twilight gives you is of well-hidden confusion. it makes you wonder how often time invited or spent time with people outside their group, or if you were an anomaly in his routine.

the initial attraction you held to him was very much still there. a small part of you hoped you were the only one he showed this level of attention to while another prayed your feelings away.)

the corner of twilight's eyes crinkle when he smiles the same way time's does and it's undeniable that they were related despite the obvious differences in their physical appearances.

several emotions cross twilight's smile despite his smile. you quickly realize he was trying to figure out how to address you and whether or not he should be a family-level of friendly or stranger-level.

"junior," time quickly steps beside his son, a firm hand on his shoulder, "this is the neighbor i was telling you about; back when i stopped by to pick up the milk."

the way time says your name after reminding twilight would've flustered you if you weren't in the presence of his son.

twilight's eyes widen in recognition. "oh, shi— oot." you laugh at the way he censors himself and he visibly relaxes. "yeah, now i remember, uh-huh."

you adjust yourself so that you were fully facing the two from over the couch, lifting yourself higher by sitting on your knees.

"it's a pleasure to meet you, junior," you say, extending an arm for him to shake. he enthusiastically does so. "your dad says you're a hoot to be around."

time turns away and his shoulders shake.

twilight's nose crinkles with a cringe.

"i don't think it's a good idea pops is friends with someone who makes jokes just as corny as him."

"i try not to make them so often, i don't know what came over me."

twilight sticks his tongue into the side of his mouth and makes a "huh," noise.

"if it makes you any better, i'll try and make sure he doesn't either."

your answer seems to please twilight and he hops onto the couch in response. he's a respectable distance away in comparison to time when he rounds the seat to sit on your other side.

it was a good-sized couch, but what space you hadn't taken was quickly filled up when the two sat down.

if you weren't so easily convinced the two were gentle giants, you'd be scared of their shared large stature.

"good to hear," he says thankfully, offering you his hand again as though you had made some sort of deal. "i get scared when no one's around to keep him in check."

time waves him off, his arm hitching itself on the back of the sofa behind your head when he lowers it. "i'm grown," and though his face screams to be taken seriously, you and twilight both know he's joking. "are you gonna join us tonight?"

"what're tonight's plans?" twilight finally forces his attention away from your (lack of) proximity. his eyes occasionally wander back before jumping up again.

"movie night," you answer, pointing to the coffee table decorated with various snacks, drinks, and the thick, leather-bound binder (that he proudly admitted to having made) filled to the brim with cds and a few orange envelopes filled with what didn't fit. "your dad heard that i know anything about this one series and insisted we watch it."

"it's a classic."

"for senior citizens, maybe."

any and all apprehension and curiosities leave twilight at your muttered comment. he reveals a sharp pair of canines when he smiles with his full-body laugh.

"right!" it sounds more like a bark when he exclaims. you wonder if time sounds the same when he gets loud. "and aren't you too old to be having movie nights? shouldn't you be cheese and wine tasting?"

"aren't you too old to go trick-or-treating every year?"

"that's wind and aryll," twilight defends just as light-heartedly as time had been. he reaches around you to flick his hand against time's chest for added effect. "y'know their grandma can't take them like she used to."

twilight's focus turns back to you when he picks up the binder full of cds. he runs his hands over the engraved cover of it with a fond look before opening it, pulling out the first movie in the series before putting the binder back and standing.

"you're gonna hate this," twilight says with a grin, squatting in front of the disc player while showing you the cd. "he made me watch these all the time as a kid. the cover of it’s even faded!"

time rolls his eyes, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "it'd old but gold."

"oh my goddesses," you and twi groan in unison.

..

you're not sure at what point you fell asleep during the marathon, but you are sure twilight was the first to knock out last night and that the bed you woke up in isn't your own.

(either way, you're glad time had told you to dress comfortably when you were planning the night.)

it's hard to get out of the bed when you're surrounded by warm covers, a soft mattress, and the smell of cocoa, vanilla, cedar, and sage; but just like a week before, you somehow force yourself to.

if you were any less awake, you're sure you'd float into the kitchen like a cartoon character by the smell of breakfast.

you'd be worse off if you had seen the sight in front of the stove if you had been.

your bleary sight quickly clears when time's bare back enters your field of view. his defined muscles moved each time he stirred the contents in the pan, hand considerably dwarfing the spatula in his hand.

"are you alright?"

you're taken out of your admiring when time speaks. you hadn't seen him turn to look and there were no reflective surfaces during your blank staring, so you assume it was a skill he picked up from his time in the military, or something.

"yeah," you yawn, padding further into the kitchen and looking at the rather large amount of food piled on a plate. "just woke up."

time hums and turns just enough to finally look at you. "you look like you slept well," he says with a chuckle, looking away when you almost miss the stool beside the island counter. "i'm surprised junior's snoring didn't wake you up."

"couldn't even hear him."

as if on cue, a snore comes from where you remember is the guest bedroom. that leaves you to assume time took the pullout couch.

"well, it's good you woke up before him. he's eaten double his weight since he was a babe."

"was he one of those really fat babies?"

"his aunt had to keep making him clothes because the ones in the market never fit him— then he started outgrowing those too!”

you hide your face in your arms by laying it against the counter, ignoring the chill of it.

time had to skip over that part of twilight's life when he had shown you the pictures, saying that twilight had stolen them from him and his mother so they couldn't embarrass him, but the thought alone was enough to make you laugh.

"breakfast isn't anything special. i've never been one to cook," he adds, plating another pile of eggs onto the plate.

(getting a better look at the plate, you could now see he had separated them by regular eggs, eggs with cheese, and eggs with spinach.)

(you refuse to comment on it.)

"i can cook something else if you want?"

"this is my home and you just up. i couldn't make you do that."

you shrug your shoulders and lift your head to instead support your chin with your arms, watching him cook again. "whatever you say, sir."

there are a few moments where time refuses to say anything. leaving you to drift back to sleep. the only sound left in the apartment are the sizzling of the pan, the creaks time's knees make when he takes a step to look in the refrigerator, and the occasional snoring from twilight before he wakes you up with—

"so did you just settle on calling me sir?"

"hmm?"

"sir," time repeats, "is that what you've decided to call me?"

you tilt your head so you instead laid on your cheek, eyes finally trailing somewhere other than him. "i guess," you mutter in a half-hearted tone, knowing he'd hear you regardless of how quiet you spoke when his pointed ear twitches like a dog's. "do you want me to stop?"

(watching it and recalling your memories from the night before, you think it safe to guess that twilight got his wolf-ish qualities from time.)

"no," time is quick to respond. he pulls out what you think is a small box filled with pork bacon and turkey bacon, both separated, and opens it, laying a few pieces on the pan with a fork before putting the box down. "i like it."

"then sir it is," you respond, fluttering your eyes closed again.

"you should go back to bed if you're gonna go back to sleep."

you shake your head with a groan, refusing to look even after he leaves the bacon to cook to instead lean over you, hands laying themselves on either side of you. "i'm comfortable here, thank you though, sir."

time makes a noncommittal noise, one of his hands lifting to move a runaway piece of hair from blocking his view of your face.

"you younger generations are stubborn as hell," he says in a low voice.

"so glad you could notice that, sir."

MMMMMMMM—

Im in love with this ong— its so fucking cute and love the fact that Twi isn’t immediately like ‘eho tf is this?’ But also isn’t completely warmed up to us?? Love that /gen

Also, fact that its a movie night?? Totally cute and so fitting for Time to pick the oldest shit.

I COULDNT HELP BUT IMAGINE TIME ACTUALLY NOT BEING IN HIS FORTIES?? like okay hear me out— reader and twi ran into eachother and are just talking and somehoe Times age got brought up and readers all like ‘oh yeah, he hasn’t like told me how old he is but im assuming mid to late forties’ and Twi’s eyes just bulge out of his head and he goes to explain that he dad is actually in his 30’s—

And reader is mortified and so happy at the same time?? Happy cause they didn’t bring that up to Time and didnt completely embarrassed themselves (and also so the age gap is a smaller— not a big fan if hugeeee age gaps myself lol)

—

ALSO!! Idea!! The boys are over and chilling when they hear just a frustrated yell from outside. Wind (or whoever) goes to look and sees the neighbor struggling to fix their car! Hood is popped and their hunched over with a flash light trying to see wtf is wrong

The dad is Time goes ‘oh shit, car problems? Lets go!’ And hes quick to grab his tools before telling the boys hrll be right back!

Time helps Reader, some idol chitchat is held as Time kinda realizes they’re kinda stressed. When he asked if they gotta be anywhere, they said ‘not today but i do have plans tomorrow.’

Time is tempted to ask more but his neighbor looks stressed enough. Eventually Time finds the problem and fixes it! Estactics, reader give Time a small hug before pulling back and asking him what was the problem.

During his explanation, reader notices a few figure staring out of Times window.

Art asks if Time had anyone over and when Time turned to look where reader was looking, he noticed a few familiar shapes ducking from view. Time gives a small laugh and explains its his son and his friends.

Reader nods with a smile and thanks Time again, walking to their bag in the car and pulling out some cash. Time is quick yo deny the cash but reader is persistent.

Finally Time finally says that they can make it up to him by making that wonderful breakfast they made him the first time the two met <33

[jesuistrestriste]

cw (18+): sub!art, afab + femme!character, age gap, crying/dacryphilia, art being a sad and lonely hot guy in his forties, tashi and art never really got together, creampie

˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢ ˚ ﹒⟢

dilf!art getting with a pretty young thing from down the block. . .

he always admired her effortless confidence and the way her body moved when she walked down the street to the corner store every weekend.

always watched her return from his brownstone apartment window; a pack of cinnamon gum and a case of peach seltzer in her hands.

she’s beautiful and bouncy and everything he didn’t get to have in his youth when he was too sucked into tennis to let himself live a little. he lost tashi to patrick. that was that. and he never tried dating again until about ten or so years ago.

they were all flings that crashed and burned their way through his thirties. meaningless moments where all he was left with was a wet dick and a heaviness in his chest. he hated it. he was done with it.

until her.

she was different.

she sparked a conversation with him one day when they ran into each other outside his doorstep. she was cracking jokes that only made her seem more intriguing because art didn’t understand the social context behind them— he was no longer hip and cool, he’d accepted it. but that, combined with the pop of her hip she did when she was making him laugh (not to mention the way she smacked her gum + batted her lashes when she smiled; all pearly whites) made him feel like even more of a creep.

but now she’s bouncing on his cock and gazing down at him while he gasps and squirms like a livewire underneath her.

they’ve only really known each other for a week and a half.

“say thank you, Artie,” she purrs, her hand tracing the spattered flush on his chest, “say it.”

he bucks his hips up as much as he can to meet her movements, and bites his lip hard enough to taste metal when his tip bumps her cervix.

“thank you, oh my god, thank you— thank you, thank you—! ha-aah-!”

he babbles; a broken record of whines and shaky moans. his throat hurts from all of the sounds being pulled from him when the most he’s talked all month has come from just a couple of boring, remote interviews about his athletic career.

and her, of course.

god, it’s all her..

he swallows and keens, and then his eyes are watering.

and then he’s sobbing. he’s choking on his tears and yet he’s still feeling the tight coil of warmth tense further and further and further-

“don’t cry,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss the wetness from his cheeks, her hips swiveling to ride him harder just as the first slimy blurt of his orgasm spills inside, “you’re a good boy, okay? you’re perfect… a total catch…”

she smells like candy. she’s wiping his tears now.

“oh fuck, thank you-uu—hnghh!”

art lifts his hips, his face crumpling with pleasure and sadness, before he yelps and his climax wipes him out. his whole body trembles as he feels his cock pulse and coat her pussy with gooey clots of his spend. he’s practically wheezing.

he grips onto her hips fiercely; like if he doesn’t squeeze hard enough she’ll just go *poof*, and then he’ll be alone again.

“.. ungh, ‘m sorry, im cumming inside you, im cumming, im so sorry,” he whimpers, the aftershocks leaving him feeling bare and weak. stripped of all of his armor. if he even had any left to begin with.

she kisses his shoulder gently, and then she’s dipping her glossy lips down to whisper right next to his ear. her dainty necklace chills his skin when it dangles from her body and meets his collarbone. she’s so close to him.

“don’t worry, Mr. Donaldson…

you’ll be a great daddy.”

[abrahamvanhelsings]

the terror (2018) requires a rewatch not only bc it is so good it will settle in the core of your brain and grow and spread there like a fungus until you die but also bc it is a show about a hundred something bearded victorian white men on a ship in the same clothes and by the time you start figuring out what name is attached to which guy half of them are already dead

[charismatic-writer]

Bun In The Oven (S.R x Fem!Pregnant!Reader)

Summary: (Based off an anonymous request) "Married Spencer Reid x Reader where reader tries to tell Spencer she is pregnant but it goes wrong? Not like angsty, but something unexpected happens?"

Word Count: 808

Warnings: None!

Awaiting Spencer’s arrival back home from his most recent case in Illinois was probably one of the most stressful moments of your life. You had spent all day setting up small hints towards a surprise you had for him once he got home. You spent a large chunk of time moving all of the liquor from its usual cupboard into the back of your bedroom closet, as well as moving your coffee cup from the spot on the counter it is usually found in. The hint you were most excited for was probably one of the more cliché hints of the bunch. During your earlier trip to the grocery store, you picked up a fresh bun from the bakery, placing it inside of your oven. 

Everything had fallen into place just how you had planned, that was until your phone vibrated with a text from Spencer. Your heart ached as you read the message, 

‘The unpredictable Chicago weather has us stuck here for another night. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. I love you’ 

You knew firsthand how unpredictable the Chicago weather could get, having lived there for a few years as a child. Flight delays were nothing new to the team either, coming across them every few cases. It was just sucky that it had to happen the night you had been planning for over a week. 

Since Spencer was no longer coming home tonight, you decide to call it a night and head to bed earlier than you would on a night like this. You shoot him a quick reply to his original text, and a goodnight before shutting off all lights in the apartment and heading to bed. 

You had woken up early the next morning, a cup of tea grasped in your hands as you sit on the couch. You opted for a nature documentary, the voice of the narrator being nice background noise while you scroll endlessly on your phone until your husband’s inevitable return.  

The clock on the wall above the TV ticks on as the hours pass; each minute feeling like an eternity, that is until you hear the front door unlock and open revealing Spencer standing in the doorway. You practically jump out of your seat, launching yourself at him. 

“Someone missed me,” He quips, placing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I have a surprise for you, but you have to find the hints I hid around the house.” You say, and admittedly, it was a quite childish game for you to be making your husband play. 

“A surprise?” He asks, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. 

You nod, and lead him into the living room. “Yup! And it starts now!” 

You watch as his eyes adopt a determined glint to them, and he starts looking around the living room. He sifts through the bookshelves, and through the couch cushions. Soon moving on to the bedroom, he looks through drawer and under pillows and blankets. 

While he is doing that, you decide to start on dinner, setting the oven to preheat while you prepare the chicken. As time passes, Spencer has now made his way into the kitchen opening cabinet doors. He comes across the empty liquor cabinet, and makes a mental note of it. As he passes by the oven, though, a peculiar smell hits his nostrils.  

“Is something burning..?” He asks. 

Your head snaps up at his question, whipping around to face him at the sudden recollection of the bun you had put in there not even 24 hours ago. You go to open the oven door, but he holds his hand out to stop you. He grabs a pair of tongs, and opens the door of the oven, retrieving the now burnt bun. 

“Honey what is this?” He asks, holding up the tongs with the bun in their grasp. 

“It’s a bun.” You say, cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink. 

“Darling, Honey, I love you so, so much, but why did you put a singular roll in the oven?” He drops the bun onto the stovetop, setting the tongs next to it. 

“It’s not a roll, it’s a bun!” You can’t help but laugh now, the look he is giving you was priceless. 

“Okay, why did you put a singular bun in the oven?” He asks 

“It’s a BUN in the OVEN.” You reply. “WE have a bun in the oven.” 

“No, I just pulled it out.” He says, his face remains one of confusion. 

“No- Spence-” You sigh. “We’re having a baby.” 

His face becomes one of realization, and a smile grows on his face. “Really?! Oh my God, that’s incredible!” With a few small steps, he crosses the kitchen, and wraps his arms around you. “I can’t believe you almost burnt our kitchen down, but this is amazing!” 

TY FOR READING!!!!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated

[celuere]

Hear me out, some people be calling arle “mommy” are cowards 🗣️ call her daddy or go home

realest thing ever said, like what exactly did not click in her sq???? did you play with your eyes and ears closed? did the point of her character fly over your head??? „it‘s not that deep“ but they’re mostly the same type of people going into cardiac arrest when you tell them that arle is a professional woman kisser, NOT A SINGLE THING ABOUT THIS WOMAN IS STRAIGHT NOR MOMMY-LIKE GO HOOOOOOOOME😭 she canonically hates dresses do not put her into the domesticated mother role, that one is reserved for her WIFE YEEEEHAWWWWWW😻😻😻😻😝😝😝😝😝