#I WANNA DRAW MORE BUT GODDAMN SCHOOL

[limbokidd]

Hold me and it will all be ok.

not my best work but it’s something😭🤚

[macfrog]

epilogue sex on fire

once more for old time's sake, hm?

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: guess who's getting married - and you're all invited.

warnings: age gap, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, daddy kink, praise kink, a weird bus metaphor. idk where it came from. but it works. enjoy!

word count: 6.9k

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It passes in the blink of an eye.

Letting go of your mom’s hand at the school gates; forgetting when you next reached for it. Dancing around a laptop with an acceptance email from your first-choice college onscreen. Walking into a new job with a broken heart; walking out whole again.

All in the blink of an eye.

Joel says it too, as he scrolls through floorplans.

“…Used to be Tommy’s room, way back when,” he swipes to the next screenshot, “I thought it’d look good if we – we took down this wall, and – you see?”

You nod, twisting the hem of your T-shirt around your finger, and curl a little closer into his chest.

He still smells like the fresh coconut bodywash he stole from your bag. The sweet scent that he lathered up and let spill down your tummy, foamy bubbles slipping over your hips.

Under the rainfall shower, he massaged all the pain away. The sweet ache of three hours spent rolling around the bed of your bridal suite, letting him hold you and kiss you and fill you in ways only he has ever done.

You can still feel the heat of him between your legs. You miss him there.

“I see,” you whisper, tucking in beneath his chin.

Joel kisses your head. “You okay? You’re quiet, baby.”

“Just listening,” you reply, and he locks his phone.

“Maybe that’s enough Maple talk for the night, hm? We oughta be relaxing, getting ready for tomorrow.”

“No,” you turn in his grasp, “I wanna see what you’re doing with it. I think it’ll look good, Joel. Did you get the home report yet?”

He slides his phone onto the nightstand and wraps his arms around you. “Not yet. Soon as the work’s done.”

“It’ll look brand new. Totally different.”

“Mhm,” he smiles, “Sure will.”

You lay down on his chest, trimmed hair tickling your cheek. His heartbeat is familiar against your ear. It still skips a beat, even four years in. Still quickens anytime your hand falls over it.

“Are you ready to let go of the place?”

Joel takes a deep breath. “I guess I have to be,” he says, though the words tremble in his throat. It’s not often you catch him feeling uncertain. “Mom’s gone, Tommy said he don’t want it. Unless we pack up ‘n move outta the city, place would just sit there – empty.”

“Hm. Too many memories to let it go to waste.”

“Well, they ain’t all good ones,” he admits, drawing circles on your shoulder.

You thought, that afternoon in your bedroom, that he’d shown you his whole hand. Thought you knew every suit, every card he held. All the things that made Joel who he was – perfectly polished.

The cars, the property, the jet. The company – Jesus, there ain’t a thing he seemed more natural at, than running a multimillion-dollar business. He made it look so goddamn easy.

It used to drive you insane – how together he was. The cracks you could barely see, he’d glued them so perfectly. The ease with which he could hold himself in one hand, and hold you in the other. Just take it all on his shoulders like it weighed nothing.

For every card of yours that was turned, though, Joel revealed another of his.

Maple hadn’t always been the postcard it so looked. White walls, red mailbox. Flowerbeds and slamming doors; two boys’ bikes and one empty dining chair. He told you things with a flash in his eye – and you were never sure whether it was the fire of fury or the salt of sadness.

Joel isn’t so seamless after all. He’s a mosaic of everything that has ever happened to him. Joy and pain, everything in between. A shattered collection of shards, shimmering in the sunlight.

He’s beautiful. For all the brokenness, all the stitched skin – he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He makes you feel beautiful, too.

“Well,” you say, “Maple raised you, so – I love it.”

He looks down at you like you’re brand new. Like it’s the first time he’s ever laid eyes on you.

Running his business looks natural, sure – but loving you comes as easily to Joel as breathing.

“Alright, pretty girl,” he says. “Bedtime.”

You groan into his chest, nose flat against the threads of silver. “Don’t wanna go to bed, Daddy,” you mumble.

He cups your head. “You’re nervous, huh?”

You nod between his pecs, and Joel laughs.

All this time, all the moments of doubt you’ve squashed with the toe of your shoe – and they still manage to creep back in. The corners of your vision still blur, the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. The scars have long closed, but the skin still remembers.

“You know I’m gonna be there, right?” he says. “The whole time. I’m kind of the one you’re marrying.”

“Oh,” you tilt your head, “So that’s who you are.”

He lifts his hands, mirrors your stupid smirk. “Pleased to meet you.”

“What if we don’t see each other? I mean – before…”

“We will,” he promises. “I’ll getcha at the bottom of the stairs.”

“’s gonna be a pretty hectic day, Joel. We might not have time –”

His chin lifts. His lips part, the way they do when he’s about to chew up your panicked gibbering. He takes a breath and, straight as the line of his brow, repeats himself.

“I will get you at the bottom of the stairs. Okay?”

Your frown melts. Okay, you mouth, and he pinches your nose.

“I love you. Now, sleep.”

He flicks the light off.

Four years. Four years passed in the blink of an eye.

Twelve hours after your leaving party, you were strolling through Lavender Oaks, hand in hand. Nothing to hide anymore, no one to convince – not even yourself. You loved him then, whether you really believed it or not. Whether you had the courage to look it straight in the face, or not.

You had loved him for a while, really. It was the last card you had to deal. And Joel knew, long before you’d admitted it to yourself. He’s always been the patient one, hasn’t he?

That night, then, deep in the belly of last summer. Some leafy, twinkling rooftop garden of a restaurant that you can’t even remember the name of, because all you remember is him. Loose collar, long day. Drinks menu in one hand, the other cradling yours.

He was tired, and you knew it. He’d hardly stopped since seven a.m., working all through lunch and straight to eight – but he’d promised you dinner that week. It was already Thursday, and he had a conference or a company retreat or whatever it was that weekend.

You can’t remember. All you remember is his face, the second you said –

When are you going to ask me to marry you?

Joel faltered for all of three seconds – though if he’d had a mouthful of wine, he’d probably have choked on it.

Tomorrow, he said. Yesterday. Now. Marry me.

You laughed. I’m serious. I want you to ask me.

Really? His smirk faded into something more earnest. He looked like a boy, the way his eyebrows lifted and his lip trembled. A boy who believed in magic. The candlelight flickered across his face, suddenly wide awake and glowing with life. Would you say yes?

Mhm. And I wouldn’t break it off two days later, neither.

Lucky me, he mused. He paused, then added, You know we don’t have to, right? I’m happy, baby. I’m happier than I ever thought… his voice wavered and he gulped, I’d be happy the rest of my life, the way we are.

Joel, you lifted his knuckles to your lips, I want to be your wife. I want you to be my husband. Just – just ask me. I’ll say yes.

He beamed back at you like some lovestruck fool. You suppose he was; suppose he had been since the moment he first saw you. A goner as soon as he opened that office door, as soon as he felt the way your hand fit so perfectly in his.

I love you, he said – for what felt like the millionth time. Somehow, he made it mean more each time.

I know, you replied, leaning over the table to kiss him. I love you, too.

In the blink of an eye, your life changed from lonely blue mornings to bright golden dawns. From two boxes of stuff and a Swiss cheese plant, to an entire office with your name on the door.

You collected stripe after stripe, took leap after stride; chased every promotion, every chance, every speck of something over the horizon. Life got busy, you worked your ass off – but for the first time ever, you felt like you were becoming something. Becoming someone.

Joel sat up through all your late nights at the kitchen table. He poured coffee after coffee, carried you to bed when you couldn’t stare at the laptop any longer. He carefully consoled and aptly controlled every stress-induced breakdown you ever had.

He bought you a peace lily to keep your monstera company. He held your hand at every work event you had. He promised you could do it, and slowly, surely, you realized he was right.

So when you told him you were ready – and only then – Joel traded that little gumball ring for a new one.

A real one.

It happened in Paris. He took you back to that same glitzy restaurant – the delicate wine and rich steak, the chandeliers and renaissance ceilings. He echoed every word of French you spoke in a little Austin accent; played footsie under the table and flirted like it was your first date.

He was nervous. Indestructible as he seems, he still has his tells. He played with your hands the whole night, asked if you were okay every second sip of his drink.

Yeah, you said, I’m good. You?

Yep. Yeah. Good.

Your hands are shaking.

He smirked. I’m on a date with a real pretty girl.

He could barely wait for the elevator to reach the suite. He kept closing in on you, pressing words into your neck and playing with the straps of your dress. I love you, I love you, I love you, he said, gripping your waist.

I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.

Everything sparkling – the champagne, the stars, the thousand and one candles he had lining the balcony. Everything golden – the tower, the ring, the feeling flooding through your chest. And in a shaking voice, on a shaking knee, with shaking hands you had to cup as he spoke, he asked you.

Easiest yes ever.

He’s already asleep. Head tipped back, snoring to the ceiling. He looks so cute that it makes you giggle.

“’night, baby,” you lull, and cuddle into his chest.

Joel’s alarm splits the morning at seven.

He reaches over to silence it, groans into his palm, and rubs his eyes open. “Mornin’, angel,” he sighs – same as always. The same two words that kick off damn near every single day since you got together.

“Morning,” you reply, and hug him tighter.

You watch as he comes to life. Stirring beneath you, heart fluttering against yours, skin still warm and sleepy. You’ve been awake for the last hour just watching him – fingers trailing the valleys of his collarbones, nose nuzzling into the rugged hinge of his jaw.

Sometimes you wonder if it’ll ever fade – the rush you feel when you see him. The way the world tinges pink, mutes for a moment or two – and Joel is the only thing in any of your senses.

He lifts his arms in a loud stretch, biceps popping. He sucks in a deep breath. “We should do something today.”

You scoff. “Like what?”

His lips turn. I dunno. “Make some lifelong vows, maybe.”

“Sounds boring,” you huff, pushing yourself up. You roll from his grasp and pad over to the bathroom. “Why don’t we grab lunch instead?”

“Boring?” Joel scoffs. He follows you to the sink and curves around you in a bear hug. “Spent over a hundred grand on this thing, Ms. Miller. You telling me we wasted our money?”

His hands sneak under the material of your tee, lifting it over your bare hips. There’s a weight building against the small of your back – another thing that kicks off nearly every single day. It sits heavy, twitching when you reach for your toothbrush and your ass ruts against him.

Joel hisses. “Goddamn, darlin’,” he grabs your hips and steadies you, “Easy on me, now.”

“I’m not the one groping.” You spin in his arms, toothbrush between your molars.

“Can’t help it –” he kisses your neck, “– when you look –” the other side, “– so sweet –” he lowers with a tiny groan, “– ‘n you taste –” he places a long, damp kiss to your tummy, “– even better.”

You squirm in his grasp. “Joel, we don’t have time for –”

“Sure we do,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue to your slit. “It’s us they’re waitin’ for.”

You drop your brush into the sink with a gasp. “Tommy’s gonna be here any second.

His eyes flash up to yours. “Who?”

He scoops your ass and pulls your thighs over his shoulder. Deft with it, a body he knows as well as his own by this point. A body he loves even more.

You open up for him like he never left. Still warm and wet from last night, still coming down from each high he took you to. Sometimes it feels like this is all you do. Sometimes, you wonder if there’s ever a time you feel more you, than when you’re wrapped around some part of him.

Joel’s voice reverberates through your body. He groans as he licks, nips and sucks between your legs, slowly easing you off the counter and onto his mouth.

You reach for his hair. The salt and pepper streaks, the bedhead only you ever get to see before he’s washed and groomed into that perfect shape of himself. A carefully carved shape, ruggedly handsome but intentional.

He’s more relaxed this way. Your way. Before the world seeps into him, before the suit and tie and hundred-dollar cologne. When only his sun has seen him, stirred him, swept her fingers across his broad chest and whispered sweet nothings in his ear.

Heat is pooling in your stomach, flooding through your veins. It’s cracking open your chest, drawing breath from your lungs. You grip the edge of the counter, back arching, hips rutting against Joel’s tongue – and you come.

He doesn’t miss a beat. Doesn’t miss a drop. He laps every second of it up, every pulse of your cunt, slowing only when you crumple against the mirror and sigh.

Your fingers swirl around his hair. Your body feels heavy with pleasure. The shock is still looping around your bones.

Joel kisses the inside of your thigh and stands, crossing his arms at your spine.

“I love you,” you hum, licking yourself from his lips.

He smiles. A dreamy, golden thing. Still just him and the sun. “Love you, too.”

This morning, of all mornings, might be cutting it fine. They’ve already started setting up downstairs. Twenty tables, one hundred and fifty chairs, one thousand roses, forty bottles of champagne, three grand behind the bar.

The last thing you need on the day of all days is for the bride and groom to be late.

Still. He’s rock solid and right there, throbbing against your tummy.

You slip your hand around him and squeeze, massaging his tip with your thumb.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He feigns offense. “Baby, we don’t have time,” he says, eyes on his cock as you guide him south.

“Shut up,” you breathe, “Shut up and fuck me.”

“Ain’t saying no to that,” he replies, and his hips meet yours.

You groan in harmony, wrapping closer together. Joel finds a quick pace, body snapping into yours, holding you strong and steady in his arms.

“Jesus,” he pants, “Three times last night wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

“F-feels like it wasn’t enough for you, either.”

He laughs. “Forever wouldn’t be long enough in this little cunt, sweet girl. She’s too good to me. Loves her daddy, don’t she?”

You follow his gaze down, where his thick cock drags between your legs. Soaked with you, slick and shining with each thrust of his hips. Deeper and deeper, touching a part of you only he’s ever been able to reach. Pulling noises from your throat only he has ever been able to pull.

Joel rolls his forehead against yours and lifts your eyes to his, a messy kiss to your lips. “Like it when you watch,” he whispers. “You see how pretty she looks?”

“Mhm,” you hook an arm around his neck, “Feel so pretty, Daddy.”

“My beautiful girl.” His lips close around yours again, tongue hot and heady in your mouth. His pace stammers when you moan against him. He curses, hips jolting.

He’s close. All too close.

He won’t come before you. Not before he’s drawn another from your body, felt every pulse of your pussy around him. Not before he’s watched you fall apart; felt you collapse into his arms with it.

He slips out, kissing your temple to shush your petulant whine. “’s okay,” he folds your legs to your chest, “I gotcha. I’m here.”

Over his shoulder, the sun lights your reflection in the shower glass. His toned back, the swells of muscle across his shoulder. Hiding the shape of you from the morning – his moaning mess of a girl, gripping onto him and screaming into his chest.

She sobs his name and you taste it on your tongue. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. Each one louder than the last, each one sorer.

The window is cracked open. Anyone might be walking under it.

And you like it, don’t you?

The chance that someone might hear. Might know exactly what Joel’s in here doing to you. Ruining you for anyone else, like he’s done a million times over.

It’s as though he lulls you into it. Like waves, starting in the pit of your belly and rolling outward. Heavier and deeper and sweeter, until your orgasm crashes over you in bursts of warmth.

Your arm tightens around Joel’s neck, brows knitting when you reach your peak. You keep your eyes locked on his, and he mirrors your expression.

“Oh, good girl, honey,” he rasps, pausing when his own high overcomes him. He twitches, little bursts of heat in your cunt before flooding the entire thing. He holds your hips flush against his until his cock stills and breath fills his lungs.

He pulls you against his chest and sits you back on the counter. If there’s one thing better than being fucked by him, it’s the comedown. The aftercare. The kissing, the fixing you back into shape.

Your pussy flutters around him. Your ear against his chest, you feel your heart beating in time with his.

Joel cups your head and dots kisses down to your shoulder. He makes to pull out, and you fuss.

“Stay,” you whimper, tugging on his arm.

He smiles. “Oh, baby, wish I could,” he squeezes your waist, “but I heard Tommy knockin’ on the door five minutes ago.”

He strolls back into the bedroom, massaging a knot out of his shoulder.

You sit, stunned, leaking all over the counter, before rushing through at his heels. “Asshole!” you hiss.

He chuckles as he pulls a hoodie over his head. “Couldn’t leave my lady unsatisfied, could I?”

You throw yourself into a pair of his pajama bottoms. “I think she’d have been fine with it, given your fucking brother is right outside.”

He swings the door wide open. You curl around one of his arms.

Tommy leans against the opposite wall, picking at his nails. He straightens, scratches his beard, and smacks his lips.

“Told you you’d sleep in, brother.”

Joel’s chin lifts. He nods, amused. “You did tell me that, yeah.”

You want to slap him for how cocky he definitely feels. His little brother is none the wiser.

The denim-donned Miller steps over the threshold and reaches for you, a bristly kiss to your cheek. “Mornin’, sweetheart. How you feelin’?”

“Good,” you lie.

“Nervous,” Joel corrects, cocking an eyebrow.

Tommy laughs. “Talk to Maria. She’ll calm you right down. She felt the exact same on our day.”

Their day. Almost ten years ago, back when you and Joel were strangers – and he and Tommy were as good as.

Credit to him, he put up with the pestering from both sides – that is, you and his mom – for six months, at the start of your relationship. Slowly – painfully slowly – he began to entertain the conversation. Never gonna happens turned into if it ever did happens.

He learned to unlock his jaw, to make eye contact with his mom when she talked about Tommy. He asked questions he hadn’t asked in years. He learned where he and his wife lived, what they named their son.

He learned that they’d had a spring wedding. He learned that Tommy’s best man was his drinking buddy. He fell quiet, and his mom knew to change the subject. On the drive home, he held your hand a little tighter than usual.

Six months which, in the end, felt less like convincing him – and more reassuring him. Yes, Tommy might ignore all of his calls. Maybe Maria might answer, and tell him in a hushed voice that now’s not really a great time, Joel.

Maybe his brother might pick up the phone himself, tell him to go straight to hell.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t hardly recognize his big brother’s voice, at first. There was a pause a few breaths too long right after Joel reintroduced himself – long enough that you thought you might’ve kicked him all the way back to square one. And then –

Well, shit, brother. How the hell have you been?

You spent your first anniversary in Jackson. You took Joel’s mom up there every year after. The brothers fit back together like they’d never been apart, like they’d never forgotten the shape of each other’s hug, the cut of the other’s good humor.

Tommy took you in like you’d been part of Joel even before either of them knew your name.

Your fiancé pulls you into a hug. He kisses your head and asks his brother to grab the elevator.

Tommy salutes as he turns down the hallway. “See you later, little sis.”

Joel holds your face and taps your nose. His lips twist in half a smile, half frown. “You gonna be okay?”

“Sure,” you sniffle. The sting of tears brims your waterline already and you blink them away. You’re hiding from him.

“I’m right downstairs if you need me,” he says, spotting you clear as day. “Just call.”

“Not supposed to see you before the ceremony.”

“Yeah,” Joel winces, “don’t think we’re supposed to have sex, either, but we broke that rule a long time ago, pretty girl.”

His hands are so big around yours. So steady, pulse loud only from your morning tryst – if at all. He plays with your fingers, straightens the ring on your third.

A sharp bell sounds. Tommy whistles for his brother. Your chest aches.

“Few more hours,” Joel says. “Few more hours and then we got the rest of forever, just you ‘n me.”

He wanders down to the elevator, turning inside. He leans against the back wall and crosses his arms. His eyes meet yours, lips curl in that trademark smirk of his, and the doors close.

The stairs are cold and breezy. The manor doors have been wide open all morning, guests filtering through, allowing the cool to cluster in each corner of the house.

It’s been a busy morning. Par for the course, so you hear. No bride gets through her wedding prep unscathed.

You’ve spent four ass-numbing hours dutifully planted in your chair, your nephew in your arms as something of a comfort blanket, eating fresh fruit and drinking cold champagne and promising not to touch your makeup after the artist is done with it.

Maria uses the light from the window opposite the top of the stairs to finish buttoning your dress. She balances on the second step, peering up at your trembling figure.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” she says.

“In the blink of an eye?” You scoff, but she nods.

“I’m serious. You won’t even feel it, and it’ll be over. You’ll be lying in bed tonight telling Joel, Maria was right.”

You clasp your fingers around your bouquet. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“He could stand to hear it more often.”

You giggle.

A pair of warm hands sweeps down your shoulders, turning you by the elbows. Her dress is a deep olive, spilling over her arms in waves of shining satin.

“Mom,” you breathe, leaning into her.

She smiles, pinching your cheek. “This is it,” she says simply, like it is as simple as tying your shoelaces. “Deep breaths.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of…” Your eyes scan the summery wallpaper behind her. It offers no answers. “…What if we’re not ready?”

She glowers. “Oh, yeah. Good point. I’m sure the man who flew you to Paris after two weeks is not ready to marry you. We should send everybody home.”

“It’s just a big deal,” you continue, “Lots of people downstairs.”

“No, there’s not. There’s not,” she cuts your protest, voice sharp, “There’s only one person in that room, and it’s him. And you’ve done scarier than this, right?”

Your head wobbles in weakened agreement.

She links her arm through yours. “I remember,” she leads you downstairs, “a little girl with shaking knees, boarding a bus to camp for the summer. I remember her teary face, her tiny hand waving goodbye from the back window. Ain’t this just the same?”

Your bridesmaids slip past, hoisting their silky dresses above their ankles as they tackle the winding staircase.

“Alright, well,” you sniff, “I was eleven when I went to camp, so. Significant difference.”

“I disagree,” she says. “It’s a scary thing to do when you’re eleven, and maybe getting married is a scary thing to do when you’re thirty. But you got on that bus because you wanted to, and you’re doing this because you want it, too. It’s simple, sweetheart.”

She pauses a step below. Her hands drop from yours. Her eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spoil her makeup.

“Sometimes,” she whispers, “we mistake fear for excitement. Butterflies can feel an awful lot like nerves. Sometimes, something scary can take a similar shape to something wonderful. And you never know the difference until you step on that bus.”

She takes another step down and you reach for her hands – the same way you reached for them at the school gates, twenty years ago.

“Mom –” you squeak, twisting your fingers around hers.

She kisses your knuckles. “You are going to live the happiest life with him, I just know it. You’re going to take such good care of each other.”

She skips off around the bend in the stairs, shawl flurrying. At the bottom, she crosses paths with someone, squeezes their sleeve with affection.

He sways into view slowly, carefully, like he’s trying not to spook. Hands in his pockets, suit sleek and smart. Beard trimmed as close as you’d allow, hair fixed as neat as he’d allow.

He cleans up good. He always has. If it weren’t for the handrail, you might faint into his arms.

When he speaks, his voice is light, warm, soft on your skin. Wraps around you and draws you in, safe and sound. Calls you home.

“There’s my girl.”

And you walk to him.

“Hi,” you say, voice soft, heels clicking.

Joel watches every step. His eyes loop up and down your figure, scanning from the swishing hem of your dress to the twinkle in your eyes. He’s somewhere between the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his face, and shattering into tears.

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighs as you twirl into his arms, “You are so beautiful.”

You straighten the flower in his pocket. “You’re pretty beautiful, too.”

You fall together, bodies magnetized. Joel’s chin lifts and your lips connect in a tender kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist, hands travelling north along the figure-hugging material of your dress.

“Good choice,” he mumbles into your mouth.

“Mhm,” you reply, a joyful lilt to it. “Knew it was a winner.”

You stand for a moment, swaying together. Your arms crossed around his neck, his snug around your waist. Breathing one another in, steadying each other. Souls finding the other again.

Some last-minute guests scurry through the doors over his shoulder. Their footsteps echo through the hall as they find their seats. Joel holds you all the tighter.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah. More than I’ve ever been, my whole life.”

“We can still call it off,” he smirks, “Take off on the honeymoon, never talk to any of these assholes again.”

He laughs when you do, relief blooming on his face.

“No, Joel,” you say. Your voice feels clearer, stronger with your body against his. “I love you. I love you so much, and I…I wanna get on the bus.”

His brows pinch. He tilts his head, scoops your jaw. “You…Wh–? What, baby?”

You nod to yourself, staring at his tie. “I wanna get on the bus,” you repeat, voice barely there.

He blinks down at you. His thumb strokes your cheek. He makes to reply – some dumbfounded quip, probably – when a voice splits you apart.

“Psst! You two!”

Your mom ducks her head out into the entrance hall. She clicks her fingers. “They need you up front, Miller.”

He nods and turns back to you, bending to look you in the eye. “Catch your breath,” he says. “Just a little while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you decide. “I’m ready.”

“Alright. Then let’s get on this goddamned bus, whatever the hell that means.”

The celebration is alive with a string melody, the tinkling of glasses, and bursts of sweet laughter.

Your cheeks ache from all the smiling. Your throat is dry from all the talking. And you don’t care. You could do this for the rest of your life, if Joel would let you.

Turns out getting married is pretty fun – once you’ve done it, that is. When all that’s left is to swing between tables, chat until you run out of breath, dance until your feet hurt. Eat until you feel sick, drink until your head dizzies, weep in the bathroom with your friends then reapply your makeup and repeat.

It’s a year-long effort with only a day’s payout – but as far as days go, it’s not half bad.

In the same grand hall you said I do in three hours ago – soaring windows with drapes strung to the heavens, pale flowers arranged on every table, chandeliers glistening overhead – you search for the one missing piece.

“Have you seen my husband?”

Drew scoffs as he approaches your spinning figure. Beer in one hand, his daughter in the other. He shakes his head, laughing.

“You ain’t used to saying that yet, are you?”

“Nope,” you pinch his daughter’s hands, “and I hope I never am.”

She squeals with laughter, kicking her legs under swirls of chiffon. She throws herself out of her father’s arms into yours and you catch her, perching her on your hip.

“Good for you, kid,” Drew says. “You deserve it. You both do.”

You smile and peer down at the toddler tugging on your diamond necklace. “Your uncle Joel bought me this,” you babble in her ear. “If it breaks, you’re one sorry individual.”

She giggles all the louder.

“Last I saw him,” Drew tilts his bottle towards the patio doors, “he was out on the terrace.”

Your eyes flit to the twinkling, dusky sky. “Alone?”

He shrugs. “Guess so.”

You pass his daughter back, fixing the bow on her dress. “I’ll find him. Thanks, Drew.”

The breeze breathes between the doors as you walk over. It’s a chilled night, but the fresh air is a welcome breather from the busy dancefloor.

Veiled by the sheer curtains, his figure relaxes against the balcony, staring out at the rolling lawn. He exhales a thick, scattered cloud of white to the sky. His head turns at the sound of your heels on the patio.

“Nice view, huh?”

Joel hums. His voice is clotted with tobacco. “Sure is, Mrs. Miller. Fine choice of venue.”

“Teamwork,” you reply, and pat your fingers against his palm in a weak high five. You cross your wrists over his shoulder and stare out at the mountains in the distance. “Out here all by yourself?”

“Just needed a moment. Take it all in.” He tilts the cigar in his hand. “Make use of my wedding gift from my best man.”

There’s a blanket of chill slowly settling over the valley. It hugs a little too tight around your bare arms. You shiver, nestling closer to Joel, and he straightens.

“Here, baby,” he says, shrugging his jacket off. He drapes it over your shoulders and rubs them warm. He plucks the cigar from its ashtray, offering it silently.

You scoff. “I’m not gonna like it.”

“I know,” Joel replies, “but we’re celebrating.”

The stick is heavier than you expected, dry and hard between your fingers. The cap is sliced, dampened by Joel’s lips.

He watches your mouth, smiling when you inhale. “Not too much,” he clasps your wrist lightly, “Only a little.”

It’s rancid, if you’re honest. Clogs your lungs with what feels like unbreathable heat, a sickly-sweet flavor that crinkles your nose. The smoke punches from your lungs in a broken cough. And once they’re clear – you lift the cigar for more.

“Alright,” Joel says, taking it back after a couple more puffs. “That’s enough, Kennedy. Like it?”

“Not bad,” you croak, stealing a swig of his champagne. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“No, ma’am.”

You lean into him, elbows on the railing, following his outstretched hand as he points out each mountain peak.

He talks about the years he and Tommy spent camping, the long fishing trips with his dad. Regales in excruciating detail the time he pitched his tent right by a cluster of poison ivy, and woke up covered in bloody, blotchy blisters.

He talks about all of it easier than he has in years. As though the dust has settled over the memories, the good and the bad, and all that’s left is to look. No more shifting things around in his mind, trying to find where it all fits. Everything is exactly where it needs to be.

After a while, he kisses your head. “Hey,” he says. “Congratulations.”

You lift your head. “You, too…?”

“You got married today.”

“Did I? Shit, I didn’t mean to.”

He flicks his eyebrows. “That something you saw yourself doing, five years ago?”

No. Not at all. But then my boss held my waist to his in a dive bar, and – you know the rest.

“Hm,” you flatten your lips, “No, but then – you’re not something I saw myself doing, five years ago.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Stay classy, pretty girl.”

You giggle. “I’d do anything, long as it’s with you. Mess around on the first date, fly to Paris on the second. Meet your mom, like, three weeks in.”

“You are not countin’ that lunch with James from accounting as our first date,” he protests. “That shitshow was not our first date.”

“You paid for my meal and you fucked me in the bathroom. Date.”

“No,” he points a telling finger in your direction, “No. If we have kids one day, they’re going to ask. We gotta get our story straight. Our first date was Paris. I took you to Paris.”

“Whatever you say, old man.” You bunch your shoulders, snuggling deeper into his jacket. “Deep down, you know the truth.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“What do you wanna talk about?”

He searches the skyline, plucking up courage when the last of the setting sun catches his eye. “Well,” he sounds nervous, “I thought I could give you your gift.”

You fiddle with your necklace. “I thought you already did.”

Joel shakes his head. He takes your wrists and lifts your hands. “Close your eyes.”

“If you drop a living thing into my hands, Miller,” you screw your eyes shut, “Divorce.”

“Uhuh,” he mutters.

He holds your hands in one of his. There’s the ruffling of linen, a faint jingling, a roaring cheer from inside.

There’s the cold kiss of metal in the cushion of your palm – tiny, featherlight – followed by a coiling, and something jagged.

You hold in a laugh, breathing nervously. “I’m scared,” you whisper, and Joel kisses the hinge of your wrist.

“You trust me?” he asks.

“I trust you.”

“Then, open.”

Your eyes flutter, and there he is. Still standing before you, still smiling. Still holding your hands. He nods down, and you look.

In your palms lies a small brass key. On the end of the chain, a single silver maple leaf tag. It winks back at you, moonlight reflected in its grooves.

You lift the key. It’s worn by time, metal nicked and imperfect. Brass a little tarnished. The leaf sways in your clutch.

“Maple?” you ask, and Joel nods. Your eyes begin to well.

“I know we’re happy in the city,” he says, “and I know it’s just some little paint-chipped house. It��s probably still got school reports ‘n shitty comics up in the attic. I just – God, I can’t shake it, baby.”

You look up at him, a question in your teary gaze.

“A little birdie once taught me,” he steps closer, “that it’s okay to lose things. To let ‘em go. I didn’t believe her at the time. I was scared. Scared to lose her, scared she might find something better. I reckon she was pretty scared, too, but – even when I thought I lost her, she came back.

“She said this thing about making new memories. Better memories. And I just can’t shake it.”

The words catch on your tongue on their way out. You’re only just now realizing how different life was before. Before him, before this. How empty and cold it felt, how little you noticed before the sun peered through the clouds and said something in a drawl laced with love and humor.

How quickly you ran into its warm, open arms.

Joel goes on. “The guys are making a real good job of it. They said there’s plenty potential, and you know it has that huge yard. Now, if you don’t want it, say the word and it’s gone. Out of our hands. But,” his voice breaks, “if you do, then – it’s yours, darlin’. It’s been yours since the moment you walked through the door.”

And, well – hasn’t everything?

The job was yours the very second you tiptoed into his office. He told you so himself. The job, the desk, the free trip to Europe. You walked into his life and flipped everything on its head, without even knowing it.

You worked for him for three years before anything ever happened. Three whole years of elbow nudges and fleeting glances and one too many questions about whoever the other was dating. Joel figures he loved you all that time. You figure you loved him, too.

You changed everything for him. From that first glance, the first meeting of your hands, nothing was ever the same. All of it, from the spare cabinet in his bathroom to the third finger on his left hand – it was all just waiting for you to make it your own.

Hasn’t Joel’s heart belonged to you since you first laid eyes on each other?

You turn the key between your fingers. The answer rolls along the tip of your tongue. The longer you stay quiet, the more nervous you know he’s feeling.

Your eyes meet his – and you smile.

“I want a porch swing.”

Joel chuckles. “Done.”

“And we host Thanksgiving every year.”

“Every year?” He almost grimaces.

You’re staring each other down. It’s as much a game as it is a genuine request, like most of what you do. Just as much teasing as sincere.

You nod. “Every. Year.”

“Okay,” he relents. “Anything else?”

Your eyes drift off behind him. Inside one of the windows, Drew and Rachel twirl their little girl in time with a familiar guitar melody. She throws her head back in a fit of laughter and they pick her up, spinning her around.

Joel glances over his shoulder. He breathes a laugh. “I’ll give you that tonight if you really want it.”

You lean into his chest and kiss his jaw. “I just want you.”

“You got me,” he says. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

The rest of the band kicks in. The raspy lead singer, the perky drum beat. The dancefloor fills some, hands thrown to the ceiling, glasses spilling over.

You bite down on a smile, eyes flitting to Joel’s.

He twists his shoe into the patio, nudging into your side. He extends his arm and you link yours through, following his lead inside. “Good song,” he mutters.

“Hm,” you agree. “Little before my time.”

[hungharrington]

Could you write some smut of Steve with a girl who’s insecure about her thick thighs and he’s like obsessed with them

thank u for the request honey! hope this is okay <3 1.3k. warnings: afab!reader, steve eating r out, fingering, r is very critical of her own body image so beware!) remember babies, every body is a good body <3 ur all hot as fuck

By the time Steve’s kisses reach your stomach, you’re beginning to squirm.

Not for the reason’s one might hope for though.

Somehow, Steve notices as well — which is a surprise considering you’re focused entirely on trying not to show this part of you, literally and figuratively. Maybe you should be endeared that he’s so keyed onto you that he can tell the moment a concern worms into your head. It’s all love, after all.

“Uh oh,” Steve says, mouth still hovering just above your belly. He presses one more quick kiss and moves up a bit more so he can see your face clearer. His own brows knit together as he says, “You got that little wrinkle between your brows—”

He pokes between your eyebrows with his finger lightly and you realise he’s right, your face smoothing as you try to school it. Too late.

“Something’s wrong.” He states obviously. His next words are softer, kinder. “You not in the mood anymore?”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence, sitting up a bit straighter. “No, no, it’s not that.”

Steve relaxes a bit at you words, more of his weight resting back on the cradle of your hips. You can feel the hairs of his happy trail press against your tummy, the bend of his arms pressed against your sides. He ducks his head low and plants another kiss to your ribcage.

“Mm, what is it then?” He hums lowly. Another kiss, his bottom lip scraping as he drags his mouth along your skin lovingly. They drop from his mouth easily, one after the other, leaving a mess of wet kisses across your midriff.

You sigh softly, desire churning up inside your belly, fiery hot. Steve trails down, hands slipping to pinch at the edges of your panties and he begins working them down. You let him, breathes turning to pants as Steve’s kisses turn a little meaner. He nips and nibbles as he travels down.

Pulling back for a moment, Steve grins as you kick out your ankle and send your panties flying— his hands settling back on your knees and gliding down to hold your thighs tenderly. You can’t help it— you squirm again.

“There!” Steve says, about to lean back down to kiss you but pausing when he notices it again. “What are you- why’re squirming, honey?”

And oh, he’s figured you out completely.

You fight the urge to pout and find it hard to meet Steve’s brown eyes when he’s doing that goddamn sweet look that makes you want to tell him everything. It’s stupid. It’s stupid.

Steve tries to give you a comforting squeeze but he doesn’t seem to realise he’s squeezing the very problem; your thighs. You squirm again.

“C’mon, what is—”

“I just don’t… like my thighs that much.” You admit, swallowing back your embarrassment. You stare at the ceiling, a little annoyed that you’ve interrupted sex so you can talk about this. “And when you touch them too much… it just draws attention to them and— ugh! Can we not talk about this right now?”

Your try to press your thighs closed, feeling too exposed, but Steve doesn’t let you. His hands are gentle but firm and you look back down at him, wilting a bit at his sad and confused expression.

“What’s wrong with your thighs?” Steve asks earnestly. He sounds genuinely a bit devastated.

“Steve.”

“No, I wanna know.” He insists, hands still on your thighs, fingers pressing in. “What’s wrong with your thighs?”

You feel like you might cry — in frustration, in your own freakin’ self pity. Your voice is a weak whisper when you say, “Steve, they’re huge.”

Your eyes crush close so you don’t have to see Steve’s face, sighing to yourself and the ugly emotion wrestling with your chest. You wait for the touch on your thighs to retreat but… it doesn’t.

“And?” Steve says finally. He seems to remember his hands, fingers moving deftly to start massaging the flesh of your thighs. All the moves of a well-learned lover, devoted.

“And you don’t think that I love that?”

He bends and peppers kisses along the inside of your thigh, slow and purposeful. You can’t help how you squirm under the touch but this time Steve is expecting it. He doesn’t let up, just switches to the other thigh and murmurs against your skin, “You think that I don’t love that there’s more of you I can love on?”

You feel like, maybe, you want to cry again for a whole ‘nother reason this time. He’s so fucking nice to you.

Steve’s kisses grow more fervent, his teeth nipping at the skin — his hands slide down to your hips, grabbing at the doughy flesh appreciatively.

“Can’t believe,” he murmurs between his kisses. “You don’t think I love these— that these aren’t one of my favorite things about you.”

His kisses are so far down your inner thighs, it sets your arousal spiking high, you’re slick just inches from his hungry mouth. This time when your say his name, it’s in a whiny keen.

“Steve.”

“I got you, honey,” He assures you, his fingers gliding along the softness of your inner thighs, finding the well of slick building at your entrance. He teases at it, fingers gathering your slick and spreading it through your folds.

His kisses resume where you thigh meets your hip, easing his finger into your cunt and this time, when you start to squirm and write, it’s because of the blazing lust that aches deep in your gut. You can’t help but moan.

“Shhh, I got you.” Steve whispers, his finger fucking slowly in and slowly out. Every movement is paired with a dozen kisses along your thighs, dropping little reminders of his love. Your heart blazes nearly as hot as your cunt, especially as Steve’s murmurs continue. “Yeah, that’s it, I got you, sweet girl.”

You mewl pitifully at his words, torn between the urge to squirm at how he grips your thighs again, fingers spread wide and grip hungry — but it’s devoured up instantly when he leans down and puts his mouth on you.

His tongue is warm, poking around your clit almost experimentally. He hums, a deep nearly growling noise of content, and dives in. His lips wrap around your clit and he flicks his tongue expertly, in time with his finger pumping in and out of you, making your back arch and another whimper of his name leave your mouth.

“Steve, fuck— Steve,” you pant. One of your hand begs to be holding his but he’s too enraptured by doting on you and your particular insecurity.

Steve pulls off, reaching his thumb up to roll your clit beneath it tantalising well. He nuzzles into your v-line adoringly, planting even more kisses. “My pretty girl, mmm,” He says, voice raspy. “So good, letting me make her feel good, yeah? Letting me love on her thighs.”

You nod without thinking, just agreeing with whatever comes out his mouth. You’re getting warmer and warmer, wound tighter and tighter. This time when you go searching for his hand across the sheets, Steve spots it right away and his free hand lurches out to intertwine with yours. He gives it a quick squeeze.

“You squeeze real hard to tell me how good m’doing, okay?” He says, not really asking — because then his mouth is back on your clit, his finger in your cunt joined by another and moving with renewed vigour. A moan warbles out your throat, hips rolling in your pleasure as he plays with your body in that perfect way only he seems to know. Pleasure mounts, close to blooming. Your thighs start to tremble.

Your hold his hand is so tight, you must leave indent marks, half moons on his skin — and you don’t let up the whole entire time. Testament to how good he is, at loving you and making you feel good.

[inklessletter]

No, but hear me out; Steve is genuinely good with kids and toddlers. Like, absurdly good. He engages with them because he finds them not only adorable, but really fun to be around. Steve kind of gets how they think, loves to play with them, their funny logic, how seriously they take what’s happening in their busy little minds. He finds them fascinating, and they often surprise him in the best ways. Steve respects them, and kids perceive that and love and respect him back. Also, to Steve, spending time with kids is socially freeing. When he’s around kids he’s not worrying about social cues, or saying something wrong, or can stop paying attention to his manners or his looks.

Steve loves kids, and kids love him back. 

And Holly Wheeler is the living proof of that.

Read it on Ao3

There is a bonus scene of this, just saying

—

You drew stars (around my scars)

Mike was the only one in the family who actively resisted to like Steve. Since he set foot in the Wheelers household, everyone in the family seemed to be head over heels for him. He had heard his father admitting more than once that Steve was a fine good young man; his mom was delighted with him since the very first dinner because he helped with the cleaning up after every time (he even brought flowers every now and then, ugh); and of course, he had to endure Nancy’s annoying pining and giggling for months. Then they started dating and he was at home almost every day and it was insufferable having him around every goddamn day. 

But the worst one was Holly.

Before Steve, Holly used to chase Mike around, wanting to be with him all the time. Of course, Mike shoved her out almost every time, especially when his friends were over. Lucas understood him; he knew what having an annoying little sister was like. Sometimes she was around, when they were drawing their D&D characters, Will would save a seat for her and let her borrow his big box of colors, or Dustin gave her treats under the table.

Mike Wheeler didn’t want to deal with Holly after him all the time, but when Steve showed up, Holly got totally smitten with him. He wouldn’t pressure her to give him a kiss, but instead, he high fived her. Steve called Holly “Super Star”.

“Hey, what’s up, Super Star? How was school today? Did Timmy borrow your doll? Again?”

“Hey Super Star, wanna sit next to me for dinner? I bet I can beat you, I’ll eat my baby carrots faster than you!”

“I heard Super Star was feeling funny in the tummy today. Are you okay? Will you feel better if we make a tea party with your stuffed buddies? Yeah?”

Then, suddenly Super Star didn’t want to do anything with Mike anymore. Now it was all Steve. 

(Sure, Mike didn’t like having her around, but he didn’t want Steve to steal her from him either. That’s two out of two, not that long ago, Nancy actually DMed campaigns for him and his friends, and then she decided she liked him and now it was suddenly a dumb game.)

When Nancy dumped his stupid ass in November of 1985 Mike almost made a happy dance. The nightmare was over.

But the fucker appeared at the door the day before Christmas with a gift for Holly. He didn’t stay for dinner, but he handed it to Karen. 

It was a stupid light board.

Dustin was suddenly attached to him now. Now they were friends. Lucas was also fond of him. Steve was cool now for his friends too, apparently. And don’t get him wrong, what he did to defend them was amazing. He hated to admit that it was a little bit cool (but Steve’s panicked face when he woke up in the back of Billy’s car driven by Max was awesome). 

Yeah, after all that shit they talked a little bit. Mike made himself crystal clear that he still didn’t like him, and Steve just sighed and told him that he knew. Mike was about to go victorious after that, but Stupid Steve had to add “anyhow, if you need anything, you can always reach me.”

He still kept showing up for Holly’s birthdays. He still brought her Christmas presents secretly. Mike knew that Steve showed up considerably early when he was going to pick him up and his friends to give them a ride to the arcade, or to the mall, or wherever just to spend half an hour playing with Holly. 

Holly laughed the loudest whenever they were playing in the living room together. And it’s not that Mike wasn’t glad that his sister was happy, it was just— He couldn’t be so flawless. Nancy called him bullshit, she must have seen something in him. No one was that perfect.

He was still around for the upcoming apocalypses. He was starting to make peace with the fact that Steve wasn’t going anywhere, when he stole yet another friend from Mike.

Now he and Eddie had bonded. 

They were often together and that riled Mike up like no other. Hawkins was full of people, did Steve have to put a goddamn spell on anyone around him?

Even when Mike hosted in his basement the Hellfire campaigns after Eddie graduated, Eddie showed up at his front door with Steve.

“You are not a Hellfire member, Steve,” Mike deadpanned.

As an answer, Steve lifted a box. A brand new toy doctor kit. He smiled.

“I didn’t come to see you anyway. Isn’t Holly’s birthday this weekend? I have an early gift for her.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Get new material, Wheeler,” Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie observed the interaction, both of them coming in. Mike closed the door.

“Well, I mean, I’m not surprised you want to spend so much time with Holly, I guess you need someone of your intellect so you can stop feeling stupid all the time around adults.”

Steve stopped for a second. He looked at him as if he wanted to actually reply. He let out a sigh, and went upstairs. God, Mike resisted the urge to fully smile. He glanced at Eddie, who was giving him a dead serious, borderline angry look.

Mike rolled his eyes.

“Wheeler, while I do appreciate that you’re hosting the new campaign, I’m gonna say something, and I’m gonna say this just once, so listen carefully. Treat him like this once more, and you’re out of Hellfire.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s bullshit!” 

“No, you being an asshole with him is. I already lectured Dustin for this, and now I’m lecturing you. I will not tolerate any Hellfire member to behave like this towards friends. That, that is bullshit.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Like hell he’s not. He cares for you, he does shit for you and you not only do not thank him, you pay him by treating him like shit. He’s saved your ass several times. He pays your fucking late dues, man. Like, shit, give back the tapes on time, Christ.”

Mike was fully uncomfortable now. He crossed his arms and bit his tongue to not snap at Eddie any more.

“Look,” Eddie said, calming his tone. “I don’t know if anything happened between you two, and I don’t want to know, but he’s going through a lot lately. A lot, Mike. You don’t—Shit, you don’t have to like him. Just—just don’t treat him like this, okay? I’m serious about cutting you off Hellfire if you keep this shit.”

Eddie headed down the basement, and Mike was left uneasy.

That afternoon was by far his worst performance in D&D. He had been replaying the conversation with Eddie in his head on and off all the time, but Eddie didn’t give him shit for it, because he knew.

Eddie, an understanding DM as he was, called on a break, and Mike bolted upstairs.

He headed to Holly’s bedroom, the door wasn’t closed all the way. He stopped before coming in to put his thoughts in order and apologize properly. He heard the voices behind the door.

“Doctor Super Star, there are no more patients for you to save! You did great! You cured them all!” Steve said in a funny voice.

“But your tummy hurts!”

“My tummy hurts? Oh, no, ugh! It hurts so bad!”

Mike peeped, still hidden, observing the scene. He saw Steve doing a pretty poor performance of a faint, and he fell, belly up over the rug, amongst the plush toys scattered around. Holly, dressed as a doctor, rounded him and kneeled at his side. 

“I’m going to give you an injection to save you!”

“Oh, please, Doctor Super Star, please, it hurts so bad! N-no, Holly, holly don’t lift my—”

Holly did, and Mike froze. 

Both Wheelers looked at the sudden exposed skin of Steve, all covered in nasty, pink scars. Eddie’s words resonated in the back of his mind loud and clear, and he suddenly understood what Steve was going through lately. Those scars were—God, they were gruesome. That must have hurt like shit. He heard what happened, but now he was seeing it.

That could have been his sister.

Or Robin.

That could have been anyone there, but it was Steve.

Mike gulped, feeling a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s okay, Holly,” Steve spoke softly, but Mike could feel the nervous, vulnerable tone after his words.

Holly passed a finger ever so slightly, over one of the scars. She looked both curious and serious. Steve’s abdomen flinched a bit.

“Does it hurt?” Holly asked, softly.

Steve closed his eyes and put on a flaky smile, facing the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Yeah they—they hurt sometimes.”

Steve let her wander her small hand, examining his torso. 

“They’re pretty.”

A silence. A broken voice. “They’re not.”

“Yes, they are. They look like stars.”

Then, Holly, slowly, put against his stomach a bright pink toy syringe and faked an injection.

“Now you’re cured. Now it doesn’t hurt.”

Mike couldn’t see Steve’s whole face, but he saw enough before he turned away from Holly to see. His expression crumpled, and he saw Steve’s bob apple up and down a couple times. If he wasn’t crying, he was about to.

“You cured me, Doctor Super Star. Good job!”

“Wait! I’m not finished!”

Holly jolted to his drawer, where he kept all her drawing stuff. She came back with a few colored sharpies, and got back to the same position she was before. Steve observed her. 

Then Holly put the sharpie nib softly against Steve’s belly, and he observed.

She drew stars over Steve’s scars.

“See? They are pretty. They’re stars.”

Steve smiled at her. She beamed.

“They are stars. They are pretty.”

After a few seconds, Steve cleared his throat and suggested Holly tidy up all around and draw for a little bit in the living room. Only then Mike reacted, and left the hallway, going back down to the basement.

By the look he gave Mike when he came back, Eddie must have noticed something weird in Mike, but didn’t say anything.

When it was time for all of them to leave (seriously, Mike had been a total disaster), Eddie hushed them all to the van. Steve was saying his goodbyes, and then Mike spoke before he left.

“Hey, Steve.”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

There was a silence, in which Mike tried to find the words. Steve waited.

“I never—I will give the tapes back on time from now on. I’m sorry for that.”

Steve was puzzled. 

“Okay?”

Mike was shit apologizing. Mike was shit communicating, at best. He was shit at being vulnerable. Mike was shit at feelings.

“Yeah, and—thank you for—you know. The, um—yeah.”

Mike pursed his lips, crossed his arms. He pinned his eyes to the floor. He could feel his ears and his cheeks grow hotter and pinker.

“Yeah. No problem.”

He could feel Steve’s soft smile in his voice.

“You can go now.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Mike,” he said. “Good night Doctor Super Star!” 

Holly waved him from Karen’s arms. She even threw him a kiss. He captured it in the air and put it in his pocket.

Mike rolled his eyes.

Ugh.

[actuallycassidyiambusy]

Duuuude you're brave for posting your art on Twitter. People over there are fucking crybabies and will literally harass you for drawing fake people in a way they don't like.

I'm not one of them. I love your art and the way you draw. Bluffy is my new favorite ship because of you. I'm just saying you're bold as fuck and I seriously envy your courage.

This pisses me off for several reasons. First, I'll be clear. Anon, you did not piss me off in any way, so do not be put off by the aggression of my reply.

Nobody should be fucking scared to post their art anywhere. Art of fictional characters doing WHATEVER is exactly what it is. Art and fiction. I am so goddamn tired of these prissy fucking babies coming at artists who are simply enjoying themselves. "Antis" and the whole "proship dni" community who base their morality on how you portray fiction can suck a fat fucking cock. They so desperately tell us not to interact with them, but the moment we post something we're proud of, all of a sudden they wanna talk. All of a sudden, interaction is okay. As long as it's an attack from THEM. As long as they can degrade, threaten and make us feel like we don't have any right to enjoy something that literally doesn't fucking hurt them.

They can come at me from right and fucking left, I'll still fucking post whatever the hell I want. They know where the block button is. They know how to filter tags. If they'd rather come onto my post that had nothing to do with them in the first place, and bitch at me, I'll gladly post more. Shit, I'll post it AGAIN and tag them if they want to play around. I don't put up with hate and I certainly don't put up with people who wanna cry and come at me for something that's fucking FAKE.

LET PEOPLE FUCKING ENJOY THINGS. FOR FUCK'S SAKE. Anons come into my inbox or people dm me asking me to light someone up for bullying or threatening that they receive. What do you fuckers gain by screenshotting and blasting artists who don't even fucking know you? What do you gain by bitching and crying at artists who just want to enjoy their ships or literally anything else? Screenshot me, bitch. Go ahead. Post your petty little comments about how wrong I am and how you're morally superior because you would NEVER. Go off about a fictional piece that "hurts" you while you continue to hurt the artist who created it even more. OR, and this is just a mere suggestion, you can move on from your high school stage, grow the fuck up, and learn how to scroll past shit you don't like. It's the fucking internet, sweetheart.

Post whatever the fuck you want. INDULGE in that shit. Enjoy your kinks and your fantasies. Enjoy your fictional characters kissing and falling in love in seventeen different ways. Draw it, write it, read it, post it. And if someone wants to bother you, hell, you know where the block button is too. No shame in blocking people and keeping your peace. Surround yourself with people who fucking encourage you and all your weird shit. It makes you happy. That's what matters.

Once again anon, I am not mad at you lmao. I'm mad at people who can't separate fiction from reality, and feel the need to drag those who CAN through the mud.

[gentlebilady]

My other Chappell Roan Harringrove songfic

Steve was blowing like a goddamn race horse, his breaths loud and quick. His body was trembling, fine tremors running through his legs, his stomach clenched tight. He opened his eyes and looked out the windshield of the car – it was dark but the moon was bright and it lit up the cornfield they’d parked by. He looked down when the head his hands had been gripping shifted; Steve forced himself to release the curly hair wrapped around his fingers. Billy was grimacing.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy grunted.

“This fucking hurts, dip shit.”

Steve giggled, the sound escaping him before he realized what he was doing.

“Oh yeah, yuck it up. You get your rocks off, and I’m squeezed into a footwell like a goddamn clown.”

Steve’s hand, completely independent of his brain, brushed a few strands out of Billy’s eyes; those eyes closed and his head leaned into the hand, before Billy huffed a breath, pinching Steve’s exposed hip and slapping at the door.

“Come on, man, open up. I gotta stand up, my legs are killing me.”

Steve started to open the door, then, belatedly, did a quick look around, checking to make sure no other cars had pulled up. The backroad wasn’t commonly used as far as Steve knew, but teenagers were always looking for new spots to neck. The area was empty. Steve stumbled out, feeling weak and giddy, and did up his jeans. There was a scuffle by the car and he spun around.

Billy was down on one knee in the grass, cursing and frantically rubbing his calf.

“Fffffuck.”

Steve grimaced in sympathy.

“Charlie horse?”

Billy grunted before falling back on his ass and stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back against the car. Steve knelt by his feet, wrapped his hands around the man’s calves, and started long strokes up and down. It wasn’t easy over the denim but he found a rhythm. He noticed the silence after a moment and looked up.

Billy was watching his hands, his upper body relaxed against the warm metal of his Camaro. His eyes shot to Steve’s and Steve suddenly felt the way he did when Billy crawled between his legs in the front seat: heart racing, mind blank. Somehow, it had the same feeling of intimacy, despite everyone having all their clothes on.

“What are you doing?” Billy’s voice had an edge of something in it that Steve didn’t recognize, but it stopped his hands in their tracks.

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Just trying to help. I would do this when I got cramps.”

Billy was silent for a moment before drawing his legs away and standing up.

“Thanks, man, I’m good.”

Steve was left kneeling on the ground looking up and feeling just a little bit foolish, though he wasn’t sure why. He quickly stood.

“Yeah, sure. So, um, whatcha wanna do now?”

Billy twitched.

“I’m heading to Jenning’s.”

“Chris?”

“Yeah. He’s having some sort of party or whatever.”

“Oh.” Steve felt even more off center. “I thought we were-”

“You want me to drop you at your house?”

“oh. Um, yeah, sure.”

Billy headed around to the driver’s side and slid into the car. Steve tried to gather himself for a moment, before getting into the passenger seat. The seat was still pushed all the way back and he immediately had a vision of Billy on the floor between his legs, fingers scrabbling at his zipper. The memory gave him some courage.

“Actually, take me to Chris’. I forgot it was his birthday.”

*

Steve hadn’t exactly forgotten. He knew about the party and had been planning to go. But that morning he’d been playing a game of pick up at the local park with some guys he used to play on the school team with and Billy had shown up. Steve hadn’t seen or spoken to him since he’d graduated – he was just as gorgeous as Steve remembered. Surprisingly, he also seemed calmer, more settled in his body. As the day got hotter, the game got lazier, and after a few hours, the group started to break up and head to wherever they were going, and Billy drifted over to Steve.

“Hey man, wanna hit up the diner?” He looked directly at Steve as he said it, his eyes focused and piercing.

“What?” Steve squinted – he had no idea what Billy was asking. Billy snorted.

“Do you want to grab something to eat at the diner?”

“With you?”

“Yeah, man, obviously.”

“Why?”

“Jesus, Harrington, I don’t know! To catch up, or something!” Billy started to turn away. “Forget it, man.”

“Oh! Um, sure. I’m starving.” Billy stopped and swiveled back, glaring at Steve.

“Meet you there?” Steve smiled as he stuffed his towel and water bottle in his bag.

Billy had a wary look on his face, but it dropped as Steve fought his belongings.

“Sure. See you there.” He turned away and walked to his car, his body loose but powerful. Steve caught himself staring and shook his head, picking up his overfull bag and headed to his own car.

~

I got dragged into a reading hole for the last week or so (the Merry Gentry series, A Taste of Gold and Iron, and now The Cruel Prince) but I'm itching to write again, so -

HERE YOU GO!!!

There is more. It has not been edited. I write and post like a giddy kindergartener using their favorite two crayons to color a picture that should probably have more than two colors, and then running to show it to their teacher.

Y'all are the teacher.

[siriustaylorsversion]

Hi!

I love your writing and just wanted to request a sadie sink x reader where they both are starring in stranger things. It can be both in social media and irl.

Thank you!!!

daylight

thank you!! i wasn't sure if you wanted it to be just social media separately so i made it a mix of both... i am so in love with sadie sink it's not a joke.

face claim: gacie abrams warnings: language based on the song daylight by taylor swift!

My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in Everyone looked worse in the light There are so many lines that I've crossed unforgiven I'll tell you the truth, but never goodbye

I never thought that one day would turn my life over this much. I went from just a high school kid to an actress in strangers things along with some of my best friends and as cheesy as this sounds... my heart. Sadie and I had been best friends for two years (while I had the biggest crush on her, mind you) before one drunken night I kissed her out of the blue... imagine my surprise when she kissed me back...

I was on cloud nine. It felt like a dream. Hell, it still does! Every time she looks at me with those gorgeous blue eyes gives me that smile, talks to me with her intoxicating voice, and every goddamn time she touches me, I lose it. And... so do the fans.

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night And now I see daylight, I only see daylight

yourname.official

yourname.official happy two years @sadesink!!! i am so so lucky to have you by my side. you are my rock, my best friend, and my soulmate and i am grateful for all the highs and lows and for every single moment i've spent with you. thank you for your unwavering support, your infectious laughter, and your unconditional love. you are the reason I wake up each day with a smile on my face, and the thought of spending my life with you fills me with joy. happy anniversary, my love. Here's to many more years of love, laughter, and happiness. liked by sadiesink, taylorswift and 3,09,800 others.

sadiesink You really brought tears in my eyes. I love you so so much. Thank you for... everything 🥺💕

forever.more OMFG MY PARENTS 🥺 fearstrx you're both so gorgeous!!!! y/nsinks this duo is the only reason i believe in love anymore 😔 yourname.forevermore I LOVE THIS. I LOVE YOU BOTH. I'VE FINALLY STARTED LOVING LIFE.

milliebobbybrown 💘🥺

taylornation you guys!!! 💓

yourname.forevermore SCREAMING.CRYING.THROWINGUP.

Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky And so I became the butt of the joke I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now It's brighter now, now

-flashback-

"You what?!" I asked furrowing my brows feeling a mixture of anger and confusion. "I revealed that we're dating on the jimmy fallon show..." she said with uncertainty in her eyes. "I heard what you said.. but why?" I asked. "Do you not want anyone to know-" "No, of course, I do but, are you sure that YOU want to be seen with me?" She walked up and gave me a hug from behind which she knows always calms me down... "There's nothing I'd want more," she said almost in tears. "I'm- don't cry, Sades" I mutter with my eyes closed. "Sadie... I care about you so so much but you realize both our managing teams said that it's best not to reveal this, right?!" "You think I care, I don't want to hear any of their remarks but the thing that I want most is to be with you!" she hugged me from behind, knowing my weakness. "Of course, I want that too. I just want what's most beneficial for you..." I said. "Well, staying with you has many many benefits" she whispered laughing into the crook of my neck. "Oh my, ms. Sink, you've managed to convince me" I finally break into a smile and pull her in front of me.

And I can still see it all (In my mind) All of you, all of me (Intertwined) I once believed love would be (Black and white) But it's golden (Golden) And I can still see it all (In my head) Back and forth from New York (Sneaking in your bed) I once believed love would be (Burning red) But it's golden Like daylight, like daylight Like daylight, daylight

We had finished our press release and were walking to a pub with the whole cast. Sadie looked like a goddess. No joke, she looked better than Aphrodite herself and I had just zoned out thinking about how goddamn lucky I was. Of course, being the darling she is, she noticed this and gave me a playful nudge... "I'm so fucking lucky to have you in my life, Sadie Sink" I look her in the eyes and voice my thoughts. "Yes, you are now don't get all sappy on me," She says while squeezing my hands three times. This woman right here? I'm gonna marry her. I decided that right then and there. The light that she's gotten in my world.. she's the literal definition of sunshine in my eyes. She's my daylight. She is my everything I realize watching her with pride shining in my eyes.

Like daylight It's golden like daylight You gotta step into the daylight and let it go Just let it go, let it go

-flashback-

It was terrifying, our 5-month anniversary... I had rehearsed many many scripts before but now my head fails me as I am in front of the love of my life finally wanting to admit it that I loved her...

We paused in front of our favorite bakery and got our favorite croissants. Sitting on the bench I let my panic take over... "Okay I need to tell you something but I need you to stay quiet," She said to me. "Thank you for being here with me for so long and I am so so grateful for you. You're the most perfect girl I've ever seen and" "Okay..." I managed to speak out but all I saw was black and white as I anticipated the words "but we should see other people".

"I-" she stayed quiet for the longest thirteen seconds of my life and then she said, "it's been occurring to me that I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life." It was our thing... when we couldn't express our feelings fully with words, we started using lyrics.

I wanna be defined by the things that I love Not the things I hate Not the things that I'm afraid of, I'm afraid of Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night I, I just think that You are what you love

"I love you, y/n y/l/n" she said looking up at me with hopeful eyes. "Well, damn you beat me to it. And with Taylor swift lyrics, how original!" I talked back. "Shut up you scared me there" she laughed out.

"I’ve never been so into somebody before and every time we both touch I only want more. I love you more, Sadie Sink" I say

"Not possible!" She says and just as I am about to counter her, she kisses me to shut me up. Yes... the best day ever.

[spoonsock]

Intruder

Gwen Stacy x Reader

Synopsis: You live a boring life, someone breaks into your house and you successfully convince yourself you are schizophrenic lmao

I don’t think I’ve specified reader’s gender anywhere so I guess this is gender neutral but I haven’t proofread it so I’m not sure srry

Warnings: Absolute shitty writing and mentions of an injury I guess. NOT PROOFREAD I WROTE THIS AT 3AM I SWEAR TO GOD THIS IS AWFUL!!!!!

“Best years of your life”, they would say. And you would listen. Daydreaming about adolescence and what it would be like. But no amount of daydreaming or storytelling could prepare you for what you were about to experience. Nobody told you you were going to have to face the inevitable, deadly boredom.

It’s summer, for God’s sake. You were supposed to be going out, having fun, getting drunk or high, partying or something of the sorts. And yet, here you are, laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. It’s not late, the sun is just setting and still, you are in your pajamas. Just laying there, blankly staring at the big, white ceiling. You blink every so often. It’s pathetic. Frustrating. There’s so many things you wanna do, so many things you could do. You wonder, “what’s stopping me?”…. Oh yeah. You have no social life nor the social skills to be going out almost every night. Your best friend is your cat, the only people who text you are your parents, in school you barely talk to your roommate, even less to the people from your classes. You go to this prestigious school and study your ass off day and night to pass your classes, just like everyone else there. You doubt anyone from your school, even those with average grades, have a social life.

But all of that doesn’t matter now tho. It’s summer. No school, no pressure, no work. Just chilling all day. Having fun during the night. Not you though. You are once again starting at your goddamn ceiling, not moving an inch. Your parents aren’t at home, and won’t be back anytime soon. “I could throw a party”… you laugh at the thought. Tonight is just like any other night. You’ll listen to your music or draw or do whatever and then go to bed at 9 PM. How pathetic.

You close your eyes. Your chest is moving up and down while you breathe steadily. You slowly drift to sleep, thinking about how peaceful life is currently.

Fate is a funny thing. You say something along the lines “life is peaceful”, and the next moment, the window in the room next to yours, your sibling’s room, shatters into thousands of tiny pieces of glass everywhere across your room. Someone broke into your house. Your eyes are now wide open and breathing is fast and unsteady. You’re literally frozen and grasping at the sheets on your bed, scared to make sudden move or to let out a single noise. You can hear someone trashing around in the room, stumbling, stomping, kicking. You can even hear the person very silently curse a few times. The fuck are they doing? Some time passes by, the noises the person was making stopped. “Maybe they left? I need to check”.

You decide to muster up some courage to sit up, and grab a pair of scissors from your work table with shaky hands. You have no idea what you can do with those scissors, honestly, they are not even that sharp, but you do feel a little safer while holding them. Afraid to make a sound, you move on the very tips of your toes, one step at a time, carefully listening in case you hear something from the other room. You press your ear onto the door of it, trying to figure out if there’s someone there. Your hands are still shaking and sweaty from the nervousness. Nothing. Not a single sound. “They must have left”

You grip your scissors in one hand and put your palm over the door handle, before slowly pressing down and opening the door quietly. You peer inside the dark room, the only light is coming from your own through the crack between the door and the wall. The more you open the door, the more of the light comes in. Suddenly, you see something move in the dark.

“Who’s there?” You tried to sound confident, but it didn’t really work as your voice broke when you tried to speak.

No answer. Holding the scissors closer and tighter, you open the door fully to lighten the whole room. Someone is laying on the floor. Someone dressed up in a white costume or something like that. You come closer and squint your eyes trying to see who is that.

“Is that….? No, it can’t be”

Yeah, yes it can be. The spider-woman, or Ghost spider as some called her, in the flesh. In your house. Bleeding onto your floor.

“What the heelllll”

You sit on the floor next to her limp body. She’s obviously unconscious, not dead. There’s a small puddle of blood around her leg. She’s laying on her back directly under the window, surrounded by the glass. There’s a huge hole in her costume on her left leg, the one closer to you, from which she’s bleeding. All over your floor. You stare at her wondering what the actual fuck is going on. You’re stuck there for a few moments before pulling yourself back to reality. The Spider-woman is bleeding on your floor. You gotta do something bruh.

You quickly run out of the room and return with a first aid kit. Everything is moving in a blur, you can’t tell whether this is all some kind of a fucked up dream or reality, but whatever it is, the only thing you are sure of is that you gotta help her. You clean the cut on her leg with something from the kit, put something jelly on it, and then wrap her leg with a towel. You have no idea what you just did or will it help but it did stop the bleeding so you just move on and start wiping the blood off of the flor with a wet rag. After a while of cleaning the floor next to the unconscious body of Spider-woman while your mind is completely blank, you hear a few groans. The pit in your stomach grows and you wonder what the actual frick should you do when she wakes up, which will apparently be, any time now. You guess she opened up her eyes (you can’t tell bc, you know, the mask and all) as she slowly rose in a sitting position, holding her head in one of her hands, rubbing her temple. She looks around herself and, I shit you not, flinches so hard that she hits her head on the window frame behind her when she sees you. You let out a loud gasp when she does so, even more scared of her than she is of you.

“Ouch, damn it! Where am I? Who are you? What is going on? I-“ she starts frantically.

“Stop stop stop calm down please!” you wave your hands around her, not knowing what to do while she looks around in panic shaking her head. Her eyes land on her leg and widen even more.

“What happened to my leg??” She looks at you. Well, you don’t really know if she’s looking at you, you can’t see her eyes, but you suppose she is and attempt to answer to all of her questions.

“You had a cut on your leg so I did…something with it and now it’s not bleeding anymore” you *try to* explain.

“Oh”

It’s quiet for a moment before you narrow your eyes at her and decide it’s time for you to start asking questions about this weird situation.

“You broke into my house and then blacked out. What the hell was all that??”

“I-I don’t know, I don’t remember anything!” She raises her hands up in defense.

It’s quiet again. She’s intensely staring at you while you look at everything around the room but her. You don’t know what to do. The Spider-woman is in your house. Well, she broke into it but still. She’s there.

You always held some sort of admiration towards her, even though your parents disliked her. Said she was a vigilante, how she doesn’t really help the cops, how she wouldn’t wear a mask unless she had something to hide. You didn’t care why she wore a mask. You liked what she did and thought it was admirable. You thought about how cool it must be, to be a superhero, to save lives and have amazing powers and do amazing shit all day. How cool it must be to be special. To be somebody. To be somebody to someone.

She’s still looking at you. The fuck is her problem? “Okay” you sigh and get up. “Is your leg any better?”

She attempts to get up and slowly succeeds. She steps on her left leg and you can tell she made a sour face after doing so, but quickly hides the expression she thought you couldn’t even see. “Yeah I guess”

You made her tea. She sat on your couch and drank it. It was silent for a while. For a long while. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. More like a “we’re both too tired to talk, so it isn’t awkward, it’s just silent” silence, you know?

You would glance at her every now and then. Even in her costume, even under her mask, you thought she was pretty. You could just feel it. Something about her was so…inviting and…pretty.

More time passed and she had to go. Said something along the lines of having to run an errand. You nodded. She promised she’ll come back and fix your window ASAP. You let her know it was okay (even though the thought of attempting to explain how “you” broke the window in your sibling’s room to your parents AND to your sibling sent shivers down your spine) and escorted her out of the door this time. The absence of her presence kinda disturbed you.

“Whatever”, you thought and went back to your room, back to staring at the ceiling, waiting to fall asleep and hoping that when you wake up, the window will be magically fixed and your meeting with Spider-woman will turn out to be just a dream.

And magically enough, the window was fixed the next morning when you woke up. You asked your parents did they see anything unusual at home when they returned from wherever they were and the answer was a no. “Huh…weird. Maybe it was all a dream after all”

And that’s what you continued telling yourself. I mean, you didn’t have any proof that it wasn’t just a really really random dream. So you *tried to* believe it. And it kinda worked. But you couldn’t help but to hope you will dream of your intruder some time again.

Few weeks later, you met someone who goes to your school for the very first time. At your local grocery store, of all places. Her name was Gwen Stacy. She was really pretty and seemed nice, her dad was a cop and she lived actually really close to you. Surprisingly, you found yourself wanting to be friends with her. You, also, found yourself not being able to shake off a weird feeling that you recognized her voice from somewhere.

Once again I repeat, this was written at 3:11 AM and it has not been proofread, please do not come @ me☺️

[dogboygirl]

does anyone else think that it's fucking evil that if you go to animation school they won't teach you how to like, realize your artistic vision, they'll teach you how to draw profitably. like does anyone else think that's fucked up because i think that's fucked up. "these styles aren't popular for animation these days" "you'll never make it with art direction like this" that's cool i don't fucking care because maybe life isn't all about making a cartoon pitch to disney XD maybe i just wanna fucking create art. AND like yeah i know american college is just a big fucking rigamarole to earn bullshit credentials that ostensibly might make you more hireable to a bullshit job that gives you MAYBE enough money to live your life with like it IS undeniably a capitalist venture but goddamn maybe i just want a little guidance in making my art exactly what i wanna make it free of the influence of what the Corporate Overlords Of Animation are deeming suitable for their respective streaming services. which by the way lately seems like fucking NOTHING the way they're Unexistifying perfectly good shows left and right. goddamn. gooddamn. no i actually don't attend art school

[theaawalker]

✨NEW WRITEBLR TAG GAME JUST DROPPED✨

If you're struggling with breathing life into your OC's, try this funny yet stupidly simple trick/writeblr tag game I just came up with. I call it the 'Roast Your OCS and Like Michael Scott' tag game. 🤣

So, we've all seen the 'Boom, Roasted' scene from The Office, right? We all know it's not good to put down your characters, because they're like your babies and are in general very complicated beings.

For this exercise, throw all those principals out the window!

Gather all the juicy, mean shit out for this exercise and toss it al them! 😭 In this tag game, we're gonna be reducing all our OC's to the most hurtful, blunt, and callous roast that will render of them more screwed then they already are!

To Duke: "Duke, you’re like a Disney prince nobody asked for. You’re too good for this world, but not good enough to make it interesting. Chosen ones never have a choice? More like audiences never have a choice but to yawn when you talk. Boom! Roasted."

To Claire: "Claire, Master of Spirit? More like Master of Complaints. You’re not a badass; you’re a walking mood swing with a weapon. Your powers? Clairvoyance and foresight? Congratulations, you can see the future and still choose to spend yours rotting on the couch. Boom! Roasted."

To Butch: "Butch, your name sounds as gay as you try not to be. You’re not a character; you’re a mid-life crisis with legs. Everything about you screams ‘I peaked in high school,’ except nobody noticed when you peaked. If testosterone were a person, it would still be more sensitive than you. Boom! Roasted."

To Lucas: "Lucas, you’re like a background character that accidentally got a storyline. The only thing less convincing than your powers is your charisma. You’re like oatmeal — nobody hates you, but nobody wants you, either. Boom! Roasted."

To Andy: "Andy, you’re so boring even your own powers take naps. You’re the guy people forget is in the room until you cough. Your whole vibe is like a knock-off Matthew McConaughey who thinks he's in charge. Spoiler alert: you’re not. Boom! Roasted."

To Barry: "Barry, genuine question: are you serial killer? Seriously, nobody's that happy. You’re proof that comic relief doesn’t always work. Ironically, the relief comes when you leave the room. On the plus side, what you lack in humor, you also lack in intelligence. Matter of fact, spell dumbfounded . . . . . . . . . Boom! Roasted."

To Scott: "Scott, you’re basically a feral child someone dressed up and threw into society. You walk around like a raccoon in a trench coat trying to blend in. I never thought someone raised by animals could be so goddamn boring. In fact, you probably won’t even react to this roast because yawn, same energy. Boom! Roasted."

To Dawn: "Dawn, you’re Claire’s boyfriend, which means you spend your whole life dodging her tantrums. Honestly, it’s impressive how much nothing you’ve done with that position. ‘Boyfriend’ doesn’t mean you have to be the side dish nobody orders. Boom! Roasted."

For this tag game I'm gonna be tagging A LOT of people but mainly people who've interacted with me recently. Free to reblog if you see this on your dash, even if you're not tagged. I find this shit HILARIOUS and I would love to see what everyone manages to come up with! No pressure at all if you don't wanna participate, this is all just for fun. ❤️😊

tags: @drcomttheo, @haliaiii, @godsgutz, @nymphmoth, @happ1edt, @meer-draws, @inkfeatherz, @papikyoo, @aruamane, @0o02rr, @chewingurteeth, @weirdsillycreature, @gingeralesoda, @arti-squid, @spiritproductionsart, @obscured-morality, @yukicasterart, @cakekittenn, @nanami-daily, @shruvski, @candlefox99, @zzzzombroccoli, @aoihhana, @nasoleil, @blighted-elf, @reywaffle, @danlikes2art, @vulturandes, @julymarte, @amalgamcorps @gnomewife @yourpenpaldee

[mooncello]

What a fun Sunday so far. ⚡ thank you for the tags @bookish-bogwitch (LOVE seeing some of your writing process), @shrekgogurt (still haven't recovered from ch 13 of ikabikam in the best way possible), @emeryhall (happy anniversary!) & @you-remind-me-of-the-babe (anguished Baz is such a vibe fr).

For today's update:

Enter Niall & Dev.

Truly one of the most unexpected delights of writing this fic has been the insistence of Niall and Dev to show up and take a prominent role in the story. I adore them. I adore them as individual characters, and I love who they are for Baz.

Here's a little from chapter 2 of lost boys. This chapter will publish next week! I'm traveling this week, so I'll post once I'm back.

Under the cut because of length. It's a 30+ sentence Sunday, y'all.

Baz POV, 16 yo, year 12 (school).

Towards the end of lunch, I hear a familiar booming laugh across the canteen. I figure I have two minutes until impact. I tuck my sketchbook and pencils away and twist the lid back onto my thermos of tea. “Just a head’s up,” I say to Niall, who is still contently working away, “we’re about to be interrupted by the demon of chaos hims—” “Bazza!” There’s the solid thump of a hand against my shoulder and the dramatic collapse of tall, muscular limbs into the seat beside me. “My favourite nerd. How’s it going, cuz?” Dev flashes his white, perfect teeth at me before snatching my remaining bourbon biscuit. His fingernails are painted turquoise today, his dark hair is swept away from his face, and he’s wearing eyeliner. The bastard looks amazing. Despite being cousins, we never really hung out as kids. Always kept to different social circles. Which is to say Dev constantly had a roving pack of friends, and I had nobody (save for the lost boys in my dreams). But when I got outed this past spring, Dev decided to take a more active presence in my life. He even convinced me to join the football team with him. He’s charismatic and popular in his own way, and so unabashedly and loudly himself that even the nastiest bullies don’t bother him. It's been nice, having Dev in my life. Even though it means I now deal with his chaotic, abrasive personality all the goddamn time. “Dev, this is Niall.” I make a small sweeping motion to the boy across from us. Dev raises his chin in greeting. “New kid. Hey.” Niall smiles faintly. He looks rather disoriented. Possibly awestruck. I don’t blame him. Dev tends to have that effect on people. I’m almost envious of it. Another smack hits my upper arm. “Did’ya hear about practice this afternoon? Thirty minutes later than usual.” “Yes, I received the same team-wide notification, Dev, thank you.” Dev is now peering at Niall’s drawing tablet without shame, while continuing to talk to me. “A bunch of us are getting ice cream after the match on Friday. Wanna join?” “That’s a very solid maybe,” I tell him in a tone that communicates I’d rather eat grass laced with slug poison. I like playing on the pitch, but I’m not about to huff dairy with a bunch of footballer lads. “Great.” Dev stands, all six feet of him, and squeezes my top knot. I sigh and bat his hand away. Clearly I need to have another conversation with him about acceptable physical contact. “See you at practice then. Nice meeting you, Niall.” He’s off in a swirl of flair and overpriced body spray. “Sorry about him,” I murmur to Niall. I really hope he’s not scared off.

hellos & tags! xoxo

@thewholelemon, @best--dress, @facewithoutheart, @cutestkilla, @whatevertheweather, @artsyunderstudy, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @fatalfangirl, @youarenevertooold, @raenestee, @orange-peony, @ileadacharmedlife, @nightimedreamersworld, @rimeswithpurple, @iamamythologicalcreature, @shemakesmeforget & @arthurkko (your merwolves ... still thinking about your merwolves)

[your-unfriendlyghost]

How'd you end up discovering your art style?

Well, it wasn’t much of a discovery- it’s just how I draw, I guess! It evolves over time and changes based on what artists I’m looking up to and what styles I’m into

But I can give ya a (recent-ish) evolution of my style/a break-down on all its influences over the past two years if ya wanna see how it all happened!

-

Some stuff from July-October of 2022

Two-three-ish years ago, for instance, it was more classical painting inspired. I was real into Over the Garden Wall and also just…general American history back then don’t judge I was coming off of my first American history class since elementary school and I thought it was so cool So my art had more of like…that going on yk? It wasn’t as good as my stuff now at all, because I’ve since improved my anatomy skills, learned how to draw fabric folds (sorta), and learned a bit of color theory lol. But they’re ok for what they are, I guess.

I think my main problem back then was the fact that I did not fully know how to use references- and a lotta my references were like. Cartoons. And stuff that was very much not meant to be painted in the amount of detail I aimed for at the time.

(Even here, you can tell I was dissatisfied, because they all look pretty different from each other yk?) (and you can see how hardly any of the fabric has folds and how little I understood lighting 😭)

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January-March ‘23

Anyhow, after this, in uhh early 2023, I had a 80s-90s comic book/pop art phase, which was a pretty drastic swing in the opposite direction. I still rendered things sometimes, but things were less soft/warm. BUT I was starting to use real photos as references which was vital

I was also watching a lotta tmnt with my kid brother, which is what I blame for why the proportions got so stylized- folks in the 2012 version of that show were just kinda built funny, which I think subconsciously impacted my art. My posing did get a bit stronger in this time as I practiced more, and I think things got less stiff

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June-August ‘23

Next, as the summer months came, I had a lotta changes in inspo and also just in life lol. I had temporarily moved to my neighbor’s place, and I didn’t have a car yet/any friends who I liked enough to hang around with, so all summer long I rewatched a lotta 80s movies, fell in love with the first season of Stranger Things (not the others as much tho 😭), skateboarded, and watched a lotta art tutorials online. (I specifically remember Jackie Droujko’s yt shorts saving my assss- I loved her stuff so much. Definitely check ‘em out she explains things real well)

I improved slowly, but I DID IMPROVE a HELLUVA LOT. I focused a lot on trying to draw people who looked recognizably like themselves, but also stylized because realism (usually) bores me. I also got better at coloring- the first two here ain’t great in terms of colors, but I was learning. Plus, back then I was very into oddly saturated color schemes. (I mean it is a solid vibe. I may not do this a ton anymore but I can dig it still)

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October-November ‘23

As autumn came, I was pretty enamored with all the like…✨fall vibes✨ that time around. My life was goin’ well, so I had a lotta optimism and a re-ignited love for nature, forests, and fantasy. Plus I was dating this girl who was really into vintage-y Wes Anderson stuff so I think some of that uhhh twee-ness rubbed off on me lol

My influences here were mainly old storybooks, a hint of Lord of the Rings (as you can probably tell by the hobbit), and a decent amount of Fantastic Mr. Fox. And for faces I was mainly using the Laurenillusrated Brushpack at the time I think? I don’t use the “Sketchy” brush in it as often anymore as I did then, but I should. It’s a great brush, and I actually am really liking all the little sketchy lines. It adds a nice touch.

also don’t look at my goddamn long hair in that self portrait on the left. I hated it on me then and I hate it now too. I cannot believe I ever let it get that long it was really bad

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December ‘23-April ‘24

I honestly did like a total of like. Seven drawings in these four months. As opposed to my usual…uhhh I wanna say 25 every four months. Idk what was up- art just wasn’t fun at the time. I mean, it was also just a lousy few months in general, so I’m sure that’s a part of it lol, but yk. This style is pretty close to my current one- my inspiration just came from x-files-ish sci-fi and American gothic stories/images as opposed to nowadays’ Beat generation and greaser inspo.

May-Now (October) ‘24

The Outsiders kinda dragged me back into enjoying drawing again honestly. I’d read and loved it back in 2023, but upon rereading it/watching the movie in February of 2024, it just sorta…entered my headspace and stayed this time. (Still, I didn’t really draw any Outsiders/greaser-y things till May)

Lately, I take artistic inspiration in 2d animated films, like the ones by Disney with the real nicely drawn fabric folds. And also just a lotta inspo from real life. I also do a lot of black and white comics, because I find that I generally have a “Go big or go home” mentality about most things- which can be a LOT of pressure! By allowing myself to draw simpler doodle-y things, I’ve regained that love for drawing. I think for a while it just felt like work, but in letting myself take it easy, art’s become a good time again :))

[dtmsrpfcringe]

You really are a dumb fuck, aren't you? You repeated exactly what I said, then told me I was wrong for saying what you parroted back to me. Living in your brain must be fucking insufferable.

Your own words were that they did not know each other ten years ago. Incorrect.

They have both said that they have known each other socially (i.e., friends) since 2001. They did not become close until they were in Good Omens. Yes, that is what I said. That's what you agreed to after I corrected your initial false statement. My god, little wonder you think this blog is a good idea when these are your thought processes.

Nothing else you said makes the slightest bit of sense. I can't even decipher the point of that word salad, and I am a teacher. Why would Michael use the names of the characters when he is talking about the show that the characters are in? What? You are reaching so hard that it is comical.

You are a class act making jokes about a congenital defect that kills newborn infants. Is that the kind of thing the mother of a newborn infant who claims to be a nurse would do? We have established that you are lying about both of those things. You are just an awful person. When it comes down to the real point of this blog, you don't care about the greater good of the fandom. You only want attention. You are shouting about a tiny corner of Tumblr that draws no attention to itself. You bring attention to it. You make it loud. Even when it disappears, you keep bringing it back. What's the real point here? You want attention for yourself. You want to be the hero in a war that doesn't exist.

Maybe you don't ship the hairband. Maybe you just have bad taste in music? I don't care. Either way, you have no place calling out anyone when you support those losers. They are the epitome of the scum of society. Actual misogynists. One of them even murdered someone while driving drunk. That is just the tip of the iceberg. But someone no one knows said something mean about Georgia Tennant on Tumblr? Someone suggests that two men who keep talking about having sex and being in love might be in love. Better clutch your pearls over that! Pathetic.

bae that isn’t what you said. You said they’ve been friends for almost 25 years. Do you write things and just fucking forget them? Or can you just not stop lying?

I can’t imagine being a teacher and just constantly being so goddamn wrong, I bet your students can’t stand you.

also saying you don’t have a brain isn’t making fun of a congenital defect babe. I’m neither lying about being a mom or healthcare professional. Most people I talk to pretty regularly here have seen my baby, and it would be pretty hard work to have an entire baby to…fake being a mom??? I’m not going to put my baby’s face on here to prove to someone like you that she’s real, and frankly I think it’s a little strange you wanna see that bad babe. Like? Your obsession with an internet stranger’s newborn (i guess infant now omfg) is kinda creepy.

As for my health certification, you don’t know shit actually. I busted my ass in high school to be licensed because of the people who helped me as a kid. Also I’m not a nurse😉 you are right about that. There’s more to healthcare than your RN and MDs lol. You seem like you’d yell at underpaid healthcare workers in the worst way possible.

you obviously did understand, but didn’t want to lick your wounds and slink into the corner.

btw this group absolutely does draw attention to yourself. I found these people by looking for cute Georgia and Anna stuff and finding hate and misogyny spread about them. As for Motley Crue, I hardly listen to them anymore, if literally ever. I haven’t posted anything about them in over a year and that is why I removed 2000 of my followers on instagram and made it private to have a personal acc. I just never bothered changing the username lol. So try again I guess.

Anyways here’s my daily reminder to you that David and Michael would be disgusted with you. Hope you have the day you deserve!

Keep sending these I think we’re falling in love boo🚨🔵🚨🔵

[chrisgraves09]

Hey, have another one of my ramble posts cause I just wanna get this off my chest.

When I first got into FNaF when the fourth game released, I was growing interested into the community and what it was like. That’s when I started lurking both Tumblr & Reddit in late 2016 during Christmas time. That’s when I getting into drawing. By then in early to mid 2017, I began joining the Five Nights at Freddy’s subreddit and Discord server and just… wow, seeing an entire community full of great people showing their support and love to this franchise is just incredible.

I began getting involved with showing off my drawing and art of the FNaF characters and lemme tell you, it was really nice. So nice that it was when I began my Freddit Users Drawing series where I would draw almost every single member in the Five Nights at Freddy’s subreddit. I didn’t even wanted attention for that alone. I was just showing my appreciation and my thanks for being a part of the Five Nights at Freddy’s community. From 2017-early 2020 I’ll say were my best years of being in the FNaF community. Being able to be excited for new game entries, books, merchandise with the community was so good that I wish I could experience that phase once again.

But then in mid 2020, I started getting inactive on Reddit and only focusing on Discord. This ain’t a problem in of itself mostly because I was focusing on the FNaF fangames that were released like Five Nights at Sonic’s, Project Readjusted (😵‍💫), and many others. Not to mention my high school graduation happening. By then, Twitter took over and I have only lurked there until many years later.

2021 came in and the first FNaF related controversy started and it struck a blow in my head. People started fighting, distancing themselves from the franchise, and I’m just sitting there if it’ll affect me in someway. Thankfully (for the moment) it didn’t and I continue making FNaF art like usual. Then 2022 came up with the Pear tree, striking another blow to my heart. And THEN 2023 came up with there being several people being not so good people and the whole FNaF + situation, making me question more and more if this’ll become an ongoing issue. And what do you know it? This year has the goddamn Talbert Files thing happening and probably more coming. And this is supposed to be FNaF’s 10 year anniversary. Everyone is becoming increasingly pissed, fighting with one another, and even leaving the franchise as a whole.

I said it before on Twitter and I’ll say it here: This community has devolved into just bitching around for the sake of bitching around and both Twitter and Reddit are especially the case. FNaFTwitter is by far the most miserable side of the community and I mean it. The Freddit community has become so toxic that I’m becoming so ashamed to be apart of it now. It’s not the same Freddit I used to know. I was originally gonna do a third Freddit Users Drawing series last year to remind me of the good old days. But it seems like that ain’t happening anymore. This is just depressing to look at…

All of this controversy, drama, and turmoil this fanbase endured ever since 2021 has unfortunately changed my perspective, mood, and feelings toward any FNaF “fan” that chooses to be an asshole. It’s gotten to the point where I wanna dissociate myself from the community. Specifically FNaFTwitter, Freddit, and even several Discord servers. I’ve became conflicted day by day and week by week and if I really want to stay in this dumpster fire of a community and deal with this bullshit mess or maybe leave everything behind and go on my own terms. I really don’t know what to do. Maybe time will tell in the future, who knows?

Ok, I’m done rambling for now.

[lavend3r-stardust]

My brain is fried from school. Like completely sizzled and idk what to do besides let it be consumed by crush brain-rot this fine, rainy autumn evening.

I just wanna sit on the edge of my bed with my legs all spread open while my babygirl's kneeling between my legs and greedily lapping up my cum like a bitch in heat. But goddamn, the way her tongue swirls around my labia and gently sucks on my clit n draws little patterns on my folds with my cum and her spit drips down my cunt- fuuuuuck baby, feels so good when you do that, keep fucking going, please don't stop

Gotta feel her smiling against my pussy as it throbs harder and grab her hair to force her head against my mound so my cum's smeared around her lips, maybe she'd even spell out " I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U" with her tongue circling my wet little cunt, her mouth ghosting over the inside of my thighs to leave little hearts that only she can admire later on mmhhmmm n when I finally cum with a whiny moan of her name, she's gonna look up from between my thighs with that gorgeous, hazy, pussy-drunk look in her heavy-lided eyes because she just needs more. Because making me cum once just enough for my pretty baby, now is it?

Just want my Angel's beautiful mouth on my pussy, is that really too much to ask for?

[whoblewboobear]

TVGATE 📺💖

1.) Glee- Ryan Murphy is my enemy and glee is unhinged but it is hands down my FAVORITE show of all time. I started watching it when I was in 8th grade and the chokehold it has on me to this day is unreal. Season one was lighting in a bottle and to follow it up with an even better season after that? Lea Michelle is also my enemy BUT s1 Rachel berry is so fucking funny. Glee is the reason I joined chorus in high school- like the impact glee has on me? Incredible. Just 10/10. I could say more but we will be here all fucking day. And ofc Santana is my favorite character and I hope Naya is resting easy right now 💖

2.) Sucession- This show ate my ass for weeks and the brain rot after I finished it is still going strong. I avoided this show for a minute bc hearing about it through osmosis was enough and the fans put me off. I started about a month or two after the finale dropped. Like fuck rich people and fuck most of these characters but goddamn do I love it. I blew through this show so quick bc the acting??? The dialogue! THE EVERYTHING 🥵👏 you just know that if there’s a party or a dinner or some kind of rich people bullshit event that it will be the most compelling shit you’ve ever seen. Boar on the Floor was so sadistic and evil and FASCINATING. Like- I wanna open these people up and examine them. I was a Kendall girlie during my watch and a Shiv girlie post-show. I will say if you wanna enjoy this show just avoid.. most men’s opinions on it. I’ve heard the most shit takes on this show it’s ridiculous. It definitely lives up to the hype.

3.) Lovesick- Guys 🥺 if you’re gonna watch anything from this list watch this. I watched it when I was on a huge Netflix deep cut kick and WOW. Very lighthearted and funny romcom about a dude that finds out he has chlamydia and goes down the list of his old partners to tell them they need to get checked. All of these characters are so lovely and you just wanna root for them. It only loses points because it’s unfinished. I would’ve loved to see where things go for Dylan and Evie 🤧

4.) The Haunting of Bly Manor- INCREDIBLE. Mike Flannigan puts his whole pussy into into everything he makes. The write is incredible, the mystery is so well thought out. Every loose end is tied up just enough to let the viewer still have room to speculate. Definitely not scary in the way that Hill House is but everything else makes up for that. The cast??? I fucking love Rahul Kohli and I’ve loved that man since iZombie. Victoria Pedretti is the love of my life and the way she plays Dani? The range she has to go from Nell in Hill House to Dani is so sick. I just adore her. And of course T’Nia Miller as Hannah? She’s the clear standout. I need to see her in everything I’m BEGGING. The Hannah episode is truly the best episode of the entire season. This is a tragedy through and through and your heart will break for every single one of these characters. Just a gorgeous piece of television 💖

5.) Euphoria (Season One + Specials)- Again, Sam Levinson is my enemy but goddamn is season one SO GOOD. The aesthetics, the acting, the characters, the cinematography!? When Sam has a passion project and a story in mind he can truly make magic. Also putting Zendaya on your vision board and then actually landing her to be in it is so dope. The Trials and Tribulations of Trying to Pee While Depressed aka S1Ep7 is my favorite episode by FAR. So real, so funny, so compelling. Everyone showed up to set that week to make MAGIC. I don’t make a ton of fanart but euphoria had my ass so hooked that all I wanted to do was draw Rue and I sure as hell did. I was looping All for us for MONTHS. It’s still the #1 song on my Spotify TO THIS DAY. The special episodes during Covid were also so well done. Season 2 is dog shit so it isn’t included in this but rip to Angus Cloud because he was so special and the clear highlight of season 2 as Fez. (I could watch him beat up Nate Jacobs all day 🥳)

A huge honorable mention for the shows A Young Doctor’s Notebook, Chewing Gum, & The Bear (s1) because holy shit 💖. The first 2 are both absurd comedies from my Netflix deep cut era.

AYDNC stars Daniel Radcliffe as this doctor that gets addicted to morphine in the backwoods of 20th century Russia. It’s a dark comedy and a wild ride. I only watched it once and I have no idea if it’s still on Netflix or not but if you have nothing to watch and you want something that’s pretty out there or you’re a fan of Daniel’s comedic acting you’re in for a TREAT.

Chewing Gum stars Michaela Coel as Tracey. So 👏 Fucking 👏 Funny. The writing is incredible and I can’t speak highly enough about the way Michaela drops you into the world for a wild ride. Tracey’s pretty much in the end of that awkward transition period between your teens and adulthood. Just a really hilarious coming of age story that DEFINITELY would’ve benefited from a true final season. If you like Michaela Coel you will like this. She also has a show called I May Destroy You and I can’t wait to sit down and watch it. I’ve heard all good things 💖

The Bear is way newer and s2 didn’t drop that long ago so I won’t go too in-depth about it like everything else but INCREDIBLE SHOW. If you like food and sad white men and just- EVERYTHING about Ayo Edebiri then you’ll love this. Season 2 isn’t my favorite but Season One?? This show makes me miss living in a city. I just 💖💖 I can’t recommend it enough. Jeremy Allen White’s arms are reason alone to watch. I’d let that man [redacted] my [redacted] for hours like he makes me UNWELL he’s so gorgeous.