#I have no idea if I'm doing this right lol

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

﹙📋﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @304files , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @xylatox , @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[kailoweenie]

Hyun-Ju/player 120 x Trans! Reader

A/N: can be read both as Transfem/woman reader or Transmasc/man reader. The reader is implied to have a physical appearance that points out they're not cis (e.g facial structures, hair, voice, etc but not specified!)

This is also very self indulgence because.....I'm a trans guy who really likes her so....T4T duo fr fr

Also the fact that there's barely any GIFs of her is crazy, I took this gif from an edit of her by @/slutcountry on TikTok LOL

You were here for a similar reason as she was. Whether it's to begin/continue HRT or start physically transitioning with surgery or even simply just needing the money to move to someplace more accepting

The first time you saw her was during the face scan at the very beginning of round 1. You just couldn't help but notice player 120 amongst the other players.

Your eyes widened as you realized that she could've been trans. Maybe it was a wild assumption at the moment but if you were right....then there was another player in the game who was just like you.

The first time you properly talked was during round 2 of the games.

With the other players reacting to you negatively for simply being or looking trans. You had no choice but to muster up the courage to approach the girl that you had been shyly keeping an eye on.

"hey..." You trailed off, voice quiet as you gently- yet slightly awkwardly- rest a hand on her arm. You glanced at the people around you before taking a breath, finally speaking up "can i...is it...okay if I joined you...?".

When she first turned to look at you, you almost stumbled a bit in surprise.

Unlike some other players, there didn't seem to be any fear or judgement in her eyes....she simply smiled and nodded, her voice deep and soothing "of course. We needed one more in our group either way". You gave back a small smile, nodding in acknowledgement to the other 3 players you were teamed up with.

You end up deciding to play the 4th game, the one with the spinning top. You of course stayed quiet when the others needed focus while also calming and cheering the others on if they end up panicking.

When it was your turn, there was still quite some time left. Though as you failed the first time, panic slowly started to creep in.

That is, until you feel a warm hand resting on your shoulder. Looking to the right, you listened intently as player 120 calmed you down. Taking a deep breath like she told you to do, you managed to get it to spin the next try.

The smile on your face was bright as everyone cheered in excitement but the only thing you could focus on was how proud she seemed to look as you succeed.

By the end of the game, you went back to the bed quarters. All 5 of you buzzing with gratefulness that you survived another round.

You sat next to player 120, too shy to sit too close yet still wanting to be close to her presence.

It was the old woman who spoke up first, curious about the both of you considering you both were...a bit obvious you weren't cis.

It was her who spoke up first, talking about her experience and how she wanted the money to move away. You sat there silently as you listened, almost every part of the things she said...you could unfortunately relate to. The need to go somewhere more... accepting.

"...I know how you feel" you suddenly spoke up, all four of them seemed to turn to you. Your confidence faltering a bit at the attention yet you kept going, your gaze flickering to player 120's face.

"The...desperation. The need to go somewhere that might be more accepting to people like me...to people like us." You sighed, idly playing with the hem of the jacket's sleeves "I'm in the same boat. I'm not exactly...." You trailed off, waving your hand up and down your body, hoping they'd take the hint.

Her gaze softened at your words, a small smile on her lips at the confession. The others didn't seem to mind either. You knew it was probably a...bad idea getting attached yet you can't help but care deeply for the other four already.

•It was player 007 who spoke up after a few seconds of silence. Deciding to introduce himself and his mom. That's when you learned each other's names. And that's when you learned her name.

"Cho Hyun-ju...you uh- you have a nice name" you muttered, loud enough for her to hear. The compliment seemed to surprise her a bit, clear in her face that she wasn't expecting it. You expected her not to say anything back yet when she did, your heart was practically buzzing in happiness

"...you have a nice name too." She paused, giving you a small smile "it's nice to meet you".

[lavmana]

So because I love tables I made some tables! I'll link the full thing at the end but here's the (semi-readable) table of ships! (I did have to guess some of the names)

(I apologise for how small it is this is the best I can do in this case)

However probably more interesting is looking at the numbers between various relationship types! So going in order we have the Exes:

With an average of 2.111 repeating, Twilight and Trixie are doing some HEAVY lifting here. Without them the average would be 1.75 so congratulations to them for being the most... something. Regardless it's also quite funny to me that the main difference between a '3' ex and a '1' ex is basically if it is het or not. (This is not a judgement, I'd do the exact same). The main exception being Trixie and Rarity who are the only 2 here which I think puts them firmly in the "not my thing but I support it" category.

Otherwise this mostly makes sense! You'd either put exes down as "canon relationships that I do NOT want" or "They'd totally be a fling but regret it" which only really lends itself to the lower side of numbers!

Also lol fluttercord L + ratio + Tree Hugger wins + the 0 stands for 0 bitches. I swear I'm a nice person in real life please don't take this seriously.

Okay next Queer Platonic relationships or QPs as I'm calling them cause it sounds like "cuties":

Welcome to the realm of averages. To address the exceptions I need to admit I have no idea what the... tissue(?) cutie mark is that's attached to cheese sandwich, so I'll just hope it's an OC that I don't know and support it! Otherwise Trixie and Sunburst get a 1 I assume because they had to be connected to complete the platonic square going on between Trixie, Starlight, Sunburst, and Thorax(?). On that note the main QPs occur between the mane 6 (especially Pinkie Pie my platonic queen), and that square. This is also Bubbles main spot so take a moment to appreciate her then keep reading.

With an average of 2.231 this does make sense given most of what makes up these links are filling in polycules which are supported but not a main ship.

Next the era of Romance:

"Gee Twilight how come you get 6 girlfriends, 3 exes, 2 QPs, and a wife?" Respect to my girl for pursuing ONLY romantic relationships with her besties. However the real star is secretly Rainbow Dash who has no links going below 3 (within the mane 6) awarding her the prize of most shippable pony! Congrats Rainbow! Twilight does still win the most links with 12.

This is by far the most popular category for a link to fall into. The Mane 6 really do shine here with Twilight Rarity and RD all having plenty of spots here. We also enter the higher numbers with hilariously the only 5s being Mordecai and Rigby (good for her) and AJ and rarity which is a real range.

There's probably too much here to comment on anything properly but definitely the most fun to look through, especially with all the 4s.

And now... mawiage!

omg did I actually write person instead of pony? I cannot believe myself right now, this is my greatest shame.

Anyway with an average of 4 (4.375 without Mudbriar) we have achieved our highest rated category! Of course this makes sense, if you think two ponies have high enough chemistry to be married, you probably also think they have good shipping potential you enjoy. This gives us most of the 5s and RD getting TWO wives.

Maud Pie really brings things down here with her husband, apologies to my ace king but you have been voted off the island. In the mean time we can basically spot the top tier ships in here with Twipie, appledash, flutterdash, and trixie x starlight! So if you wanna get on Zigo's (I'm assuming this is your legal name) good side depict these ships!

Weird Al is also in here. He got a 3 so good for him.

As for my own thoughts I actually am a big fan of this chart! Beyond like a few numbers slightly up or down 1 rank I basically agree with it! It's cool to see where the differences lie but I've talked way too much to keep yapping so bye!

And that mostly summarizes some thoughts from this graph! I very much enjoyed making these tables so if anyone ever makes something like this again I will keep putting them into LibreOffice and comparing the data I find! You can see the full tables here:

It's a .ods file because that's what libreoffice uses.

headcanon relationship chart for the mane 6. for some undefined amount of time after the show

i am not trying to lend undue legitimacy to the institution of marriage. or devalue queer platonic relationships. these are just different types of relationships. obviously.

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical Symphony - Part 12

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: Still on vacations!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10

• ··········· • ············ •

In a very proficient succession of moves, Viktor had grabbed his keys from his bag, locked the front door—something he wasn’t supposed to do because of the council’s shenanigans, but Viktor hardly ever did what he was told—and had opened the door, holding it open for you.

Shaking your head at his antics, you made your way to the room and short of going inside. A butterfly had flapped its wings somewhere down the space and time lines, and what was once a spacious room was now nothing more than a broom closet.

“I know it is not ideal, but…it’s this or the hexcore room.” You heard behind you and cleared your throat.

“This is… um… fine…” You nodded and walked to the back of the room, which was exactly a small step forward, and turned back to the door.

Viktor walked behind you and closed the door, leaving both of you in darkness. He shuffled to get himself in a comfortable standing position, his cane leaning on the shelf behind you.

You knew if you could see anything but the soft glow of the room outside from under the door, you’d be face to face with his chin, having to still tilt your head up to look at him whenever you were in close quarters. You shook your head and cleared your throat to get your mind back on track. He took half a step back, completely oblivious of your thoughts, and you did the same, the shelves behind you carving a dent into your back. 

“Alright. The baseline for your starlight rune is about fifteen minutes.”

“Starlight rune?”

“I told you I wasn’t good with names…Do the rune with the new variant.”

The glove came off with a practiced tug, and the small room was slightly illuminated by the blue glow. You saw Viktor's hand immediately shoot up to touch it again, his never-ending curiosity getting the best of him. Your hand twitched in anticipation of the contact, and he stopped short of actually touching it.

“Sorry, it’s not you…it’s…” You started but couldn’t finish when you realized that it was in fact because of him.

“Don’t worry. It’s my fault…Learn not to touch anything before checking it’s safe... Truly, it’s the worst... I have a few scars to show for it.” He used the glow of your hand to touch a few small scars on his palm.

SVRCINA - Astronomical

You laughed quietly, tracing the rune for the tiny lights in the air, adding the small symbol on the top right of it. A flick of the wrist and up they went. Viktor tapped his fingers on his thigh, counting the time, his neck stretched up to look at the ceiling.

The endlessness of darkness is hovering. The sound of the silence is deafening. Ten billion decibels shattering

The opportunity presented itself to look at him in detail. On the forefront of your mind was the need to find any difference from your Viktor. On the back of it, the hope that there was none. 

The shimmering lights gave his already pale skin an even white tinge, but you could see the small freckles and skin marks he had running behind the collar of his shirt. His jaw was still sharp and angled, and his cheeks high; you peeked at the beauty mark under his eyes, and he still chewed on the inside of his mouth when he was thinking hard. Your eyes shifted down to take notice of his breathing. Closing your eyes, you listened to it. Clean, no wheezing, no strain. 

I'm drawn to the unknown where shadows hide. A slave to the powers that magnetize There's something inside of me I can't fight.

The smell of mint and cinnamon filled your nostrils. You had forgotten the height difference, the gentle way his breathing would make his chest rise and fall on his better days. You’d forgotten the time before he became consumed with legacy. You’d forgotten he was once flesh and blood and warmth.

You heard the shift in breathing before you heard the quiet laugh and looked up at him. True to his word, he had a hand outstretched, touching the tiny specks of light floating above you.

Weightlessness forsaking me. This pull is astronomical.

“Fascinating.” He murmured, his long fingers swirling around the shimmer. “It’s cold, but…not unpleasant.”

Viktor’s smile never faltered, a pleasant sound coming from his throat. The floating orbs just floated around the tips of his fingers, like smoke around a tree branch.

He moved his fingers to grab one of the lights, and your breath got caught in your throat. You really should stop him, but the gentleness of his long fingers as he swirled them around the smoke, nudging the smaller nodes away to grab a bigger one, left you hypnotized and mute.

Viktor’s fist closed around a glowing marble, and it burst like a soap bubble, breaking into tiny wisps of glitter and regrouping again after they passed his fist.

Can anybody... Anybody... Can anybody stop me?

You looked at his face; the usually warm golden eyes have taken a paler palette with the white cold light reflecting on them. His lips were curled up in a soft, wondrous smile that reminded you of a child; his long neck was stretched upwards, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed his amusement. It was new... this was new...

It hit you like a ton of bricks that even though you’d seen this man in almost any state of mind, this childish wonder was something you never noticed. You were far more preoccupied with keeping him alive than finding something that gave him this type of feeling. Even if in the end, whatever feelings he had were gone.

Ooh, this pull is astronomical.

“You’re staring again…” He snickered, and you nodded.

“You remind me of someone…” 

“Hopefully a good someone…”He looked down and smirked at you.

“Heh…He had his moments... You cleared your throat. "Shall we test the other theory perhaps?”

Viktor nodded and had once again craned his neck upwards. You did the rune and added the coda symbol on the same corner as the infinity symbol and flicked your wrist up.

The rune disappeared, but the stars stayed. You both locked eyes with each other and then looked at your hand, as if it was to blame for the lackluster results.

“Maybe it’s the symbol? Or the intention?”

“Perhaps…what have you been setting as the intention for this one?”

“Just…light up. The first time it appeared, I was in a dark room, so light seemed the best option.”

“Maybe think…dark…or…off.”

Shaking your shoulder to release some tension, you drew the rune, drew the coda, and set it free with a very defined 'turn the light off' intention.

“Rune… intention… push forward…” Viktor repeated, his eyes darting around the darkened room. “Rune…intention…push forward…”

“I could try other symbols…”

He nodded, and you started to add symbols to the rune. An exclamation point, a dot, two dots, an X, the actual word STOP. But nothing seemed to be the floating little light from floating.

“You push it forward…” He raised a hand and placed it next to yours, palm up. The glow of your hand casting a light on the side of his hand

He drew the rune with his index and middle fingers and flicked the wrist up. By the third time he did it, you mirrored his movements, you drew the rune and the suffix you had initially given it, and flicked it up. Nothing.

The small blue brush strokes grew in brightness as you finished the drawing. The rune itself was a dainty thing, swirly with a loop and a dash. It was your favorite rune to draw, you thought at that moment.

“Rune…intention…push it forward.” You both whispered in sync as your hands danced in well-choreographed movements.

“Of course…” You heard Viktor exclaim and looked up at him, but his eyes were still on your hands.

He turned his hand so that it was hovering on top of yours without touching, his long fingers by your wrist, yours under his own joint. He drew the rune, like he was stroking your wrist. A shiver ran down your arm, but you mimicked him like before and drew your own rune. When you flicked your hand up, your fingers touched his wrist with a soft thud, but his hand did the opposite movement; instead of moving downwards—since he was mirroring your movements—he pulled back, his hand arching back.

“It makes sense…you speak the rune…” He made the motion again, you repeated. “You set the intent and…”

You both snapped your hands backwards. The rune shimmered, and the floating lights shot towards your hand, leaving the room in darkness in a blink of an eye, the only sound the slight heavy breathing from the sudden shift in brightness.

"You pull it back." Viktor whispered. 

"That's..." You thought about saying smart, but this was Viktor, one of the most intelligent people you've met.

"Unlike words, once you speak the runes, you can take them back, and everything goes back to normal."

"Words can be taken back." You said, moving your hand up and feeling his wrist still hovering there. 

You let your fingers touch his wrist, gently flattening them against his skin, your thumb softly grasping his forearm. You felt his own hand rest on top of yours. You could see the blue light engulfing his hand.

"They hurt all the same." He softly whispered.

"Pains and aches, eh?" You heard him chuckle. "The mending rune... I can sustain it now. Imagine being able to keep something from breaking."

"You have to be careful. Magic is not free. There will be a toll to pay.” His voice shifted and something mechanical. 

“I’m actually doing this…I’m learning... and adapting... and”

“Evolving…” A mechanical low voice came from where he was, but you didn’t feel it like last time.

“What?” Your eyes snapped up to where his should be.

“What?” He looked at you confused, and you shook your head, dismissing it.

A second of silence until you heard a quiet laugh come from him.

“This is... real magic. It’s just like we thought. Exactly like we thought. The books were right. The hextech is an almost exact copy of what actual magic is.” 

“Viktor…breathe…”

“I’m breathing…I’m breathing..." He moved his hand away, pushing a hand through his hair. "We are finding ways to control wild runes.”

“Don’t look wild to me. That one actually looked like it was meticulously drawn.”

“They are wild because they are natural, not because they are unpredictable.” He grabbed the door handle with one hand, his cane with the other, and pushed the door open. “I need to write this down.”

He was halfway out the door when he stopped abruptly, and you managed to stop just in time by placing your hands on his back, almost throwing him off balance and to the floor. A hand on his elbow balanced him out.

“Good gods, Vik… What the..." You started but then looked at what—or who—was staring at.

“You two kids wanna to tell me why you were inside a dark closet?” Jayce inquired, his lips curling up on one side, his eyebrow going up on the same side.

Viktor straightened up quickly, and you did the same, more flustered about the almost tumble than Jayce’s questions. 

“Nothing.” Viktor quickly answered

“Magic.” You said at the same time, with the taller man’s face snapping to yours, mouth agape at your nonchalant tone.

“What?” You shrugged as you walked past him to the table.

“What kind of magic?” Jayce’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively. 

“Jayce!” Viktor, whose gaze had been following you around the room, snapped to Jayce.

“The actual magical kind.” You pulled the glove back on your hand. “The rune one.”

“Oh…eh…that’s fun too, I guess.” The broader man shrugged.

“How’s Mel?” You retorted.

“Magical…” He sighed and then winked at you.

You looked at him, face blank, and shook your head; he gave a goofy lovesick smile, and you groaned dramatically to emphasize you were joking.

“She does have some news for us about the council…shenanigans…” Jayce straightened up and leaned on the table.

“No…no…nonono.” Viktor shook his head and strode towards both of you, a small scowl of confusion on his face. “We are not just going to breeze by this… What is happening…? When did this happen?”

Jayce looked between Viktor, you, and then pointed to himself.

“Kid who jumped places because a mage decided to save his life…” He pointed at you. “Actual Mage.”

You were happy that he didn’t add the rest of his sentence about you.

“Wait…they know about the…happening?” Viktor looked at Jayce with wide eyes.

“They do.” Jayce nodded, and Viktor turned his eyes to you.

“And he knows about the runes?”

“He does.”

Viktor looked at the ceiling of the lab, taking a deep breath, while these pieces of information all fit in his head. When he was satisfied, he looked back down to you and Jayce, nodding. 

“All right… all right…” He walked over to where Jayce was leaning on the table and you were seated on a stool. “What did Mel say?”

“They have a date for the council meeting.”

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat

[stuckinmymind22]

zoro x gn! reader

wc: 663

this is the first part of a series "you're in love with me" where you realize that they are in love with you can call them out on it

thanks for voting on this one, i had fun with it, sorry it took so long, i got busy with the holidays, but it’s here now 💕

ace's is done and will be up probably tomorrow and i'm gonna start on sanjis, but lmk if you are interested in any other characters

not proof read lol

this goes one of two ways, in both you're being called stupid, both included

it's a chose your own adventure babe!

zoro has been acting strange recently- he was almost too quick to come to your aid, even if it was something you both knew you could handle alone. he’s also been making sure that you eat. recently he brought up a plate for you when you were on duty in the crow’s nest. sure, the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks were tinted pink, but that was easy to write off as a consequence of the alcohol that was surely in his veins. but he didn’t leave right away like you thought he would, he stood on the ladder without moving until he saw you take your first bite. on the last island there had been a miscalculation in your provisions and the ship was running dangerously low on alcohol. there was no doubt that the crew was going to run dry shy of meeting their next destination, which was a bigger deal to some of the straw hats than others. it all brings you to the moment he offers you a sip of the last bottle of sake. you’re speechless. you always thought that hell sure would freeze over before he shared his booze and here he is willingly offering you some. you’re trying to figure out what was going on in his head, why he has been acting so strange, then it hits you.  “you’re in love with me.”

denial is a river in egypt

“did you hit your head or sum?” he asks, trying to remain as impartial as possible, but you didn’t miss how he nearly choked at your words. “no, zo, this makes sense,” you say connecting the dots, "you've been acting real weird about me recently, this explains it." you aren’t about to back down from this, not after you wanted this for so long, not until he admits it to himself. “you’re being an idiot,” he rolls his eyes, “do you want some or not?” with a smile you grab the bottle out of his hand and take a swig, sitting down next to him. “i don’t mind you know,” you say taking another sip, “that you love me that is” zoro is confused why he is so drawn to the dangerous smile that plays on your lips. he shakes himself out of it snatching back the bottle and taking a long gulp. you get pulled away by luffy wanting something, but he still feels your presence.  little do you know how those words haunt him for the rest of the night. fuck, you might be right

he's down bad and he knows it

“n-no I’m not,” zoro sputters, his face alight, “are you stupid or something?” “no, no, this is why you’ve been acting strange,” you say, the weight of your revelation still sinking in. “that’s why you haven’t let me out of your sight for the past week, right?” you don’t give him time to respond (not that he would be able to formulate a coherent response anyway). you continue listing all of his abnormal behaviors and fail to notice how his face grows redder with your every word. poor zoro is sinking into his seat hoping to disappear he’s so uncomfortable. he’s certain that he messed everything up and has no idea what to do now. he knows that you’re right of course, it’s kept him up at night, kept him from his precious naps. it took him a while to realize why you never left his mind, and the determining factor came from the fucking cook spewing some bullshit to a pretty woman on the last island. just when he is certain that he ruined whatever relationship you could ever have you turn to him with a big smile.  “it’s a good thing you are though, or else this would be awkward,” you tell him, before he can even think to question what you mean your lips are on his and his brain malfunctions.  maybe it’ll be alright.

masterlist

[tojisth3rdwife]

Hiiii! You are one of my favorite Toji writers ☺️☺️💕… you definitely fuel my Toji brainrot 😩 I was wondering…..how do you think Toji would react if his bae was a hello kitty girl 👀 would he get annoyed with the house getting filled up with hello kitty stuff or would he find it cute in a “my gf is a weirdo way” lol I hope this isn’t weird, I may or may not be a hello kitty girl and I may or may not drool over the idea of wrapping up this big buff man in one of my warm cozy hello kitty blankets….. just wanted to know your thoughts…..do with that what you will ☺️✌🏾💕🎀

Hey love! Thank you so much 🥰🥰 we love some Toji brainrot to break up the day 😂 i love this prompt and it reminds me of a short I wrote a while back about how out of place Toji looks in his girl’s apartment because of how feminine her decor is.

Hello Kitty fits that aesthetic perfectly😌

I wrote this very fast because i like the idea so much so i hope you like it🥰

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

It was Toji’s first time coming over and your nerves were on 1000. Not so much because it would be hard to ignore the tension built between the two of you over the months of getting to know eachother. You’d been alone with him enough. You’d already had sex at his house several times, mostly due to convenience and how his place was closer to everything than yours was. His bed was huge and everything smelled like his big manly ass. You were comfortable there with him,so finally having him in your home only felt right. But its not until youre giving him a quick tour of the place that you realize you might have to preface some parts of your apartment.

“Ok..so before I let you in here, you gotta promise not to judge or laugh.”

Toji towered over you in your narrow hallway, looking as good as the devil himself in a plain knitted thermal and joggers. It was late and he was fresh out the shower after a gym session. Coming over for a chill night in was the plan, among other things, and you were just ready to get past the awkwardness now for the sake of it. Toji perks his brow curiously at the way you were guarding your bedroom door with amusement.

“Laugh at what? Is it messy in there?” He smirks and you shake your head.

“Nooo but..”

“Cuz even then I wouldn’t care. As long as I can get to your bed, I'm good.” He adds, looking at you in that way that makes you want to bite your fist. Blinking up at him dazedly, you shake your head again.

“Well, the bed is most definitely accessible. It’s just…fuck it. C’mon..” you abruptly turn on your heels to open the door. It wasn’t like you were hiding something and he already caught hints of what you were into based on little things like your phone’s wallpaper, the band on your Apple watch, and the little tattoo behind your ear. The accents of pink scattered all around your living room and kitchen. The bedroom would just prove how cohesive the theme was throughout the entire apartment. Right?

As youre over thinking, Toji is right behind you as you crossed the threshold, flirtatiously feeling up your booty and making you giggle on the way in.

Its dark at first and Toji’s first thought is how much the room smells like you. Your perfume. Your hair. Whatever room freshener or detergent you used. All those scents melded in the warmth of the four walls as you guided him inside. The carpet felt plushier under Toji’s socked feet and he could already tell this room was the most comfortable room in your place.

The second you flipped on the lights however, Toji’s stoic expression shifts to shock at your bedroom’s decor and he’s hit with the sweet, almost whimsical atmosphere, a stark contrast to the darker themed, no-nonsense aesthetic he was used to. He blinked, taking in the sight before him.

The room was a symphony of pink and white, meticulously coordinated in a way that felt almost like a dream. The walls were painted a soft blush, with a patterned pink accent wall behind the bed that seemed to dance with delicate Hello Kitty motifs. It was like stepping into a bubblegum fantasy land, and Toji felt a wave of confusion wash over him.

You and Toji werent that far apart in age, making you well into being a grown ass woman. Although sweet and sometimes innocent acting, you never gave him the impression of being immature or childlike. But some of the features of your bedroom might have implied otherwise had he not already gotten to know your personality.

His eyes drifted to the bed, a pristine white frame cradling an embossed monochromatic quilt that featured the iconic character in various playful poses, and an assortment of pillows. One pair of huge white pillows that resembled clouds, two light pink satin covered pillows tucked against them, then one large pillow shaped like the iconic feline’s head was nestled in the center.

The bed was inviting, plush, and undeniably feminine. He chuckled lightly under his breath, shaking his head as he tried to process the sheer adorableness of it all.

In the corner, a canopy of soft, flowing fabric hung like a magical curtain, adorned with a mountain of Hello Kitty plushies in varying styles and sizes, each one cuter than the last. Toji’s lips curled into a bemused smile as he approached the collection, running his fingers over the soft fabric of a particularly large plushie that had a goofy, happy expression. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmured, half in disbelief, half in admiration.

The white dressers gleamed in the soft light from the white desk lamp, each drawer meticulously organized. A small vanity table sat against one wall, adorned with beauty products and a cute mirror framed in pink. Toji took a step back, surveying the room with a mix of awe and amusement. It was undeniably feminine, yet there was a warmth to it that felt inviting, almost like a hug.

You lingered in the doorway, worrying your bottom lip as you watched him with an expression that was a mix of apprehension and anticipation. You weren’t that social and hadn’t dated anyone long enough to bring them back to your place in a while. You felt exposed like a nerve under inspection.

“Well…What do you think?” You asked, eyes sparkling nervously.

Toji turned to you, looking fucking gigantic and so out of place in your little pink haven. His expression shifts from shock to something softer. Comical even.

“It’s… a lot,” he admitted, a chuckle escaping him. “But I kinda fuck with it. It’s…you.”

You beamed, stepping further into the room as he went back to taking in the details. You watched him approach your dresser, eyeing all of the neatly placed photo frames and squinting to see the grainy 4x6 picture of a little girl and a woman kneeling beside her at some sort of theme park. Both of them were dressed in Hello Kitty t-shirts and pink pleated skirts, with red hair bows pinned into their matching curly hair.

Toji chuckled again, immediately recognizing your dimples on the little girl and similar features on the woman beside you. That was his first time ever seeing a picture of you as a child and the woman that couldn’t be anyone else other than your mother. It was like he was seeing the past and his potential future with you in one image. It was kind of heart warming.

Noticing what had him smirking, you step forward to pick up the picture frame, a melancholic smile spreading your lips.

“This was when my mama took me to Harmony Land when she was stationed in Japan.” You explain, a flood of happy memories twinkling in your eyes. Toji knew very little about your upbringing since you didn’t talk about it much, mainly because you figured that was a sensitive topic for him. But Toji didn’t give a damn. He loved when you spoke fondly of your childhood, being a military brat that got to travel with your single active duty mother. He was glad to hear that she was still alive and that you two spoke often and was oddly interested in meeting her someday.

Toji moves to sit on the edge of the bed,testing the mattress’s buoyancy and relishing in softness of the quilt beneath him.

“I figured that was your mom. Yall look just alike..Fine asses” he tuts his chin towards the picture frame that was still in your hands.

“Alright now…” you warn him, setting the frame back in its place before stepping up to your bed. Toji spreads his huge thighs so that you can step between him, poking his chest with your finger.

“You just got here. Don't make me kick your ass out for talkn’ bout my mama.” You joke and Toji grins up at you smugly, his hands finding their home at the back of your thighs as yours rest over his shoulders per usual.

“What? It was a compliment. Not my fault you both have good genes..” he chuckles, his gaze drops to your lips briefly. You take that as him asking for a kiss, so you give him one. Then another, and Toji’s hands start groping over your cheeks, squeezing them and coaxing you closer.

“Mmhmm..” you acknowledge his excuse against his lips and allow yourself to straddle him as the kiss deepened. Seconds pass and the desire you’d set to a low simmer while Toji took in your bedroom’s interior bubbled back up to the surface when your tongues fell into their familiar dance. You didnt want to wait anymore and your hands were pushing under his shirt to feel up his abs.

“Ok, tours done.” You mutter, pulling away from Toji’s chuckling lips yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Youre working on taking your off too when his hands go up to stall you.

“Wait wait…so what happened to being all shy and embarrassed and shit about your room? That's over now or…” he pauses and you go back to undressing, now straddling him in your bra and leggings. You pout thoughtfully as Toji’s fingers sneak up your back to begin unclasping your bra.

“Well, I'm still a little embarrassed..I wasn’t sure how you were gonna react.” You admit. Your tits bounce from the confines of your bra after Toji removed it, that ‘exposed nerve’ intensifying under your man’s hungry gaze. He cups the heavy globes in his hands, pushing them together before pecking your lips.

“I mean, I definitely wasn’t expecting all of this...” He smirked playfully, tweaking your nipples between his fingers. “But if you thought some stuffed animals and pink pillows were gonna stop me from wanting to fuck you on this bed, you're buggn’.”

You laughed, the sound brightening the room even more, and for a moment, Toji forgot about everything else, lost in the warmth of your presence and the charm of your world.

Then he knocked the Sonic rings up outta that thang to further prove his point, and the two of you cuddled under your cozy quilt and watched anime with snacks for the rest of the night.

Do with that what you will😌

a/n: i loved this request! Thank you again for the love😘🥰

[squiishiichaos]

Thank you for the tag, Dearie! Now, let's see...

Last Song: (Not counting the movie I'm listening to right now) I Can't Help But Wonder - Jorge Rivera-Herrans

Fave Color: Black and Green!

Last Book: The Nightmare Before Kissmas by Sara Raasch

Last Movie: The Phantom of the Opera (2004)

Last Show: UHHHHH I think Vox Machina...?

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Savory!

Relationship Status: Taken <3

Last Thing I Googled: Where to watch Phantom of the Opera LOL

Current Obsession: I don't think I presently have one? Unless you count my characters. I'm always obsessed with those...

Looking Forward to: Publishing my very first book once I finally finish the final edits and clear it for take off!

Tagging: @ashestoashes7 @celestial-seraphim @ anyone else who wants to do this! (I honestly love these things, you have no idea, lol)

Ten people I'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @marshmallow--shark Thanks for the tag!

Last song: Intro/Chamber The Cartridge by Rise Against

Favourite colour: Orange!

Last book: A Brief History of Intelligence by Max Bennett

Last movie: That Christmas (it was kinda weird and we didn't finish it)

Last show: Jentry Chau vs. the Underworld

Sweet/spicy/savoury: I don't have much of a sweet tooth anymore, but I used to. Savoury!

Relationship status: Happily single

Last thing I googled: "quality" synonym

Current obsession: Star Trek: Enterprise. This is my fallback obsession. Close behind is Jentry Chau as a very recent one.

Looking forward to: Seeing a concert and a musical next year!

Tagging: @ionamalachite @peculiarreality @thetachapel02 @deadheaddaisy @papercranesong @talshiargirlfriend @glitter-and-metal @dragons-in-spaceee @pearlypairings @strze-lec

[skywalkerslvt]

omgomg we def need more virgin sub peter parker!! u ate that last one UPPPPP

❥Pairing: Peter Parker x AFAB!reader

❥CW: smut, unprotected p in v, loss of virginity, drinking, sorta sub!peter, riding, dry humping, 3.7k words

❥Summary: After Peter drunkenly confesses his lack of experience, you offer to give him some practice.

❥a/n: Thank you so much for your request!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this, I just had a really long fic idea and took way too long to execute it lol. I hope you like what I wrote! <3

You and Peter were sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, a half-empty bottle of tequila between you, laughing over ridiculous stories from your past. You swirled your drink in your glass, a smirk tugging at your lips as you recalled a disastrous first date you had once been on. “I swear, he couldn’t keep his hands still the entire time—like he was auditioning for a role in The Bachelor or something,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I think he might’ve been more nervous than me. Have you ever had a first date like that?”

Peter froze for a moment, his fingers nervously tapping on his bottle before he looked up at you, cheeks flushed. “Uh, no… I’ve never really had… a first date,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “Or, well… any kind of date.”

You down what's left in your glass before returning your attention to him. “Okay but you've had like–a hookup before, right?” you question, words slightly slurred by the alcohol in your system. 

Peter’s face turns bright red as he looks to the ground, hand scratching the back of his neck. “Uh–I-I mean…well I–”

“Oh my god,” you interrupt, shock evident in your voice. “Peter Parker, do you mean to tell me you're a virgin?” Peter’s cheeks glow impossibly redder, eyes meeting yours for a split second before returning to the floor, an embarrassed laugh leaving his lips. 

“You are!” you grin, leaning in slightly, unable to hide the teasing edge in your voice. “I can't believe it. The Spider-Man, the guy who saves the city, has never even been on a date? Let alone hooked up with anyone? Have you ever kissed anyone?” You watch him squirm and shake his head in shame under your gaze, feeling a strange mix of amusement and…something else you can't quite place.

Peter’s eyes flicker to you, then away again, his fingers still fidgeting with the bottle. “I mean… it’s not that big of a deal, right? I’m just… kinda busy with other stuff, I guess.” His voice is barely above a whisper, the tension in his shoulders giving away how uncomfortable he is with the conversation.

“You poor baby,” you pout, leaning in just a little closer, your voice softening, but the teasing lilt still very much there. “Well, have you ever wanted to?”

Peter’s eyes snap to yours, wide and startled, his blush deepening as he stumbles over his words. “I-I mean, yeah, of course I’ve—uh—wanted to,” he mumbles, voice cracking slightly. “I’m not a robot or anything…” He laughs nervously, but it’s clear the question caught him completely off guard.

“Interesting,” you hum, letting the word hang in the air as you lean back slightly, swirling the tequila in your glass. “What stopped you?”

Peter hesitates, his fingers still nervously toying with the label on the tequila bottle. “I don’t know… it’s not like I’ve had a lot of chances,” he admits, his voice quiet but tinged with self-deprecation. “And when I have… I guess I just overthink everything. Like, what if I mess it up? Or what if it’s weird?” He shrugs, finally glancing up at you, his expression both sheepish and vulnerable. “It’s easier to just, you know, not try.”

You narrow your eyes at him, setting your glass down with a soft clink. “Peter,” you say slowly, a teasing grin creeping onto your lips, “are you seriously telling me you’ve never even tried to make a move on someone? No crushes? No late-night make-out sessions? Nothing?”

His blush deepens, and he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, come on, don’t make me feel worse about it,” he mutters, though there’s no real anger in his voice—just that endearing awkwardness that makes it impossible not to smile.

“Well,” you say, leaning forward again, elbows resting on your knees as you study him with playful intent, “sounds to me like you just need someone to, I don’t know… help you get out of your head.” Your voice is lighter, teasing, but the shift in his expression—the slight parting of his lips, the way his gaze flickers nervously to your mouth—sends a thrill through you.

“W-What do you mean by that?” Peter stammers, his voice breaking slightly as his grip tightens on the bottle, his wide eyes locked on yours.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you tap your finger against your chin. “I mean, maybe you just need a little practice,” you say, your voice smooth and teasing. “Someone to show you the ropes, take the pressure off, you know?”

Peter chokes on a breath, nearly dropping the bottle in his hands as his cheeks somehow burn even brighter. “P-Practice?” he squeaks, his wide-eyed gaze darting to your face like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. “With… with who?”

You bite back a laugh, leaning in just a fraction closer, close enough that he catches the faint hint of your perfume. “With me, obviously,” you say, your grin widening as his jaw practically drops. “Unless you’ve got someone else in mind?”

“I—uh—n-no, I just—” Peter stammers, his voice trembling as his words trip over each other. He shifts uncomfortably, his grip on the bottle white-knuckled, and he looks at you like you’ve just short-circuited his brain. “You’re—you’re messing with me, right?”

“Do I look like I’m messing with you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, your voice soft but steady. The teasing edge is still there, but there’s something more serious beneath it now, a warmth in your tone that makes him stop fidgeting and really look at you.

Peter swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and for a moment, he’s completely silent, staring at you like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming. “I—I mean, you’d actually…?”

You smirk, reaching over to pluck the bottle from his hands and take a slow sip, your gaze never leaving his. “If you want to, Pete,” you say simply, setting the bottle aside. “But only if you want to.”

Peter’s mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to form a coherent thought, but nothing comes out. His eyes dart to yours, then to your lips, and back again, the weight of your words sinking in. “I… I mean… I don’t want to screw it up,” he finally mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

You lean back slightly, giving him space, but your expression softens. “Peter,” you say gently, “you’re not gonna screw anything up. It’s not like there’s a right or wrong way to… y’know, figure this stuff out.” Your lips twitch into a small smile. “Besides, it’s me. You can relax.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze flickers nervously to you again. “I don’t know how you’re so calm about this,” he admits, his voice tinged with both awe and embarrassment. “I feel like my brain is short-circuiting.”

You laugh softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “That’s just the tequila talking,” you tease, nudging his knee with yours. “But seriously, Pete, no pressure. We can just drop it if you want. Go back to making fun of my terrible first date stories.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his jeans. Then, in a voice so soft you almost miss it, he says, “What if I… don’t want to drop it?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression steady, your teasing grin replaced with something warmer. “Then we don’t drop it,” you say simply, shifting a little closer so your knees brush against his. “We take it slow. Make sure you’re comfortable.”

Peter nods, his breath uneven, his eyes locking on yours. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice trembling but resolute. “Okay.”

You smile, leaning in just a little, giving him plenty of time to pull away. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” you murmur, your voice low and soft as you close the gap between you two.

“Don’t stop,” Peter whines, his voice barely audible, his lips parting as yours brush against them in a tentative, featherlight kiss.

Peter freezes for a split second, his breath hitching as your lips press against his, soft and unhurried. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides before one finally finds a tentative place on your knee, his touch light, as if he's afraid to hold on too tightly.

You smile against his lips, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, your fingers brushing through the soft curls at the nape of his neck. He lets out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and it makes something spark low in your stomach.

"You okay?" you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and his wide eyes meet yours like he's still trying to process what just happened.

"Y-Yeah," he stammers, his voice trembling as he nods quickly. "I'm good. Really good."

"Relax, Pete," you murmur, your hand slipping from his neck to his chest, resting lightly over his rapidly beating heart. "You're so tense."

"I'm trying," he mutters, his voice barely audible. "It's just... a lot."

You can't help but grin at how endearingly flustered he is. "Want me to help?" you ask softly, letting your hand trail down to rest just above the hem of his shirt.

His breath catches, and he nods again, his fingers curling slightly on your knee.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice shaky but full of trust.

You shift closer, straddling his lap without breaking eye contact, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. "Just focus on me, okay?" you say gently, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

This time, Peter responds more confidently, his hands finally settling on your hips. His grip is unsure but warm, and you let out a quiet hum of approval, deepening the kiss as you rock your hips forward slightly, testing the waters.

Peter gasps against your lips, his fingers tightening instinctively on your hips. "Oh," he breathes, his voice tinged with surprise and something else— something deeper.

"See?" you murmur against his mouth, your tone teasing but kind. "Not so bad, is it?"

He shakes his head, his eyes glazed with a mix of nervousness and wonder.

"No, it's... really, really not." His voice is barely above a whisper, but the way his grip on you firms slightly tells you he's starting to relax.

You press your hips down again, a little harder this time, and Peter lets out a soft, involuntary moan that makes heat flood your cheeks. His reaction is so raw, so unfiltered, that it sends a thrill down your spine.

"You're so sensitive," you tease, your lips brushing the shell of his ear now, earning another shiver from him. "| didn't think Spider-Man could be this easy to fluster."

Peter groans, his hands tightening on your hips as his head falls back against the couch. "You're not playing fair," he mumbles, his voice strained, but there's no mistaking the way his hips jerk up slightly to meet yours, seeking more friction.

Your movements slow as you take in the way Peter's body responds to you, his breath coming in soft pants, and you can't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at how eager he is, how open he's becoming. His hands are a little more certain now, sliding up to your back, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his mouth hungry and almost desperate.

You pull back slightly, just enough to study his flushed face, his eyes dark with desire but still carrying that hint of nervousness. "You okay?" you ask softly, your voice low but laced with an edge of teasing.

He nods quickly, biting his lip. "Yeah. Just... just don't stop," he says, his voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

Your chest tightens at the pleading in his voice. He's so eager, so willing, it makes your pulse race in response. "Do you want to keep going?" you ask, your hand slipping down to trail lightly along his side, testing his reaction.

His entire body tenses at the question, his eyes wide and searching yours as if he's making sure he's not imagining this. "Yes," he says quickly, almost a little too eagerly. "Please, don't stop."

You smile, pleased by his eagerness, and kiss him again, slow and deliberate this time, pulling away just enough to ask, "Are you sure? Because if you want to slow down, we can-"

"No!" Peter cuts you off, his hands reaching up to cup your face, desperate now. "Please don't stop," he repeats, his voice shaking with a mix of excitement and need. "I-I want this. I really do."

Something shifts in you at his words.

The way he looks at you, how vulnerable and eager he is, makes you feel like you're in control of this moment, but it's a kind of control that feels gentle, like you're both in this together.

You nod, lips curling into a smile as you trail your hands down to the waistband of his jeans. "Alright then," you whisper, your voice smooth, just the right amount of playful. "Let's keep going."

Peter watches, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath as you slowly unbutton his jeans, his hands gripping your waist as if trying to steady himself. His face is still flushed, his eyes darting between your movements and your face. "I've never-never done this before," he confesses, his voice laced with nervousness and excitement. "I don't know if I can-"

"You don't have to worry about anything, Pete," you interrupt, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "I've got you. Just trust me."

And without another word, you press your lips to his again, this time with all the certainty you feel in the moment, as your hands work to unbutton his jeans fully, slipping them off gently. His body reacts instinctively, his hips bucking slightly as you tease him through the fabric of his boxers, causing a deep groan to escape his lips. Even through his boxers you can tell he's huge, his bulge heavy in your palm. 

"Please," Peter murmurs, his hands now restless as they move to your shirt, pulling at it as though he's trying to keep up, his movements a little clumsy but full of need. "I want you-please, just-"

You smile at his desperation, slowly guiding his hands back to your waist, then leaning down to kiss his neck. "I'll make sure you feel good, Pete. Just relax."

His desperation and raw need tugs at your heart and ignites something deep inside you. His words are pleading, his hands trembling slightly as they cradle your face. It’s a beautiful contradiction—his strength as Spider-Man and the vulnerability he’s showing you now.

“Okay,” you whisper against his lips, your voice soothing but edged with a heat that matches the fire in his eyes. You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one smooth motion, your bra following quickly after. You remove yourself from his lap briefly to take your pants off before straddling him again, now completely naked. You don’t break eye contact, watching his reaction closely.

The effect on Peter is immediate and overwhelming. A guttural moan escapes his throat, his hips jerking upward as though his body is moving on instinct. His hands drop to your thighs, gripping you tightly as his breathing becomes ragged. “Oh, God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe and hunger. His wide eyes are glued to you, his gaze flickering between your bare chest and your face, like he can’t decide where to look.

His hands twitch at his sides like he’s unsure what to do with them, his eyes fixed on your exposed skin with an expression so awed it makes you shiver. “C-Can I…?” he stammers, his voice shaky and full of longing.

“You can touch me, Pete,” you say softly, taking his trembling hands and guiding them to your bare waist. “Take what you want from me.”

His hands move hesitantly at first, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist and up to your ribs as though he’s afraid he’ll break you. When his thumbs brush the underside of your bra, you reach back to unclip it, letting it fall away. His jaw drops, and he inhales sharply, his eyes drinking in the sight of you like he’s never seen anything so breathtaking.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, his voice trembling as his hands hover over your bare chest. His gaze flicks up to yours, seeking permission, and when you nod, he finally touches you, his palms warm and tentative against your skin.

The soft, shaky moan that escapes him sends a wave of heat through your body, and you can’t help but arch into his touch. “Peter,” you murmur, your voice edged with desire. “You’re doing so good.”

The praise seems to embolden him, and his hands become firmer, exploring with a mix of curiosity and reverence. When his thumbs brush over your sensitive peaks, you let out a soft gasp, and his hips jerk upward again, drawing a soft laugh from you.

“Easy, Pete,” you tease, cupping his face and bringing his lips back to yours. “We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.”

His blush deepens, but the eagerness in his eyes remains as he watches you reach for the waistband of his boxers. You slide them down slowly, and when he springs free, your eyes widen in shock, your jaw falling open.

He’s massive, thick and hard, his tip already leaking precum. You let out a soft, involuntary gasp. “Holy shit, Pete,” you say, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “You’re… you’re huge.”

Peter’s face flushes deeply, and he looks away as if embarrassed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “But, uh… you’re definitely gonna have to prep me. I’ll show you how, okay?”

He nods quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his hands trembling slightly as they settle on your hips.

Taking his hand in yours, you guide it between your legs, pressing his fingers against the slick heat of your folds. His breath catches as he feels how wet you are, his eyes darting to yours in amazement. “Oh, my God,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing tentatively against you. “You’re so—”

“Yeah, Pete,” you interrupt, your voice laced with amusement and desire. “That’s all for you. Now, slide a finger in, nice and slow.”

He follows your instructions, his fingers clumsy but eager as he pushes one inside you. You let out a soft moan, rocking your hips against his hand. His jaw drops slightly as he watches your reactions, his own hips bucking upward as if he’s overwhelmed by the sensation of your body clenching around his finger.

“Like that?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Just like that,” you reassure him, guiding his hand to add another finger. The stretch is delicious, and you can’t help but let out a louder moan, your head tilting back.

Peter’s breathing grows erratic as he watches you, his fingers moving more confidently now, curling inside you in a way that makes your toes curl. “You’re so tight,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I-I don’t know how I’m going to…”

“You will,” you promise, cutting him off with a kiss. “You’re doing so good, Pete. Just keep going.”

He nods, his thumb brushing experimentally against your clit, and you cry out, your hips jerking against his hand. The sound seems to spur him on, his movements becoming more focused as he learns what makes you squirm and moan for him.

Finally, when you’re trembling and breathless, you grab his wrist gently, stopping his movements. “I’m ready,” you whisper, your voice shaky but certain.

Peter’s eyes widen, his lips parting as he looks at you. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice full of concern.

“Absolutely,” you say, positioning yourself above him and reaching down to guide him to your entrance. “Just go slow, okay?”

He nods, his hands steadying you as you sink down onto him, inch by inch. The stretch is intense, and you can’t help but let out a low, drawn-out moan. Peter’s head falls back against the couch, his mouth open in a silent gasp as you take him in.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “You’re so… big.”

Peter’s hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggles to hold himself back. “You feel… amazing,” he says, his voice cracking with the effort of not losing control. “So warm, so—”

“Move,” you interrupt, your voice desperate as you start to rock your hips. “Please, Pete. I need you.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands guide your movements, and soon the two of you find a rhythm, your bodies moving together in perfect sync. Each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, the feeling of him filling you so completely making your head spin.

Peter’s moans grow louder, his hips snapping upward to meet yours as he loses himself in the sensation. “You’re… incredible,” he gasps, his eyes locking on yours, full of awe and devotion.

“Pete,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ride him harder, chasing your release. “You’re so good. So fucking good.”

Hearing your praise seems to push him over the edge. With a strangled moan, his hips jerk up, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurts. You feel him twitch inside you, and the thought of him losing control sends you tumbling into your own climax, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you.

The two of you collapse against each other, breathless and spent, your bodies still entwined. Peter presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid to let go.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice soft as you stroke his hair.

He lets out a contented sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Better than okay,” he says, his voice full of warmth and gratitude. “That was… everything.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Good,” you whisper, your heart swelling with affection for the boy who just gave you everything he had—and then some.

[elliewiltarwyn]

Then vs. Now

tagged by @ubejamjar, thank you <3

i'll pass it along to... @verysmallcyborg @idalenn @ahollowgrave @selnyam @sylaurin @sasslett

I think I had poked around at a couple of the settings before, but this was the first time I took a Proper Gpose, in March 2020.

Compared with tonight in December 2024:

...gods, where do I even start for the differences lol.

switched jobs, going from wanting to heal to bulking up and taking on martial jobs like dark knight, monk, and viper

like actually bulking up, her customize+ scaling looks so natural to me now that skinny peeled Ellie looks so off lol. it's not a huge difference but it's noticeable.

found out how to give her muscle, those arm dragon tattoos, an Archon mark, and arm/leg hair. the tattoos were a joke at first because it's year of the dragon and i'm a dragon in the chinese zodiac, but errrr oops i'm too used to them now. and they look sick.

her highlights changed to black (with a swerve into white for ShB), her facemark changed to match her hair color, and some of her face shapes were different, but she was always face 2 with this skintone and hair color. really nailed that right off the bat.

she was just my avatar in this online RPG back then. it'd take a year or two, probably after beating 5.3, when I'd start thinking about her as an actual character. And now I have an idea of how much she's grown, how much she's lost, what she's gained, how many women she's managed to smooch--

she's on tumblr now, which has also been a great way to meet so many cool wols and their amazing players and i'll forever be grateful for those opportunities and the friends i've made. <3

...if any of y'all ever want to play with ellie i've got mare files i can lend >.>

[matchalovertrait]

24 screenshots of 2024! ✮⋆˙

Thank you for the tag @itmeansiris, @cakepoppresent, @euphiesims, @rosienthe, @simscici, @smulie, @living-undead, and @elderwisp!! 💗

January

Infant Dulce!!!! Aw how precious 😭 I love her little pigtails and look in her eyes. She looks a lot like her dad here lol.

One of Generation One's requirements in the Joy of Life Challenge is to "Throw the best parties for your child(ren), full of yummy cakes and treats!" and this was the very first of many cute parties :) Ángel's 5th birthday. I was still very new to the Sims 4 and I felt pretty proud of myself.

February

MY FOUR BABIES 😭😭😭😭 I love them with all my heart.

This took soooooo much work as a beginner omg!! I thought it was just okay but it got a lot of love :o

Ángel, Esperanza, Dulce, Guillermo, and Matthew as kids! I had no clue what the future held for them lol. Look at all of them appearing so cute and innocent 😆

March

An ofrenda for in-game Día de Los Muertos. It turned out pretty decent. That's a picture of Noemí's mom, Ynez.

Again, I don't know what possessed me to do a Diced Junior arc 😂 Besides the lighting and ugly text, I'm really proud of it. So no, I will never stop mentioning it.

April

A lil too much text 😅 but I liked showing the personalities of Dulce's cousins more here. Fun fact: It may not seem like it but Guillermo has the genius trait. A handful of his lines in this legacy insinuates that lol.

This was right after Dulce posted the Alto exposé video. I like how I showed a few different opinions from the comment section of her video. Also, it's a little ironic that she would meet a somewhat familiar fate due to Caruso's video about her 😅 hehehe.

May

My free-spirited Dulce 💓 maybe one of her future kids can become a basketball star, hmm.

Ynez and Infant Noemí <3 Translation: It’s just the two of us, but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to put in A LOT of effort to give you a good life. Hopefully, you grow up to be a person who is very kind, strong, and noble. And she did grow up to be like that :)

June

I'm not religious but Noemí practices catholicism. That's the main religion in Mexico, where she is from! Ngl I think I have religious trauma, but I can recognize when people have good intentions when they pray over you. I kinda like it, shows they care. ...Not in the Southern way when people say "Bless your heart" when they don't mean it like that. Context matters 😂

Bruh, Dulce 💀 Also, I will admit that Caruso looks kind of cute here 😂 I see why some of you fell for him. But that was part of my elaborate plan 😈

July

Okay, the first Lizaxi Legacy post went pretty hard. I'm pleasantly surprised about that LOL! We have some good lines, interesting characters, and decent shots!

Part of Mimli and Smeagie's house :> you'll find cacti, aliens, and stars throughout the home.

August

I LOVE the post that this came from 😂 This save was a lot of fun, I need to revisit it.

My Pierrot clown!!!! One of my favorite posts of this year!! I'm so proud of it :> Her outfit, her makeup, the long sorta-side bangs, the balloons, the fog, her facial expression. Love it.

September

Uh oh, Erick met Caruso and he was NOT having it 😅 Erick is such a kind guy too.

The big move to Del Sol Valley!!! Remember when we thought she was moving to Scotland? 🤔 Anyway, Dulce looks so pretty here! I love the palm trees in the back.

October

I reallllyyyyyyyy like the colors of Dulce's office and how I decorated it :>

Dulce's disguise 😂 man I love turning the ideas in my head into reality. Even if it's all pixels.

LMAO this is so funny and unserious to me 😭😭 Why is bro showing off his body, tattoos, AND jawline in the office??? We're supposed to be having a serious convo here, hellllppppp

November

Okay, this is pretty cool. Now that I look at it, that definitely looks like a supervillain house. I also like the fonts that I used and how you can see that the party is about to begin.

Dulce showing off her knowledge from secret agent movies! She's so silly hehe

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Merry Christmas to you too my wonderful friend!🎄💗

Aww poor Ben. I love how we start with shading in his past Christmases compared to what he's starting to experience now with the reader. We come at it from the same angle of headcanon, that Ben's mom was the only person who truly loved him in his family. So it was such a good detail that after she died, Christmases became just more of the same toxic/apathetic atmosphere with his father, compounded by the impact of his mom's death.

Thank you! I love this headcanon and I really hope that in the prequel series "Vought Rising" that we're able to see a little more of Ben's relationship with his father and hopefully let us learn more about his mother. I know that this headcanon is a little "dean-like" but I think it also kinda plays into the "angel in the house" phenomenon that started in the mid to late 1800s. But the headcanon to me, makes sense. Ben has so many issues with his dad and I honestly don't think that if his mother was around that Ben's father would give him such a hard time or allow Ben to grow up in that kind of enviornment.

I also wanted to give Ben some "happy" memories from his childhood that he could compare what the reader was doing for him to something that was familiar and something that resonated with him😊, something about Christmas that was "familiar."

Lmfao come on, Ben. Let's not take this out on others. 🤣

He is the KING of taking it out on others LOL 😂 He also takes it out on Hughie in this fic and I felt so bad doing that to Hughie, but it is so in character for Ben 😒

Wow, that's so interesting. Taking a trip literally through Memory Lane and walking through his family's mansion. I've never thought about that before, but I imagine it would be one of those things that Ben, for the longest time, couldn't bring himself to sell, but also couldn't visit. Like a mausoleum of his old life.

I use this headcanon in my other series Madness, (same with Ben's mother), but to me it seems to make sense. That Ben would have a family mansion somewhere that is full of terrible memories from his father being a total jerk to him and never wanted to set foot inside. "Like a mausoleum of his old life" EXACTLY! It's just a big drafty old house that Ben can't go into because even though he says he's not afraid of anything, he can still feel his father's disapproval and disappointment, and going "home" to where he grew up would only make it worse.

Ben doesn't know what a home is because of what his father did, and now the reader is slowly showing him what it means. I also low-key wanna write the fic of her and him coming back to his house and him being hesitant and her just wandering around in complete shock. 🤔

You're killin' me, friend!! 😭😭

Girl, I'm so sorry 😭😭😭 I had to 😂 It's really just pouring on the hurt and he just really loved his mom 😭

Lmaooo deeply relatable. I feel like it would be oh so funny to intentionally getting on his nerves (knowing he wouldn't hurt you). 😂

I knoooowwww. 😂 I love that about your BMD reader, that she isn't afraid to tease him and he just absolutely HATES it, but he loves her so he can't do anything about it and she knows it. I'll bet that he thinks the real problem is that she knows it LOL 😂

Oh, it's because he actually cares. 💗

He does, man is a total SIMP 😊

People want to think there aren't any good aspects to "traditional/old-fashioned" men, but for the men who are actually good men, traditional doesn't necessarily mean outdated or toxic, so thank you for including this tidbit.

Thank you! 😊 You're right, I think that there's a disconnect about the idea that a "traditional/old-fashioned" man can't be respectful and is always labeled "sexist" or "toxic." And it's wrong, because you can find a man who is respectful, forward thinking, and who has those "old-fashioned/traditional" values (CHIVALRY! 😂) that really translate into putting their girl first, being respectful of what she wants to say, trying to protect her (not because they don't think she can protect herself, but because they want to), and doing things for her (again not because they think she can't do it herself) but because they genuinely care about her. It's the difference between a man and a boy tbh 💅🏻

Her gift to him was so very sweet!! Of course she made him something heartfelt, and he appreciated it because it was a genuine "first" for him, having someone give him a hand-made gift from the heart. 💚💚💚

I know 💗, I really wanted the reader to make something for him, just so that he could again be reminded how much that she loves him and isn't staying with him just because it's convenient or because he's attractive or because she's settling. Also I like that you picked up on the "first" thing again, because that was exactly what I was trying to do lol 😊. It's hard to find firsts for a guy who's over 100 years old 😂

And his gift to her was absolutely perfect. 🥹 A keepsake from his mother? Him basically saying he wishes she could've met his girl? I'm dying of happiness from the sheer fluff. 😭💗

This one was extremely fluffy, but so fun to write! Ben getting her a gift that meant something so intimate to him that he wouldn't have given to anyone else in the past, really just made me melt when I wrote it 🥺 Because he's never wanted to share those pieces of himself with someone else and now he has the reader and I'm just *crying*😭. AND yes! Him saying that he would have brought her home to meet his mom just destroyed me 😭

This was a beautiful addition to the Take a Chance story, and kind of feels like an epilogue in a way, even though I know you're working on that one too. I loved this, friend!!

Thank you so much my wonderful talented friend! 🥰 It really does read like an epilogue and I did not notice that lol 😅

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary:  All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding,  and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late.  He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him. 

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You’d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.  

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you,  that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life,  you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss.  “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry.  Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do!  And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck.  The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.” 

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly.  "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question. 

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A recent Ask I got about Soldier Boy (Ben) cooking fails made me think of this. We know Dean Winchester would be the best cook, but who do you think is the worst cook: Beau Arlen, Russell Shaw, or SB/Ben? 😂

I just saw that and was thinking how utterly ridiculous Soldier Boy/Ben would be trying to fend for himself 😂

Who's the worst cook out of Beau Arlen, Russell Shaw or Soldier Boy/Ben?

Beau Arlen

Beau's not a great cook but he's got a few staples under his belt he can pull off, especially since he's a bit of a foodie. I feel like as Emily grew, he learned he had to up his game from dino nuggets, box mac & cheese and a basic sandwiches. Beau is DEFINITELY a grill guy and would feel more comfortable cooking some burgers or steaks over an open flame than behind a stove. But I feel like Beau is a comfort food guy and knows how to pull together a somewhat balanced meal for him and Emily most nights of the week but is never opposed to grabbing a bite out.

Russell Shaw

Russell is, imo, the best cook behind Dean. He might not have the most settled of home environments but I think the man loves his international cuisine and it's something he and his shadowy team of friends enjoy to do together. I'm thinking big family gatherings on breaks between missions where they go potluck style and Russell always is the one to try out new dishes to the group. He would have grown up with a slightly more normal childhood than Colter and Dory before moving to the compound and I feel like during his teen years he would have missed the diversity in his food. Plus, Russell is a man of many talents and I don't think screwing up in a kitchen scares him in the slightest.

Soldier Boy/Ben

He's the worst cook. 100%. No room for argument here. 😂 Ben can barely handle a Keurig let alone the idea of meal prep. At most he can handle toast and maaaaaaaybe scrambled eggs on a good day. I well and truly don't think he's had to cook for himself ever. As a child, the nannies cared for him, as a young man it was the staff of his parents estate. Once he became Soldier Boy, it was Vought mothering him and he had enough money his entire life to have food ready at his beck and call, even during the great depression. But I do think for the right girl (and maybe twenty years), he might be able to master the microwave and air fryer to survive on his own. 😂

So yeah, I don't think there's much debate on Soldier Boy being the worst lol. Thank you for the ask and this mini headcanon! What do you think about where Beau and Russell fall in the mix?

[heretyc]

Outlast Trials Antagonists When You're Dying [Drabbles]

....[Shrug]. These are platonic, but can be read as romantic. All up to you.

In these, you were beaten by a large grunt. This is 100% inspired from my rebirth trial where I died because of Barbi and a grunt teaming up against me. I know the revive pills only work AFTER you die, but just pretend they bring you back from the dying state.

There's no Y/N mechanic. They each have their little nicknames for you lol. I have absolutely no idea how to write for Gooseberry so I tried my best :( She's very, um...unpredictable.

The electrical cracks against the atmosphere usually filled you with fear, but when you're on the ground with blood coating your head like a halo, maybe it brought comfort. Coyle's grumbling usually made you amused.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me, Commie?" Coyle's voice shrilled, and he stomped over to you, "Did you seriously get fucked up by a large bitch? I thought you were smarter than that!"

He looked down at you with such disgust, such distaste. He just sighed and shook his head, lighting his cigarette with his baton. "Lookie here...I'm gonna bring you the fuck back. Just stop being a dumbass...that's how you let the pinkie flag worshippers win."

Coyle stomped off down the hall, and returned with a bottle of pills. He bent down, gripping you by the neck, and poured the pills into your mouth. "Now swallow. This shit better work."

"Are ya fuckin' joking with me right now?" Familiar footsteps waddled over to your soon-to-be carcass, and you could already smell rotten cologne and bloodshed, "You, of all people, bested by a giant son-of-a-bitch?"

Barbi's laugh was genuine, and mocking in nature, "How the fuck does that happen, sweetness? Huh?" He gently kicked your head, the tip of his boot cold against your temple, "You dodge Lupara no fuckin' problem! But some fatass, who can't even fit in this shithole, does you in?! Not on my fuckin' watch." Barbi punched into something glass, and came back with a pill bottle, shaking it like you would a baby bottle, "Here. These'll help. Don't say I didn't do nothin' nice for ya." He popped the cap before bending down, and ripping your mouth open, his gloves grazing your tongue. "This shit better not happen again...you're better than this. And that's coming from a Barbi."

"Phyllis, no," the puppet screeched, "they reek of rotten teeth and a rotten mind. Don't act like a fucking saint."

"Oh, but daddy...Dr. Futterman," Gooseberry's voice sounded desperate and just a tad pitiful, "They're dying...we can't educate dead people about good hygiene, there's no market for that..."

"Phyllis," the puppet screamed, "Shut the fuck up, and then shut the fuck up again." He remained silent for a moment, before he sighed, "But you have a point. Go get the pills. Now."

"Yes, daddy," the woman fretted, and you wanted to die. Maybe shout for the grunt. You felt...so awkward right now.

The woman came back, and bent over you, "Open wide...just like taking a sweetie," The bottle was open, and she poured a pil inside of your mouth.

The puppet got real close to your face, its drill sharp and shrill as it powered on, "Make sure you brush your fuckin' teeth."

You'd strangle that puppet if you could.

[goodolddumbbanana]

Dark Sun after making Sun's life become more miserable than usual: You know what, I deserve a treat.

So, foreshadowing Nexus comes back huh? I sure hope he doesn't become Rez's heinchman like how the others did. Too tired with the mind control and dark starts thingy. I predicted he will be back in March but who knows. And this time, I pray Sun will be the one who saves him and gets his home.

I mean, Nexus has saved Sun multiple times, it is Sun's role to do it back, right??? (I will be very pissed off if KC or Eclipse V3 happens again, when the villains suddenly have a change at heart because someone else. It sucks)

Also...

Dark Sun is not capable of killing Moon???! Lmao. And now he will find and create their own family??? Maybe we will see Evil Lunar, Evil Earth and Dark Sun become family????

Lol, yeah, some Sun is really unhinged even for Dark Sun.

I really pray Tsams doesn't put Dark Sun down after he finishes his villain role like how every villain ends. (KC, Creator, Ruin,...) Please let me man disappear forever and not get the fate of being pathetic and dumb.

And damn.... Only Sun has the ability to kill Moon?? Moon, what did you feed your brother, I just want to know??? I JUST WANT TO KNOW???

Imagine Sun knows it. Imagine Sun knows he is worse than his evil version of himself, because at least no matter the terrible they did, they didn't kill their own brother.

Imagine Sun knows he is the fuel to make all the brothers killing happen. I'm not saying it will break Sun more than whatever crap will happen from now on, but it definitely keeps him awake at night.

I don't think he will become Dark Sun, but imagine he becomes worse than this evil dude. Like, he doesn't like cleaning like before, he also goes straight to killing and threatening and not like back in the days when he just wanted to talk things out.

It will be fun from now. I just hope they don't make my man Dark Sun become pathetic because they have no idea what they have to do with him.

[tackykachowch]

The other thing that bothers me about the absence of Silco's influence in s2 is how there's literally NO people who are inspired by him. Like, seriously??? I'm not even talking about how he was in control of the Undercity for ~7 years, which is bound to start at least some form of following, but even the sheer passion he had for the cause?? Like, I don't even exist in that world and I'm inspired by his strength of character, but not even one Zaunite did??? Sure. But Jinx blew up the council once and half of the city is blue now. I'm not saying that such a huge action shouldn't have consequences on the people, I'm just saying that Jinx isn't the only one who should've had a massive following after season 1 finale. Especially given the fact that Jinx is still alive and active, but Silco is dead, so he can't protect his ideals anymore. Did not even one person wanted to do that FOR him? Especially since not even chembarons and his direct successors give a damn? Oh yeah, about that. Did uh. Did everyone forget that Jinx is Silco's daughter and Sevika is his right hand? Why did nobody offer that they're the ones who should take his place now?? Even tho Zaun doesn't have a history or even a culture of power inheritance, there will always be people who will get this idea, ESPECIALLY after Cait took Cassandra's place as a councilor. And even we do a complete rewrite of s2, the point still stands.

Vander inspired Ekko to build a community of Firelights and there's still people who are loyal to his ideas, Jinx inspired the Jinxters, and Silco inspired....me to write a dozen tumblr posts about him lol. No, but seriously. Although s2 mentions some "agents loyal to Silco" but they literally don't do anything. We're not even shown who they are. This is just straight-up clownery. Hell, I'm not even saying that the people he inspired should perfectly understand what he was fighting for or why he chose the methods he did to do that. They can misunderstand his COMPLETELY, but still "march under his flag", so to speak.

Tldr: Silco should've mattered as a leader figure.

[chasedeys]

I instantly thought of you when I heard him say “we locked our eyes”, would you like to share your thoughts on that? Please?

hi hello 😭 WHY i mean SURE but WHY 😭 is it because i yap too much on these two oh god you guys I'm so sorry

i fear i don't actually have much to say other than it just being pure joemarr usual bullshit of being so in tune with each other's bullshit that they just 'don't need words' and understand each other so perfectly well that joe can just do the griddy instantly and ja'marr follows suit without pausing and do the celly with him and and laugh at his stupid ass doing that shit so badly in front of so many people when i'm pretty sure joe has refused to do the griddy so many times before 😭😭 though then again this is just the usual scoring-then-team-celly thing lmaooo even if nobody else (but tee in the back from afar!) followed suit but it is special because joe burrow is doing ja'marr chase's trademark celly!! (the idea that people point at ja'marr to do the griddy to his face in various degrees of proficiency is still so funny to me I'm sorry mike gesickis point and griddy is still ingrained in my fucking head 😭 then grants griddy after sacking joe too oughughguh stop)

IT'S LIKE SO CUTE TO ME THOUGH maybe it's just because ja'marr was the closest one running to him and reaching him first so joe looked to him first and joe was all a bit awkward with the ball lmao he was holding it and looking and circling around like what the fuck do i do now with my celly and!! he said he locked eyes!! with ja'marr!!!! for help!!!!!!! ja'marr shrugging at him like 'what do you wanna do now' giving him the spotlight it's your moment what kind of celly do you wanna do i'm right here with you hyping you up no doubt about it and there's ja'marr right there in front of him of course he's going to embarrass the ever living shit out of himself doing the fucking griddy so soooo badly (i remember him doing it in the nfl is post saints game in that tunnel looking towards ja'marr too!!!!! insane. only doing the griddy looking at ja'marr. crazy. and also post afc north wins cigar smoking i think idk but still.) and ja'marr automatically mirrors him falling over himself laughing because oh? joe fucking burrow??? doing the griddy??????

but focusing on the 'locking eyes' aspect it does bring up that they do 'lock eyes' pretty often no? like they find each other across the field to stare at each other and communicate via brain waves or some shit read each others mind through eye contact and face twitches and literally anything else other than verbal words so that's super cute to note! also its soooooooooooo important to me how they BOTH keep mentioning how they keep giving each other looks lmao like at first you'd think only ja'marr being the one to mention him giving joe looks and joe clocking it but no!! joe saying ja'marr gives him looks for him to get him the ball and when ja'marr gets asked about it he gets so?? excited?? like oh! yeah! joe mentioned the looks to you? "i do give him looks i didn't even-" cute cute ANYWAY super into how joe mentioned them locking eyes sorry got ahead of myself 😭

BUT IN ALL HONESTY in this context 'we locked eyes and i just started hitting it' (lmao insane word choice) it's more of a the minute joe looks at ja'marr he knows what he's going to do the griddy because it's ja'marr in his sights. it's not that joe 'reads ja'marr's mind that ja'marr wants him to do the griddy and he's doing it because ja'marr wants him to' it's because oh! that's my guy! my guy who has this cool fucking celly that's his trademark and i've never done it for him and i have literally no fucking idea what to do so you know i should do it now that'll make him laugh lol and boom they're laughing at each other super cutely in this game that took like 10 years off my fucking life