#Mike too god of course Mike too

[kakerutori]

I think once byler is endgame and it’s official the tag should post everything they love about byler and moments they love.

and we can officially state for any future show that queer ships are big but not official yet that they don’t have to worry about baiting.

I want this win for everyone 💛

YES!!! Stop anon, you’re getting me so excited 😭❤️

I can see it already, Bylers will be posting all their favorite Byler moments which we can officially deem as evidence. I know about all the past queer relationships that just didn’t come to pass or were heavily implied but never stated, but for this show, I can see it happening loud and clear. I really can. This is a show about the outcasts, the looked down upon, the truly and understatedly misunderstood. Plus, the queer storylines confirmed in Robin and Will’s characters make me believe that’s no reason for writers to shy away from what they’ve already started.

I have a bunch of favorite Byler moments already, and I can’t wait to revise and add to it based on what comes out next season. It would truly be a celebration.

[dimension-20-every-introduction]

Everyone Introduced in Dimension 20′s Mentopolis episode 1

[bravevolunteer]

idk when i made my movie verse i was trying to keep it as unobtrusive as possible since everything was so fresh but man….. thinking about all the mike afton theories where he wasn’t necessarily too young to remember anything related to that but his “memories” are just so unreliable due to trauma

[skenpiel]

watching the last season of breaking bad is like psychological torture. i have never hated a fictional character as much as i do now

[tartarusknight]

Steve had this habit, a habit which most of the party were annoyed by. They understood it, God did they understand. But after everything was over and the Upside Down was gone for good, it kept happening. Months and months of daily calls. Just Steve checking in and asking them about their day.

Mike hadn't understood why he was on the list of names Steve would call, but if he didn't pick up the phone, there would be a knock on the door within the hour. And Steve, sometimes followed by Robin, would stop by like he was that important to them. Once, it had been on their way to work, and Steve had only locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. Mike just flipped him off and continued reading his comic.

Dustin had told him it was Steve's way of coping, and Lucas had turned the calls into workouts with the older teen. Will had just gone a little red and nodded along. El smiled and told Mike about the tips for hair care she got. Max just rolled her eyes and said that Steve had taken to stopping by with food most days.

Steve would be there. He was always there. It was annoying, but it was a constant. Maybe that's why Mike laid awake as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight. Normally, he could fall asleep within minutes, a habit he had inherited from his dad. But he could bring himself to sleep as his phone didn't ring. As the walkie stayed silent. As the door remained untouched, no knock to be heard.

And it was stupid. Because Mike didn't want Steve to call him every day just to ask him if he was okay. It made him feel like a kid. It reminded Mike of his mom, but even his mom wasn't that bad. No, no one really did that for Mike. No one checked in day after day even as he remained uncaring towards them. No one but Steve.

Until now...

Mike watched the clock as it passed midnight, and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear bubbled up, and he pictured Steve getting into a fight he couldn't walk away from. He pictured a car crash so great that Steve was unable to reach for the walkie he carried with him everywhere. He pictured the worst- the Upside Down still around. The demogorgon coming up and dragging Steve into that hellpit.

Mike was up and pulling on a warm sweatshirt before those images were fully formed. He crawled out his window and down the roof, not too unlike the way Steve had done to visit Nancy. It left him already out of breath by the time he climbed on his bike. But that didn't stop him. He pushed off the ground, biking as fast as he could towards Loch Nora.

The cold air hot his face, and the road seemed to go on forever, but Mike didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Steve's place was in view.

Mike tossed his bike uncarringly onto the pavement before slamming his fist into the Harrington's nice door. He didn't let up. He couldn't as an image of Steve dead in his own pool floated in his mind.

However, then the door was opening. Steve stood there, looking like he hadn't been asleep either. A smear of white powder on his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes. But still, something eased in Mike the same time Steve lost some of that weight in his shoulders as well. "You- you didn't-" Mike started, still out of breath. "Call. Why didn't you- call?" He gasped and Steve looked at him with a weird expression.

"You- What?" Steve questioned, sounding lost.

Mike crossed his arms, "I- you can't just stop!" He gasped out, and Steve's brow furrowed.

"But you don't like it when I do? I annoy you," he tries to point out, and Mike huffs.

"God, of course you annoy me! You track our days more intensly than my mom, and you always make dumb jokes, and I hate that I find them funny! You always call when I'm in the middle of something, and you make it easy to stay on the phone! You are always there like some weird older brother that I never asked for!" Mike shouts and Steve's eyes are wide.

"You don't have to stay around or call, but you do! You do, and you actually care. Like when you call and ask me if I'm okay, it feels like you care, and I don't understand why! I don't get you! I didn't ask you to care about me, but even when you were dating Nancy, you cared! You took Holly and me to get ice cream even though Nancy had to study! You give me and my friends rides everywhere! You care!" Mike throws his hands up in the air.

He glares at the older teen, "You care so much that I stupidly care about you! I care enough to come and check on you because when you didn't call, all I could think was that you were like dead or something," Mike snaps and takes a step back. "But you're obviously fine so-" and he wants to run suddenly. To run from the way Steve's eyes are filled with tears or the stupid words he just told the older teen.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "Mike, I stopped because I didn't think you wanted me to. You always acted like I was your least favorite person in the world and I guess I just- I didn't feel like it was fair to force you to put up with me just because I can't handle not knowing if you were okay." Steve said, and it didn't sound like the normal Steve. He sounded tired and nervous. He sounded like someone had finally beaten him

Mike bites his lip and tastes salt like he had been crying. Or maybe he still was. He crosses his arms like he can shield himself from this conversation. "But now you don't care enough to keep calling?"

Steve rubbed his face, a sigh shaking his whole body as he did. "I still care, kid."

Mike scoffs, "You didn't call."

Steve drops his hands to his sides. "Just come inside. It's too late for you to bike home. I'll call your place and leave a message." Steve says, his voice sounding close to tears. Mike is stiff when he lets Steve pull him inside.

They are quiet as Steve guides him towards the kitchen. The kitchen that has music playing softly and smelling like a bake sale. He blinks as he steps into the room and spots cookies cooling on a rack and a pie stilling uncooked on the counter. The top crust is sitting on the counter next to it. There's a smell of something in the oven, and Mike states at all of it in confusion.

"I bake when I can't relax," Steve admits, and Mike glances over at him. "I still care, and I was trying to give you space. I was trying not to crowd you, so I just," and he waves his hand around the mess everywhere. The smear of white on his cheek now makes sense.

Mike hugged himself, "I don't- I don't mind the calls." He whispered, and it got a snort from Steve.

He looked over at Mike, "I kinda got that from your speech."

They stood there in silence for another moment before Steve moved to finish putting his pie together. "I know that we aren't close or anything. But I care, it's not just the Upside Down making me anxious, it's just that-" and Steve went quiet. "I went overboard, I get it. But now I just- I can't stop." He admits, and Mike hates how upset Steve sounds. How guilty he sounds.

"I fall asleep easier knowing that if someone wasn't okay, we'd know because of you. It's like you take all the stress from me just by being around." He says, and Steve's eyes are wide. "Maybe we just do a sound off every night so you don't have to play phone tag all day." He shrugs, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

"I don't really get how to use the walkie. Like Dustin tried to show me, but he got distracted and started talking about radio waves and well..." Steve mimed it going over his head.

Mike snorted to hide how much that terrified him. The thought of something bad happening and Steve not being able to respond. But he pushed it away as Steve looked at him as if waiting for Mike to tease him. "That's fair. We did modify them, so they worked better. It's not as simple as your average walkie. I can show you," he offered, and Steve's face split into a grin.

"Cool, want to help me finish this so I can put it in the fridge until tomorrow? Then you can teach me the ways," Steve says, going all dramatic, proving to Mike he'd been spending too much time with Eddie. Mike groaned but came over only for Steve to shove him to the sink to wash his hands.

Steve showed him what to do, and Mike was glad to have Steve around. Because sure Steve's habit was annoying, and sometimes it interfered with Mike's plans, but it was nice too. Steve was nice. And that was something Mike ever believed would happen. But as Steve joked that Mike should not become a baker, he was nice. Like the way Mike was nice to Holly or how Nancy was nice to him. He was part of the family, annoyingly nice habits and all.

[hotchsofficialwifey]

I NEED AND I MEAN I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON PERVY MIKE 🫣🫣🫣🫣keeping your panties with him when you go to work, snapping pantie shots when you wear a skirt for later use, shoving his hand in your pants (with consent of course) when his hands are cold, I should really see myself out…🧎🏻‍♀️

anon, you're an angel, ily

pervy!mike who swipes your panties from your underwear drawer when he's at your house and brings them to work to jerk off instead of sleeping on the job (vanessa nearly caught him once).

pervy!mike who sneaks up behind you at the kitchen counter and shoves his hands into your pants or up your shirt (with consent, obvi). when you yelp and roll your eyes, he mumbles a half-assed apology into your neck as he gropes you, using the excuse that it's "too damn cold outside".

pervy!mike who would get a full-blown hard-on whenever you ate vanilla ice cream, or ate a banana, or moaned while enjoying your favorite meal. he'd have to quickly excuse himself to the bathroom and get off as quietly as he could

pervy!mike who came in his pants the first time he ate you out, indulging in your quiet whimpers and sweet little moans. he was so embarrassed when you realized, but it quickly turned to relief when you didn't laugh at him, simply kissed him and told him you thought it was hot.

pervy!mike who would watch porn of any actress that looked vaguely like you over and over again until he started having wet dreams of you in those scenarios. he couldn't help but feel bad for it, but god, it felt so good at the same time.

i love pervy mike so much, you literally do not understand.

[localkiss]

A (not so) Drunken Mistake

pairings: best friend re2!leon x fem!reader

cw: clumsy, awkward shit, desperation, bad fluff (sry), first time, CONSENT CONSENT CONSENTT KING, creampie, shower time, mentions of alcohol, oral (f receiving), hand job, overstim a lil bit, hella dirty talking, light choking, multiple orgasms, soft dumbification, and nipple play. Lmk if I missed anything!

wc: 3.9k

dedicated to the lovely: zoepallvc !!

tags: @adiorxia @admirxation @rigorwhoring @nilpill @lottiies @leonkennedygvrl @leonsdolly @dilfstar @gettingsilly @bonnibuckets @bunnyclaire @dollfacefantasy ahh just tagging all my moots 😣!!

Awkward confessions being blurred out as you two were drinking in this living room. Soft shades of warm hues painting your skins, flushing out the cool tones of the night sky. His hand on yours, mouth slotting against yours as if it were natural. Normal. 

Both of you couldn't help yourselves anymore. The tension was thicker than oatmeal and ice cream cake. Soft giggles and blows into the wet caverns as you clumsily clashed teeth against teeth. Hot breaths of alcohol waft through the air. The bottles of Mike's Hard Strawberry Lemonade and a bottle of Crown Royal Whisky strewn across the coffee table. Alongside keys and stacks of mail, unopened. 

His hands travel across the bumpy surface of your body, mapping out every single dip. Being careful not to squeeze too hard or grope you in places neither of you are ready to explore with one another. If he wasn't drunk, he would've stopped at every inch and looked at you for confirmation. 

Your hands too, roamed wildly on his body. A soft gasp left you as soon as he guided you to his lower abdomen. Wanting—no—needing you to touch him. To give him the same attention he's giving you. Of course, the amount will almost never be the same. It's okay though, minds too heavy to even think rational thoughts. So who gives a fuck if he loves you more. Gives you more attention and doesn't expect the same amount back. It's been like this since day one. 

Leon has always had your back, especially during your childhood years. Both of you stuck to each other like glue. Always helping you when a guy gave you trouble or rejected you. Wished it was him that you imagined between your thighs. To be the first one to take your virginity with everything. But he thought it was too much to even ask for. So he settled with just staying best friends with you.

Of course, alcohol gave him the courage to even be doing this to you right now. But he knows better than to sleep with you instantly. Got to take things slow… to woo you over and make you yearn for him to be inside of you. To desire him pounding you with all of his might. 

You've seen his build many times, gulping as his arms got bigger than they used to be. When small veins would pop up on his forearms or his hands, it made your mouth just start pooling up. 

Or when the two of you would play fight, feeling his arms easily wrap around you and trap you against his body. One arm around your shoulders and the other around your delicate waist. 

Tossing and turning, you wearily remember last night. The kisses and heated touches you guys exchanged. Good god. You groan and flip over, reaching for Leon. 

“Leon. Wake up,” you croak out, rubbing your face with the palms of your hands. 

He grumbles, moving his legs, slowly waking up from the sound of your voice. He rolls over to his side, hands finding you and pulling you close to his bare chest. 

Your hands push up against his pecs, shaking him slightly. Giving him a few nudges with your feet, feeling his warmth soak into your skin like water. Makes you feel sleepy but you know you shouldn't fall back asleep. You have to get up and take care of your headache and relieve yourself! 

He opens his eyes slowly, a small smile creeping up on his lips. A toothy awkward smile. “Good morning beautiful,” he hums huskily. 

Doughy thighs squeezing together instinctively from the sound of his voice. Fuck. How did you even stay around him without jumping his bones? 

“Good morning,” you shyly sputter out, looking into his baby blue eyes. Fluttering your eyelashes a few times. Make sure you aren't dreaming of this whole scenario out. Daydreaming even. Maladaptive type shit. 

His thumbs gently trace your lower back, his pupils dilating into heart shaped you swear. 

You both could stare at each other for hours, if only you didn't have to piss so fucking bad. Might explode if you don't get up any time soon. Well, maybe not explode per say, but your kidney would sure appreciate it if you peed sooner than later!

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, you tap on his arms, signaling him to move them. “I gotta go pee real quick,” shuffling out of the bed in his shirt and your underwear. 

Making a quick pace, getting into the bathroom and shutting the door. Relieving yourself with a sigh. Getting up, flushing the toilet, and washing your hands before Leon rattles his knuckles on the door. 

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, hold on.” You open the door, seeing him stand there with his hip slanted, arm leaning against the door frame. Of course his lips are painted in a smug sort of smile. 

“Let's shower together baby,” he comes up, wrapping his arms around you loosely. Coaxing you into this idea with soft kisses and soft touches. Feeling you relax into his body, practically slumping against him. Cute, he thinks. 

Hearing you mumble out an “okay”, he takes the prerogative to slip his shirt off of you. You lift your arms and he tosses it to the ground. Following his actions, you slip your panties off. 

Shyly standing before him as his eyes take over you hungrily. Leon hums in appreciation, his hands slowly running up your arms, over your shoulders, and down your chest. Taking his sweet time to appreciate every single thing on your body. Every curve, pimple, dimple, and strand of hair he can see with his eyes. 

This man is in love with you. Clear as day! 

You tremble with anticipation and adrenaline, feeling goosebumps chasing after his warmth. Letting out a low moan as he cups your breasts in his gigantic hands. Well… they're bigger than your own, that's for sure. You are positive he can hear each breath you take and exhale out through your nose. 

He lets go of them after a few soft squeezes. His index and thumb encapsulate your perky nipples, tweaking them curiously.

A zip of pain mixed with slight pleasure swirls around your areolas. Almost buckling from the sight of him and feel of his fingers. “Leon…” you whimper impatiently, hands coming up to tug on his boxers with little force. 

“Shh.. I got you princess,” he gives you an idiotic grin. Slowly dipping down to press his lips against yours, teasing you with little licks of his tongue, and soft nibbles. 

Groaning when you pull him down by the neck, arms wrapped around him like he's gonna disappear soon. Meanwhile his hands push his briefs down enough for them to fall down his legs. 

Soon after he grabs your thighs, directly underneath the cuff of your ass. Picking you up with ease and moving you to the countertop, right next to the sink. His hand moves up to your waist and the other moves to the back of your head. Slowly pulling away and tilting your head back, trying not to pull too hard. 

Groaning as you whine and paw at him needily. His lips mark his way down south, stopping to attack your neck with hickeys. Feeling your hands grip at his soft light brown hair. Giving it a few tugs and he bites down slightly harder on your chest. Of course he has to give the same treatment to the other side, kissing the valley of your breasts. 

Feeling your stomach tighten up, you wonder if he actually is a virgin like you. How is he so good at making you breathless? 

His lips wrap around your nipple and suckles on it, teeth grazing bud making you gasp. Hot wet tongue swirling around it, humming as you moan and press his face further into your tit. Leon's warm hands rub against your back soothingly as his eyes flutter, looking at your reaction. 

Pulling away, a string of spit connecting himself to you. Moving to give attention to the other side. He's like making out with your tits, humming and moaning like he's getting action too. His eyes dart up to you, pupils absolutely swallowing his irises. He looks so drunk off of just kissing your chest. 

“Can I go further, baby?” Leon's hands slip down to your thighs, giving them a squeeze. 

You open them instinctively. Allowing your sensitive parts to be visible to his eyes. Watching his eyes quickly flit down and stare at it. Zoning out practically. 

“It's so pretty, “ He coos, pushing your legs wider and spreading your cunt open with his thumbs. 

You twitch from how close he is and whine at his compliment. Hands giving his hair a tug closer to your body. Leon chuckles, pressing his lips on your inner thighs, teasing you by nearing where you want him. 

Repeating the same process on your other thigh. Leaving little marks wherever his lips collide with your soft skin. “Mhmm… fuck. Smells s’good. Can't wait any longer, beautiful.” He sticks his head further between your doughy thighs, tongue sticking out. 

Making contact with your sopping wet cunt. Breath fanning your glistening folds as he just licks it like a candy. Sloppily wrapping his lips at the top, looking up at you like he wants to ask where your clit is. 

“Mmph.. Leon it's here,” you lift the hood of your clit and show him it, shyly. He hums in affirmation. 

Leon goes buck wild and sucks on it like crazy. Feeling your hips jolt towards him. His gorgeous blue eyes flutter shut, getting lost in the sauce. Your sauce. Sweet and tangy as he's trapped in the smell of you. So overwhelming in the best way possible, really. 

You can tell he's enjoying this more than you are. With the way he's moaning and groaning, so much louder than you. The vibrations add fuel to the growing fire in your stomach. You spread your legs just a bit further apart. Making room for his head. 

“Leon,” you mewl loudly. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “Please…” not sure what you are begging for. But he understands right away. 

His right hand slides away from your thigh, fingers teasing around your drippy hole. Slowly pushing his middle and ring finger until he's knuckles deep. Savoring the way you clench around his thick fingers. 

“So tight and warm.” He mumbles into your pussy. 

Delving back in and sucking on your clit once more. Moving his fingers in and out, not trying to make it hurt. But it's so hard to be patient and not make you cry out his name. He needs to make you feel good. After all these years of playing a cat and mouse game. 

Leon's been saving himself for you, hoping you did the same for him. Which he should know by now, since you both only really hangout with each other and mutual friends. Obviously you have your separate lives but it mostly overlaps with one another. 

You rock your hips in time with his fingers, gasping when it hits your g-spot. Tugging on his hair to get him impossibly closer to your heat. The sounds of slurping and squelching are echoing throughout his bathroom and into his bedroom. 

All this, you would've never thought would become reality. You've imagined him on top of you and whispering the naughtiest things you could think of. His hands touching everywhere on your body, his lips marking where it touches. Proudly claiming that you are his and nobody else's. Holding you extra tight when someone would flirt with you. His crystal blue eyes narrowing and a menacing aura shifting around him. 

What snaps you out of your thoughts is when he curls his fingers and his teeth graze your sensitive bud. Can't help that your hands tighten around his poor strands of hair. 

“You like that, baby?” Leon hums, watching your expressions intently. Figuring out what makes you tick and what you don't like. And you like this. 

A soft whimper rolls off of your tongue and into his ears. It's such a beautiful melody, hearing you enjoy yourself because of him. 

“C'mon princess, use your words.” He speeds up his fingers. Looking up at you like you are a god he worships day and night. A condescending tone just drips from his mouth. Acting like he can't figure it out just from the look of you. 

“Y-Yeah… mmhg,” you nod your head dumbly. Feeling your thighs start to shake and your gummy walls clenching around his digits. “like it..” 

Leon laughs softly and continues. Wanting to make you unravel before you both hop into the shower. It's the least he could do! He swirls his tongue around your clitoris a few times. 

You let out a high pitch moan, “‘M gonna cum! ‘M gonna cum…!” 

“Cum for me. Let it all out, honey.” He coos at you. His eyes are glued to your face. Watching it turn a light pink. Mouth hanging open wide. “Know you can do it for me.” 

The coil in your stomach tightens with a warm gooey liquid making its way down south. It snaps when Leon bites down just a little bit harder on your bud. 

All sorts of sounds spew out of your mouth. Whines, his name,  and breathy moans. Your upper body starts to shake, thighs closing in on his head, squeezing him. Your stomach tenses and your body wants to curl in on itself. 

Leon hums in revelation. His hand slows down to a stop and his mouth travels to your hole. Greedily licking away at your release. Needing every last drop to satisfy himself. He wishes he could store it all in a bottle and drink away at it when he misses you and your sweet cunt. Reluctantly, he pulls away, sucking at his fingers that were inside of you.

You hide your face at that, too embarrassing to watch him enjoy your taste. 

“Baby,” his hands slide up around your waist. Standing up to his full height. His head dipping down into the nook of your shoulder. His hot breath tickles your skin, in all the right ways. “Think you can walk?” 

You can feel his dick pressing up against your thigh, throbbing with need. It's hot and wet on your skin. “I don't know.” Is what you settle to say. 

Before you take another breath, he scoops you up into his arms. Your legs immediately wrap around his fit waist. He steps into the shower and sets you back on the ground, holding onto your waist snugly. Slowly turning on the knob to the right to get the water warm.

Leon pulls the shower diverter pin to switch the water flowing down to have it flow up into the showerhead. He leads you both under the water, his other hand coming up to your eyebrows. Making sure the water doesn't get into your eyes. 

Such a romantic!

Stepping closer to his body, in between his feet, you wrap your arms around him. “Do you want to do anything else?” 

“Like…what?” 

“Mm.. well, your dick keeps poking me…” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” You look up at him with a smile. Sneaking your nimble hands to it. Wrapping them both around it and slowly — but very clumsily — stroking him. Watching his face change as you continue to jerk him off. It's your turn to make him feel good. Or at least you think you should give it back. 

Hearing his soft moans. Feeling his hips buck into your hand and his arm tightening around you. Leon's hand slips down to the back of your head. Dipping down to capture your lips in a kiss. His tongue prodding your lips, begging for entry. Hot breaths coming out of his nostrils against your face. 

Your mind can't handle kissing him so hungrily, and making him feel good. So, you squeeze his poor cock and in return, Leon tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls it just a bit. Stumbling a bit backwards, you let go of it. 

Leon pulls away and kisses around your face. So sweet. 

“May I have sex with you?” His eyes blink their way down your wet body. And then back up to your eyes. 

His face is flushed, his plump lips are pressed together. He just looks so divine. You want to, want to so bad. 

“Yes, please.” Nodding like a madwoman, he gives you a chaste kiss. Patting your head like a cute puppy. 

Turning you around and pressing down on your back gently, he goes between your bodies and grabs his length. Teasingly rubbing the sticky tip against your clit and down to your hole, not yet putting it in. Groaning when it slips a little bit into your hole. 

“Are you ready, baby girl?” 

“Uhuh, I'm ready Leon.” You put your hands on the shower wall as his hand grips onto your hip.

Slowly pushing his cock into you, a soft whine mixed with a moan leaves his lips. Stopping after a few inches are in your pussy. “You okay?” 

“Mhmm… you feel so big, Leon.” Pressing your hips back against him as you speak. 

Leon's hands grip harder onto your hips. Watching his dick disappear into your wetness. Your gummy walls clinging onto him like he should never leave. Seems like he enjoys being told that his manhood is big. 

“Fuck baby, you're so… tight.” He leans down, sliding the rest inside. Groaning when you flutter around him, squeezing him harder. His hips buck and he grazes your womb. 

You moan louder, trying to get used to something bigger than a tampon going in and out of you. “Please..” Wincing and involuntarily arching your back. 

Leon pulls out and pushes in, a few inches at a time. After a few minutes of gently fucking you, he decides to go just a tad rougher. His eyes narrowing at your ass, watching the way it jiggles as his pelvis makes contact with it. 

He's always thought you had a nice ass. Now, it's going to be forever ingrained in his mind, as it moves like water. Bouncing back onto him. 

“Baby, fuck,” he whines, going faster. Hearing your desperate moans and whimpers makes all his thoughts drip down to his cock. 

Leon wants to kiss you so bad. Kiss you and fondle you whilst he's pounding you. Not sure if his brain would short-circuit and ejaculate prematurely. He's too deep into you to ever want to pull out though. 

His hands slide up to your breasts, squeezing them as if they were stress balls. Lowering down so his chest is merely inches away from your back. Feeling the heat radiating off of his body. 

“You like that?” Breathing heavily into your ear like it's asmr. Snaking his arm around your neck, the other one wrapping around your waist. Needing you to be as close to him as possible. Even if it meant lightly choking you with his soft muscles. “Like it when I manhandle you? Mhmm, I know you do. Every time we wrestled, you think I couldn't hear you gasping and whining?” 

It's dizzying how easily he can maneuver you. You can't really tell if he's trying to make you break, or if he's just talking to talk. Probably the former. 

It's sort of frustrating how much he can remember and pays attention to your every little expression and noise. It's almost as if he has a small part of his brain just dedicated to you, storing everything about you there. Which really, should flatter you. Such a man wrapped around you like a vine. 

“Fuck, I do. I love it,” you claw at his forearm, arching your back. Feeling the way his fat leaky tip goes impossibly deeper, curving around your squishy muscle. Unable to help yourself when your eyes roll into the back of your head, tilting back against his chest. 

He's barely pulling out in this position and he groans. “Yeah, I'm always right, baby. I know you better than yourself,” he coos condescendingly. “Play with that pretty little clit of yours.” He can't help but laugh, trailing off into a whimper. Pressing kisses against your temple. 

It doesn't take you long to spring a leak! With all that dirty talking he keeps mumbling into your ear. His hand groping your front side insatiably. With his stamina, really, he could go at it all night like a rabbit. 

“Mmm… been dreaming of stuffing you full of my cock for a long time. Wanted to hear your pretty voice and feel you against me. Shit, this feels unreal.” Leon grunts through his teeth. Clenching his jaw tight. 

Your legs almost give in, pressing back against him hard. Letting strings of cries and unimaginable sounds out from the bottom of your lungs. Feeling numb from the waist down. Luckily, Leon holds you upright, still plapping away into your soaked cavern. 

“Good job. Good girl, sweet fucking—shit.” Your boyfriend growls, removing his arm around your neck to push your lips together. Swooping in for a spit filled kiss. His manhood is twitching against your womb. 

“Want you to cum inside,” you lick into his mouth as he moans breathily. Pressing you tighter against him once those words reach his ears. 

“Yeah? Want me to fill this pussy up with my cum? Get you pregnant and—” He can't even hold on for much longer. Just the idea of pumping you full and the possibility of getting you pregnant just makes his veins jump. 

Leon whimpers, spurting rope after rope of his load into your womb. Your pussy greedily latching onto him and milking him for what he's worth. He's still humping into you. Fantasizing about the day you both have a family, a white picket fence and a cute dog in the picture too. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, precious.” He hesitates to pull out, sad at the idea of his little swimmers falling out of you. 

Being the good guy he is, he cleans you both off. Massaging your hips and lower back, fearing he went a bit too hard on you. Running the soft pads of his fingers through your hair, with you resting against his chest. 

Littering your face and neck with sweet kisses. Drying you both off and placing fresh clothes on your body. Laying down in the bed, cuddling one another.

“Maybe next time, we'll do it in my bed.” He jabs your arm lightly with his elbow. Already thinking of the next time both of you will go at it like teenagers. Clumsy and desperate. 

“Yeah. Maybe next time, someone will buy condoms.” And that makes him whine, pouting down at you. 

“But baby,” he tugs you closer to his chest, “I'll take care of you and the baby.” 

“Leon.” You whack at his chest. Trying to smack some sense into him. “We can't have kids right now.* 

“Who said so?” 

“Me.”

“Well, I say we can and should.” 

“Huh. Whatever you say boss man.” 

“Don't call me that. It sounds gross.” Leon scowls playfully, feigning disgust in his voice. His blue hues twinkled softly.

“Okay, big guy.” You erupt into a fit of laughter. Leon joined you immediately after. The vibrations buzzing against your hand on his chest. Safe and warm. Like home. 

[lucysarah-c]

Criminal Record

A young cadet from the survey corps began dating one of the higher-ups. What others did in their personal lives was none of Levi’s business, but in the comfort of your shared room, as each of you focused on your respective piles of paperwork, the brand new hot topic of the regiment felt like fair game.

“Did you hear that John and Grace are dating? I heard it from Erwin this morning,” you broke the silence, attempting to start a conversation with your long-time boyfriend.

“How could I not? Everybody is talking about that shit,” he replied, not even looking up from the opposite side of the desk, as he filled out forms.

“I think they look cute together, but I hope they can handle the attention during meals,” you said, taking a sip of your hot tea and leaning back in your chair.

“She's too young for him, just a damn brat,” your grumpy boyfriend replied, leaving you torn between laughter and concern.

You continued sipping your tea, reclining in your chair with your eyes fixed on your boyfriend's raven head as he wrote. A mischievous smile crept onto your face.

“Levi.”

“What?”

“Levi~”

“What do you want?” This time, he raised his bullet-gray eyes from his work to see why you were being so annoying. “What’s so damn funny for you to have that stupid smile on your face? Go back to work; we're not even halfway through.”

“I was younger than her when we first slept together.”

Your words filled the room like a sermon about sins.

You were having the time of your life, while your boyfriend… well, he seemed to be having a mental breakdown.

Later, the next day.

“Erwin, do you think Grace is too young for John?” You asked him directly, already sensing Levi's discomfort.

“Huh? Well, she is young for him. But who am I to tell them who they should spend their time with? Even if I think it’s a little inappropriate,” Erwin replied, continuing to read one of the many reports he had.

It was just another morning for the six of you (Mike, Erwin, Hange, Moblit, Levi, and you), making sure all the assignments were in check.

You could hardly contain your laughter at his response.

“Did you know that I was younger than her when Levi and I started dating?” You omitted the sexual reference for the sake of your embarrassed boyfriend.

Hange spat out some of her tea and burst into laughter, while Mike simply chuckled.

Levi, on the other hand, kept his eyes fixed on the paper in his hands.

“Oh really? What do you have to say in your defense, Levi?” Erwin was, of course, poking the bear, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised his blue eyes from the paper to look at his friend.

“Oh my god! You even said the other day that she was too young!” Hange said, almost screaming between laughs. They were probably going to tease him about this for a while.

“Shut up, four eyes,” he replied before, probably, considering his next reply. “In my defense?” He echoed, confirming Erwin’s question. “In my damn defense, I used to kill people for money and be involved in drug deals as a thug in the underground. Sleeping with someone underage is the least of my sins; just add it to my long list of criminal records.”

This was my first one-shot ever. It's such a shame that somehow Tumblr erased some of my old posts out of nowhere, and I couldn't find it. It holds a special place in my heart because of that. But, well, I decided to rewrite it and post it again because I really want to keep it in my masterlist. Here is the link to part 2, but be careful, it was written a WHILE ago. Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @@feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @@kikarouflames Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[celeste-clearwater-06]

The Kitchen Window (pt. 6 - the epilogue)

Bayverse! Raphael x Fem! Reader

desc- (Raph has to make his intentions clear to you and to whatever it is that you two are)

warnings - none

word count - 2.5k

READ PREVIOUS PARTS BEFORE THIS

“I look stupid, Mike.”

“Nah, bro you look great!” Raph’s younger brother is looking his outfit up and down, trying to perfect any wrinkles or stray threads, “She’s gonna love it, trust me.”

Raph scuffs his new air force’s on the cement, while the other turtle straightens the collar of the graphic tee up around his neck. Maybe he could lend his fashionable little brother a bit of slack. Mikey knew a lot more about this stuff.

It’s early August. Summer’s fleeting, to warm days and cooler nights, which are perfect for this exact occasion.

Raph has been a mess of fluttering nerves all week trying to set this date up, with the help of his brothers and April. Every little detail, meticulously planned.

At first he was gonna do it on his own, in secret. Come to your door, trip over his words and fumble the bag, because lord knows he’s not good with expressing his feelings.

Thank god for April and his siblings, though it hurt his ego a little to come to them and admit he didn’t know how to set up a lousy dinner. Of course they were happy to help. Mikey and April especially.

So now, the five of them were on the roof of your apartment complex and pulling together all of their different tastes and ideas to create this adorable little date for him and his girl.

Raphael didn’t know what the two of you were. After that bizarre (albeit fantastic) first kiss, his visits to you were so much more frequent. Even if it was quick, he’d make a pit stop to your window for a peck on the cheek that kept his spirits up for a long night's patrol. More often than not, you two would be chatting away in the late night hours. And then of course make out a little, with him hanging on the sill like a fool.

It was so great, and it filled Raph with something he didn’t know he needed. Every second he wasn’t with you, he counted down till the next time he'd meet your gorgeous face again, greeting him with a kind, welcoming smile that made his knees wobble. But that was it.

There wasn’t really a label. Not that he liked those anyway.

He just needed some clarity. Some sort of outwardly spoken agreement that you guys weren’t just really good friends who kissed and held hands and tried to hold in your laughter in the dark, trying not to disturb the peace of your neighbors.

“Oh this looks great.”

Raph watches the way April appreciates her work of a cute little vase of flowers on the center of a table, hands settled on her hips. Well, it’s less of a table than it is a large wooden crate with a nice-ish tablecloth, but it serves just the same. It’s not too extravagant, not too drab. Just right. It suits the mix of your different lives. Little, dollar store candles light the area with a warm haze, next to the tin containers filled with the meal you’d taught him to make months ago. He’s hoping it tastes as good as it did when you make it. Raph hasn’t told you how often he whips it up at the lair when he’s missing you.

“How’s lookout, Leo?”

The blue-banded turtle looks over his shoulder, where he’s crouched on the ledge right next to the fire escape ladder.

“All clear.”

Thankfully, everything seems to be coming together just as Raph wanted it to. It settles some of the butterflies that rage in his stomach. The time for one of his brother’s to go and fetch you from your apartment is growing closer and closer while Donnie is scooting the plastic folding chairs next to the crate.

He’s so not ready for this. A little voice is nagging in the back of his head to just back out now.

Raph knows you’ll at least like it. Just how you like everything else he does for you. He has no clue why this is so damn difficult.

“Alright, Raph.”

April clasps her hands together and looks up to him for approval.

“What do we think?”

He thinks it looks great. Raphael loves the gentle little glow everything gives against the dim light pollution that stretches out over the city. Will you?

“You’re a lifesaver, O’Niel.”

“Don’t forget it.”

He snorts.

“I guess it’s showtime then!”

Mikey attacks his older brother with a hug from behind.

“Aw come on Mike!” Raph’s trying to swat him off his shell, but not before his two other siblings, and April crowd him with an embrace, that eases the nerves running rampant. He rolls his eyes, but can’t hold back the grateful grin that breaks through his annoyance. Their words are encouraging and warm, fueling the confidence he’s so desperately been trying to grasp for all this time.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

“Trust us, she is gonna love it.”

Leo’s hand ruffles over Raph’s red bandanna.

“Go get em’, tiger.”

Ouf, what a cornball.

“Alright, alright!” They all break away from the group hug with excited smiles. This is home to Raphael. All his favorite people- well, most - in his corner of the ring and hyping his happy-ass up to romance a cute girl.

“Leo?”

“I’ll go get her for you.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your apartment is warm. Over the weeks, the walls are filled with picture frames and cute decor that April and the boys have been bringing you. Polaroids of you and the boys are littered on your bedside table and posted on the fridge with little paw print magnets. Most of them are with or of Raph. Him sleeping with an open mouth, or being dog-piled on by Mike and Donnie. Your favorite is the one where you’re sitting on his shoulders, laughing, while he’s grinning into the camera flash. April took it, down in the lair, where he was parading you around after everyone had a few-too-many drinks. The once empty living space is now full of life and love and sooo, so many cat toys.

You’re on the livingroom floor now, playing with sweet Vannie to distract you from the lack of texts from your best friend. It’s been worrying you all day, that Raph hasn’t responded to any of your messages, even the funny memes, like the others you send him daily.

You’d given up on the last message, a little over an hour ago, though it doesn’t keep you from repeatedly glancing at your phone while your cat darts after the laser pointer across the carpet and onto the sofa. The little bell on her collar tinks quickly with each movement. She sees someone through your window before you. Two taps against the glass make your head whip around excitedly.

It’s not who you’re expecting, but Leo’s visit is still a nice surprise.

“Hey Lee!” You hide the disappointment with a happy smile that he returns.

“How’s it going?”

“Good! Good,” he doesn’t miss the way you’re trying to peek over his shoulder, “Have you heard from Raph at all? I couldn’t get a hold of him today.”

“Actually yeah.”

This perks your attention right back up, locking with his eyes that carry a mischievous glow.

“Oh! How’s he doing? He didn’t get hurt on patrol, did he?”

Leo chuckles.

“Nah. He’s been busy.”

Busy? Weird. Even if Raphael were kicking sorry ass, he’d text you back in a heartbeat. Something fishy was going on.

“Oh. Huh.”

“You wanna see him?”

That, you couldn’t say no to.

“Is he here?”

Leo knows, with the way you two talk about each other, that it’s love. He knows more than both of you. It's so funny how his younger brother and you will spend hours at a time just sitting in silence or talking about life, and then when you’re apart, all that one of you can think or say has something to do with the other.

“He’s up top,” his head gestures back up the fire escape. You’re already climbing out the window, while he and Vannie stare. Lee takes a hold of your arm when your foot reaches that first step. You look back at him with a puzzled stare.

“You gotta close your eyes.”

“What?”

It’s a surprise. That makes you nervous.

“Just trust me. I’ll take you up there, you just can’t look.”

Uh oh. You’re hesitant to follow his instructions, but his hand is already blinding your vision, and he’s scooping you of your feet. You shout in surprise.

“Leo, what’s going on?”

The only reply you recieve is his heavy footfall on the metal stairs. He has to take his hand away, but you keep your eyes clenched shut, partially to obey his order, but the other is so you don’t have to see how far up you might be from the ground below.

“This is freaking me out Lee,”

“I’m not gonna drop you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Oh, he knows. He’s just great at keeping secrets.

The final, thudding footstep lands on concrete, and he sets you on the ground, steadying you onto your feet. Your breath is nervous, heart racing, senses heightened. You can hear the buzz of the city off in the distance. A cool breeze brush through your hair. The concrete scraping on your wooly socks.

“Alright, take a look.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Your eyes blink open. Then again. Your brain isn’t processing whatever is in front of you, until he speaks.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

Raph’s hands are shoved into the front pockets of jeans you’ve never seen him in. They’re new. So are his shoes, and the black, long sleeve tee that’s perfectly tailored to fit, and let his shell still breathe from the back. The casual clothes are incredibly flattering on him. You can still see the faint lines of his toned muscles under the cotton, catching in soft light. He’s so handsome, it hurts. And cute. GOD was he cute.

Shifting his weight, subtly from one foot to the other and smiling, anxious and bashful, while you stare at him in bafflement. Behind him is an adorable, candle lit dinner and your favorite flowers in a glass vase, all tuned with the ambient sounds of New York.

“Oh, Raph.”

His name comes out in a sigh, incredulous, full of shock and wonder. You take a few steps forward to better take in the effort he’s thrown into all of this. You’re nearly speechless, breathless, and trying to swallow the lump in your throat. He set up a date. A date! For you!

“You like it?”

His eyes are hesitant, but full of a childlike hope when they meet yours.

“Raph, this is… you did this?”

“Well, I had help. I ain’t this creative.” Raph chuckles nervously, nodding to where Leo was standing, now gone without a trace, “But… yeah.”

“For… me?”

You’re still so surprised at the sweetness of it all.

“Well, I’d hate to be up here eatin chicken and rice by myself all night, so yeah.”

He’s easing up, gentle grin mirroring yours.

“Raph this is so great!”

Like a kid, you all but skip over to look closer at the make-shift table and chicken and rice in their bowls, stream rolling off in the tepid air, while your fingers over the tablecloth. He’s laughing at your stupidly huge smile.

“I was hoping you might think so.”

You look up at him, face glowing in the candlelight.

“I know I haven’t been texting you back. Been a nervous wreck all day.”

His expression contorted into a soft gout of admiration, a soft smile, and even softer, green eyes. Your heart leaps. You know what that look is. You’ve seen it so many times in Raph’s face and now you’re putting it all together while he stands just feet from you. He’s so perfect.

You stride back over to him and let him take your hands in his. He’s nervous again, taking a deep breath.

“Look,” he begins, “I just… I figured if we’re a thing and all…Well, I wanna do this the right way. I hope it’s alright with you. I know it’s nothin’ fancy but…”

He groans, slapping hand over his face. You giggle at how he trips over his sentence.

“I had a whole, stupid speech for this shit. Now I just look like a fuckin’ idiot.”

Those fumbling, nervous words speak novels to you. He doesn’t have to say much for you to just get exactly what Raph is trying to say.

“I think… that sounds great,” your voice is soft, “And I also think I’m in love with you and I have had no idea what to do with myself, since the first day we met.“ you exhale the words like they’ve been trying to claw their way from your throat.

This catches him completely off guard. Raph’s eyes are as wide as they were the first night you kissed him. His nostrils flare. Before you think you’ve fucked yourself up royally, he pulls you up towards him in a soul-snatching kiss that depletes the air from your lungs, feet nearly leaving the ground. You’re desperately grabbing at the collar of his shirt to deepen it, but he pulls away, and lifts you completely from the ground in a tight embrace, leaving you both gasping for your breaths.

“Jesus, you have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that,” Raph sighs next to your ear. “I love ya. A lot.”

His arms tighten further around you and you smell a nice cologne in the crook of his neck, where your head is buried.

He sets you back to your feet and lifts your chin with his finger for a much more gentle, passionate kiss, that you accept happily. His hand rests gently on your hip.

“You’re the best thing that coulda ever happened to a weirdo like me,” Raph’s forehead is pressed down against yours, with closed eyes.

“You’re better,” you counter. He gives your hip a squeeze, “Let’s be something. Even if it’s hard.”

He chuckles.

“Nothin’ I can’t handle, Sunshine.”

You’re both right where you belong, centimeters away from each other, smiling like idiots, and finally off that steep cliff that’s been taunting you for months. Raph is your home, and you’re his, far out of that little kitchen window.

A Polaroid click behind you just makes you shake your head with a flustered grin.

“Mikey, are you shittin me right now?”

You can hear his little brother shuffle back into whatever shadow he came from, laughing along with the rest of the party that's hidden away.

“Fuckin idiot.”

fin <3

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Oh no, wait...

What's this?

A gift for my dear readers?

Take a listen 🤭😝

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

I GOT YOUUU

I'VE BEEN SLAVING AWAY AT THIS SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST CHAPTER, JUST TO GET TO THIS POINT MUAHAHAHA

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING (AND LISTENING!!) AS MUCH AS I DID CREATING THIS FUN LITTLE STORY!!!

The Kitchen Window was SUCH A FUN PROJECT, and I'm so glad I've been receiving all of your guys' support, interaction, and kind words 😭😭 as a token of gratitude, I decided to make that little audio clip that has been the death of me to create 🫠

Thank you all again SO FUCKIN MUCH

This concludes the 6 part story, The Kitchen Window 🩷💓💕

Please, LIKE, REBLOG, AND ASK TO BE A PART OF MY TAG LIST SO YOU DONT MISS OUT ON MORE WRITINGS LIKE THIS ONE

Till next time!

LOVE YA BABESSSS 💕💓🩷🌸🧼🫧

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[janitorhutcherson]

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt

surprise, bitches!!! im giving yall a lil taste of some more writing. im not really on hiatus (obvi, i post every 5 minutes) but i've been sooooo busy that i haven't been able to post half as much. with that being said, here are some more in depth headcanons ab yandere!mike. :p could not have done this without @futturmand literally helping me (coming up w/) most of these. thank u bae.

warnings: drugging, violence, sex, daddy kink, abusive tendencies

------------------

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt was kinda an asshole. to his coworkers, random customers at the mall, anybody who came too close to you, and yes, even sometimes to you. he was the kind of guy who had a semi-permanent grimace on his face. the corners of his mouth would turn into smiles typically only when he was with abby or you two were alone and he could let his guard down. of course, even then, the moment you caught an attitude, that grimace would appear right back on his face. his demeanor was typically gruff. he was the kind of guy most people didn't want to mess with. this meant any male coworkers around you would be tested their fate to even glance at you the wrong way and god forbid mike saw one of them brush something off of your shoulder. that would truly be the end of them.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt is very obsessive over safety. after losing garrett, he has this urge to do nothing but to protect. this means that mike is the type of guy to want your location at all times. not only that, but he wants to know what you're doing, who you're with, and what time you'll be home. he expects a text when you leave, a text when you get there, an hourly check-in, then a text on your way home. it brings him a sense of peace, knowing where you are. he watches life360 obsessively when you're not in his sight, watching your little bubble move through wherever you may be. he's constantly checking the speed of the car you're in, occasionally stalking your friend's instagram stories to see where you are. he's overprotective to the extent that it can be overbearing, but at the end of the day it's endearing knowing he cares that much.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt uses the fact that you're younger than him to manipulate you. he's less about violence or anything physical and instead uses his words. he will constantly remind you how helpless you are without him, how he has so much more life experience than you. he'll point out randomly when you mention not knowing how to do something, saying something like, "see, babydoll, where would you be without me? that's right, nowhere. you need me to take care of you." he's also the kind of guy to eventually make you financially dependent on him if he could ever afford it. he would never put you in that spot until he was comfortable enough to do so, though, meaning it might be a loooong time before that ever happened.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt treats you less like a partner and more like a little sibling, kinda like he treats abby. as strange as it is, he also feels a paternal instinct to protect you. it comes from his deep-rooted feelings of abandonment. he lost garrett, his mom, his dad, and sometimes he feels like abby hates him. he loves that you listen to him, that he can command you to do something and you'd be so good for him. he absolutely adores being able to control different aspects of your life, making you completely reliant on him. it makes him feel special and needed, which he hasn't felt in a very long time. he loves nothing more than when he gets to scold you almost like a parent, your eyes falling to the ground, that adorable wounded puppy look he loves so much taking over your face.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt is incredibly clingy and touch starved. he wants to have a hand on you 24/7. forget having personal space, because you are not getting it with him. he'd follow you around, watching you everywhere you'd go. his hands would grip onto your hips so tightly sometimes it'd feel like they were glued to them. he'd always have his arms around you, kissing at your neck, nipping in a way you felt shouldn't be shown in public. mike didn't care, he wanted everyone to know you belonged to him in every single way. he controlled you, and if he wanted to embarrass you and turn your face red by leaving purple marks on your neck in the middle of a shopping plaza, then so be it. you would take it or be punished.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt who of course uses his sleeping pills on you when you're being a little brat. he isn't violent with you for the most part except for the rare occasion when he will hold you down onto the bed until you'll listen, but otherwise he opts for something simpler. when you're being a little too frustrating for him, going against his every command or you're not feeling like being held, mike will simply crush up his sleeping pills, slip them into your water. he's careful with you once you doze off, never abusing you in any way. all he will do is tuck you into your shared bed and hold your body in his arms, whispering sweet nothings as you're off in your own sweetly drugged up world.

olderbfyandere!mike schmidt would most definitely have a thing for being called daddy. sorry guys, it had to be said. hot take, i guess. considering he did want to protect you so thoroughly, he loved when you'd call him daddy. it made him feel like your protector, like you knew he was the one that did everything for you. it was so crazy how such a simple word could change his whole day. he loved hearing it fall out of your lips as he'd brush through your hair or wash your body off in the shower. "thank you, daddy," you'd hum and he'd grin ear to ear. "you're welcome, babydoll," he'd always say, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve knows the kids don't mean it when they make him feel stupid. Mostly because they're just as dumb as they are smart. If they were curious enough, they'd stick a fork in an outlet. That's what Steve was for, and he's okay with looking out for them until they realize they can start doing it for themselves. They're learning. . .slowly.

Of course, Eddie doesn't realize this until after Vecna, and he's running around like a chicken with his head cut off and he's trying to stop Max from smothering Mike with a pillow in his sleep. Suddenly, he's a stressed-out dad smoking on the back porch at the homecoming party they've thrown at the Munson's new home. He's watching them run around the backyard, looking tired, and Wayne is laughing at him.

"It's not funny," Eddie muttered. "I love those kids but they're going to make me go gray."

"Or lose your hair," Wayne said in amusement.

"Don't even joke about that," Eddie said.

"Got you something, boy," Wayne said and handed him a small box.

Eddie opened it up to reveal a world's greatest dad mug. He looked up to find Wayne drinking out of a world's greatest grandpa mug.

"Seriously? Did you buy that for yourself?" Eddie asked.

"Yep."

Steve came out on the porch, drinking out of a world's greatest mom mug.

"Not you too," Eddie said.

"I think it's funny," Joyce said from beside Hopper.

"Even if it's about one of your kids?" Eddie asked, and she just grinned.

"You know, I think Will and El are the only ones we don't have to worry about," Steve grinned, sitting next to Eddie. "They're angels."

"That's true. . .wait, what's Max doing to Mike?" Eddie asked.

"Well, it looks like Mike has fallen asleep in the grass, and Max is. . .Max is giving Mike a free haircut," Steve said as he sipped his coffee.

"Yeah, I figured that was coming when Mike said skateboarding is stupid," Hopper said.

"You knew Max would cut his hair?" Eddie asked.

"You gave her the scissors, didn't you?" Steve asked.

Hopper stared off in the distance as he sipped his own cup of coffee. Joyce looked at her husband in horror.

"Hop!"

"Should we stop him?" Eddie asked.

"Nah," Steve said.

"What did he say to you?" Eddie asked.

"Well, Dustin joked about us acting like a married couple, and Mike said that I would never marry you in a million years," Steve scoffed and looked at Eddie seriously. "I would marry you in a heartbeat, baby."

Mike yawned and stretched, his brows furrowing.

"Does anyone else feel a breeze?" Mike asked.

"He's looking this way," Eddie said with a grin. "May I kiss you in front of everyone?"

"Absolutely," Steve said with a grin.

Eddie leaned forward and captured Steve’s lips with his.

"Finally," Robin said, coming out of the house.

She was sipping on a mug filled with tea. On the mug, it said: world's worst godmother. Dustin came out a moment later wearing a hat that said: world's loudest child. Eddie glanced at Wayne with an amused look.

"You really went all out, huh?" Eddie asked.

"We had plenty of hush money," Wayne shrugged.

As Max wondered inside, she handed Dustin a pair of scissors.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" He asked.

"Oh my God! My hair!" Mike shrieked. "Henderson! You're dead!"

"It wasn't me, I swear!" Dustin exclaimed and ran off when Mike started chasing him.

"Dustin! You butthead!" Eddie exclaimed. "No running with scissors!"

[miamc]

i don’t think most people realize just how suffocating the pressure to be “normal” and conform was in the 80s. especially in a small town like hawkins.

even today it is very common for queer people to go years or even their whole life without coming out. how is mike having a girlfriend for like a year proof that he is straight? it’s completely invalidating of real queer people’s experiences.

even setting aside the mountain of evidence that mike is queer… what about just listening to queer people? surely we would know a thing or two about being gay and everything that comes with that. if we can recognize something in mike that relates to the queer experience why should that be ignored?

we shouldn’t be holding will’s experience as the golden standard that mike must meet in order to be gay. mike and will have different experiences and that’s reflective of real life.

will was bullied because other kids noticed he was gay, probably before he even did. his interests, behaviour, and choice of clothing was scrutinized his entire childhood. this did not happen to mike. mike did everything he was “supposed” to do. he got a girlfriend. he put on a performance of heterosexuality. and yes, i say performance, because even if you believe mike is straight, there are moments that are undeniably a “performance” like the whole s3 break up and the monologue where again, whether you think he’s straight or not, he did lie.

just because mikes experience is different than wills does not mean that he is not gay.

a lot of mlvns are totally out of touch with the past and even the present. i saw a mlvn comment that along with all the other ships (excluding byler of course), robin and vickie should get married at the end of s5. i also saw someone say that will should find a boyfriend and be openly gay in hawkins.

it’s a stark reminder that even well intentioned people don’t understand what it’s like to be gay, not even on a surface level. it seems as though the very concept of internalized homophobia (and dangerous homophobia from other people) is too complex for them to wrap their head around. and yeah it does annoy me. because even if you don’t “ship byler” or whatever, as soon as you dismiss the queer experience, i’m not listening to you. if you are not willing to understand these concepts then you have no place claiming that mike is not gay. you are just not equipped with the basic level of knowledge needed to see it. how can you understand queer people’s pain if you don’t understand that you are the source of that pain?

that’s why the idea of people saying that byler is out of nowhere genuinely haunts me because i know it will happen. no matter how they present it there will be people who think it’s just totally out of nowhere and oh my god wasn’t mike straight just a minute ago?

what i look forward to the most is mikes queer experience broadening the GA’s perspective. i want them to see that yeah, your preconceived notions and stereotypes about gay people are shitty. queer people are people and their lives and experiences are more complex than i like the same sex therefore i am going to date the same sex and i like the opposite sex therefore i am going to date the opposite sex. it’s not that easy. not today, not in ten years from now, and certainly not in in a small conservative town in indiana in the 1980s.

[ghettogirly]

how do you think armando would react if he and the reader have their first child (they turn Mike into a grandfather lol) and Armando wants to do things right

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: how would armando be once the child is born?

-> format: headcanon.

-> theme: fluff + comedy.

-> warning: none.

-> authors note: finally catching up on requests! hope you enjoyed! this is not proofread. 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! 🌸

part 1 is here!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> you was currently at the hospital, laying in the bed.

-> Armando and the baby was beside you, holding your son as he currently sat down in the chair next to the bed.

-> rocking his son backwards and forwards while you was relaxing.

-> you would never of thought it was your son as well, both attached to each other like glue. he looked exactly like Armando as well.

-> reminiscing back to when he was first in your arms, you noticed all the similarities the two had. The same head shape, same eyes, same wavy hair that was already apparent, same little smirk they do.

-> it was like they were twins.

-> marcus was right, that lowery dna is a bitch.

-> the door slightly opened to the left of you and you noticed the two older males slowly creep in, not wanting to disturb you guys, especially if the baby was sleeping.

-> “oh my god. Mike hold me, i’m about to cry man!!” Marcus exclaimed while trying to fall into Mike’s arms who just pushed him off.

-> “can you shut up!”

-> walking over to armando, mike put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m really happy for the two of you.”

-> armando nodded, “thanks.”

-> retracting his hand, mike just watched the interaction between Armando and his grandson. Not wanting to pry too much and allow the two to have their moment.

-> Marcus walked up behind him before putting his hand on his shoulder. Already knowing the reason for Mike’s obvious distance.

-> “¿quieres sostenerlo?” the latino asked his father, looking up at him.

-> “of course.”

-> Armando gently placed his son in his Mike’s arms, who embraced the tiny human. Looking at his features, Mike gently chuckled. “Man he looks like you bad.”

-> Marcus who looked at the little man, laughed along also. “What did i tell you?”

-> the baby then smiled and cooed in Mike’s arm causing a tear to slide down his cheek. “Man…”

-> “¿Te estás ablandando conmigo, papá?”

-> lightly shoving him, Mike laughed. “Don’t forget how i kicked your ass that one time.”

-> You giggled slightly in your hospital bed, continuing to now scroll on your phone.

-> “You’re not supposed to laugh at me baby.”

-> A gasp suddenly appeared from within the room. Marcus with his hands over his mouth, stared at one specific section of the hospital room. “Y’all about to make me cry up in here today.”

-> “Man what you bitching ab-“

-> Upon the crib was a golden sign that had words inscribed upon it. ‘This little boy is called: Alejandro Micheal Lowery.’

-> Mike whipped his head between you and Armando several times in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes. Looking straight up at Armando whose eyes was also slightly glossy.

-> “Thank you son.”

-> “ Lo estoy haciendo bien por los dos, papá.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“¿quieres sostenerlo?”: Do you want to hold him?

“¿Te estás ablandando conmigo, papá?” : You getting soft on me dad?

“Lo estoy haciendo bien por los dos, papá.” : Im doing it right for the both of us dad.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @shurisgf @milliumizoomi @tyneshaaa @yeahnohoneybye @wizewhispers @amplifiedmoan @5tarlan7 @thedarkworldofhananerea @deadpool15 @armandosbabymama @sarcasticbitchsblog @dyttomori @believeinthefireflies95 @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

[kinda-super-hot]

I Want More. (3)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, more coming soon

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Part 3 Summary: Y/n joins Mike and Harvey when they go to see a client. The client flirts with Y/n, and she makes the best of it, hopefully landing some clients. Harvey is not happy.

Warnings: Reflecting on past relationship, some yelling

Word Count: 2570

A/N: Thank ya'll so much for the support! The more you comment and like, the faster I write. Love ya'll enjoy!

I’m typing away an email when my intercom goes off. “(Y/n), Harvey needs you in his office.” Donna’s voice rings out and I feel nauseous.

               “Ok, thanks, Donna.” Wait. “Donna?”

               “What’s up?” She asks in a sing-song voice, and I can hear her fingers click-clacking against her keyboard.

               “How long has the intercom been on?” The click-clacking stops. I let out an incredulous laugh, “Have you been listening this whole time?” The intercom beeps and I know it’s been shut off, probably for the first time since I’ve been here.

               I smile and stand from my desk, throwing on the black blazer that was previously sitting on the back of my chair. There’s a pastel pink handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket that matches my blouse.. that also matches Harvey’s tie. What a weird coincidence.

               I walk the short distance from my office to Donna’s desk. “Good morning!” She hums all too happily at me. I give her a raised brow and cross my arms. “It’s nothing personal, I hear all around here. That’s why I’m so good at what I do. I’m Donna.” She flicks her hands in the air with flair.

               “Of course.” I smile at her mischievously. “If you hear all around here, Donna, what have people been saying about me?” I’ve been wondering, but had no way of finding out, until now.

               “Well, obviously I’ve heard the she’s smoking comment more times than I can count.” She laughs. “Louis thinks your one joke away from going to dinner with him.”

               “Shoot, I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.” I scold myself and bite my lip.

               “What, you don’t date anyone in the office?” She questions, but it’s off. Her tone, something about it… I lift my eyes to meet hers and she has a devious smile.

               “You know.” I exhale and lean on the desk. “God, does everyone know?!” I whisper yell at her. I do a quick scan of my surroundings, and I don’t see anyone looking. I hesitantly take a quick peek into Harvey’s office.

I pause my frantic behavior when I see him. He’s sitting at his desk on the phone and Mike is on the couch. I can tell he’s charming whoever is on the other side of the phone, because even though they can’t see him, he has his prince-like smile on him. My heart swells for him.

“That’s how I know,” Donna whispers in my ear. I jump, I didn’t even see her get up. She gives me a pointed look. “Yesterday, I saw you look at him when you two were first ‘meeting’” she gives air quotes, “and I could see the way you look at him. You couldn’t keep your eyes off-”

“His puppy dog eyes.” I cut her off, but my eyes are still strained on him. I have to tear my eyes away from him to bashfully look at Donna.

She nods with a smile, “The rest I’ve put together from bits and pieces of everyone’s conversations.” She shrugs cockily. “You know,” She stops herself; I can tell she’s debating whether or not to say what she’s about to say, “This isn’t my first time hearing about you.”

My heart flips. I want to question her further, and I’m about to until I smell expensive cologne and a familiar musk. I turn my head to see Harvey just leaving his office with Mike in tow. He sees me and smiles, trying to charm me. Oh god, he’s trying to play me!

Back in the day, I knew Harvey better than I knew myself. So now I know he’s trying to get back in my good graces, what I don’t know is his end goal.

“G’morning, Donna,” He greets Donna and then his eyes slowly trail to mine. “(Y/n).” He has a close-lipped smirk on his face, one he knew made my knees weak in law school. This may be harder than I thought.

I give him a polite nod but don’t give him any more attention. He may still give me butterflies, but I’m still pissed. I turn my attention to the younger man beside him. “Mike.” I greet him with a smile but there’s some tension exuding from me. I haven’t forgotten what he said to me the other day. “Y’know, our conversation the other day inspired me,” I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. “I think my next vacation might be in Paris…France.” I say bluntly and drop the smile I was faking as I side-eyed Harvey.

His eyes dart from my face to Mike accusingly. “Yeah, ha-ha,” Mike laughs nervously. “It’s a beautiful place. The architecture, the landscape-“

“The people?” I question in a demeaning way with a smile on my face. I see Harvey tense and he licks his lips. He’s uncomfortable. Good. Harvey’s hand goes to Mike’s back, and I can tell he’s probably giving him a hidden pinch. Ooh, I know that hurts.

There’s an awkward beat of silence. “Well.” Donna clears her throat, “You all should probably get going. Marshall is expecting you.” She urges.

“Ok, thank you, Donna.” I answer chipperly and turn in the direction of the elevators. In the reflection of one of the associate's monitors, I see Donna mouthing something demanding at Harvey. He mouths back something along the lines of ‘I know, I know!’.

I walk briskly to the elevators and press the button; I don’t even check if the boys are behind me. “So, where are we headed?” I ask, but I keep my head straight, facing the closed elevator doors.

They say nothing until I hear what I’m assuming is Mike giving Harvey a little arm shove. “Downtown-” Harvey starts, then clears his throat. I hear Mike stifle a chuckle. “-we’re meeting Donald Marshall. He’s the company lead for Shilton Suites.”

There’s a ding as the elevator doors open. I step onto the lift and stand close to the buttons. Both boys hesitate to enter. “Are you guys… coming?” They are being so awkward, ugh, boys.

Harvey shoves Mike into the elevator before him, he gets pushed into the wall. Harvey stands shoulder to shoulder with me. “How did you like your coffee?”

I think I’ve imagined his voice; he doesn’t move his torso to face me or even glance my way. I don’t answer right away, trying to process that Harvey is actually talking to me-not just a good morning. “It’s the best around.” He hums in a positive tone, and I see a small smile creep onto his face.

I hope he doesn’t think we’re going to be besties after apology coffee, but I might as well throw him a bone. “Louis wanted to go buy me one from Roaster Roos.”

“Roaster Roos?” Harvey finally turns his body to me and has an offended look on his face. My heart flutters and I wish I could beat it down with a hammer. “God, he has no idea what good coffee is.” He turns back to face the elevator doors, and I crave his gaze on me again.

I feel like I’m running out of time to talk to him away from prying eyes. The dinging of the elevator as we steadily drop feels like a doomsday clock. “He wants to take me to dinner.” I don’t know why I said that.

Harvey stops next to me, and I hear Mike’s strained breathing behind me. I forgot he was here. Once again, it’s quiet until he asks, “How would your boyfriend feel about that?” He’s playing the game- he wants to know if I’m seeing anybody. Touche Mr. Douchebag.

How do I tell him I’m single without being pathetic? “Let’s just say, Louis might have a fighting chance.” I shrug. “Why? Did Louis not ask you to dinner when you first came to the firm?” I tease with a smirk.

His demeanor changes and he has a playful smile on his face, just like the good old days. “Oh, please, Louis wishes he could handle all this.” He motions to himself. He still won’t look at me. I need him to look at me.

I smirk and eye him up and down till my gaze catches on his tie. It’s crooked, I notice. A quick fit of confidence comes over me and I reach for it. At first, both hands are on the knot, but then the other lays flat on his chest while the other straightens the tie out.

It’s just like it was in law school when I would get him ready for mock trials. Something so normal, so domestic, about fixing his tie. Finally, finally, he looks down at me. We’re all but inches apart. I look up into his dark eyes and I feel… odd. His warm breath fans my face and I have to force myself away.

Harvey’s eyes stay on me this time. I can sense Mike looking between the two of us and there’s another layer of awkwardness added to the lift again. “Sorry, I-”

“-Hate a crooked tie.” He finishes my sentence. Of course, he does. I can’t stop myself from looking up, and I know it’s a dumb thing to do before I even do it. Harvey is already looking down at me calmly with half-lidded eyes. I take a brisk look over the rest of his face (pause a little too long on his lips) and back up.

I move just a tad further away from him than I was when we first got in. What is wrong with me? I look towards the elevator buttons and keep my eyes strained there. My chest is rising up and down as I think about what I’ve done.

There’s a ding and the elevator doors open. I wait for him to step out so that I can collect myself, but he doesn’t budge. I side-eye him and motion towards the door, “Go ahead.”

I can feel him looking at me, “Ladies first.” He says and his voice makes my heart flutter. I look at him and he’s looking at me like I’m a sick dog on the side of the street that he feels bad for. I bite my cheek and step out.

The whole way to the meeting spot for the client, I’m a pace or two behind Harvey and Mike. Not just because they’re tall and have long legs, either. At one point, I could tell Harvey had slowed his walking pace so I wouldn’t be so far behind, but I resisted being any closer to him by slowing my pace as well.

I need to think. I’ve detested Harvey since we ‘broke up’, but I’m within his vicinity for TWO DAYS, and I can’t keep it in my pants! I watch his back as he walks and can picture the smooth skin beneath. That gets me thinking about his chest… the scratches I left on both… I shake my head, there is something seriously wrong with me.

We arrive at a parking garage and elevator up to the fifth floor. Luckily, this time I keep my mouth shut and my eyes far from his. The client is waiting for us on a fancy, cherry-red car.

“Harvey!” He shouts joyously. The guy is older with white hair, but he seems active and in good spirits. His gaze slides over to me and I feel like an object. My pace slows and I try to fade into the background despite his hungry eyes. “And who is this?” He looks his lips and I pray that it’s an unconscious habit.

“I’m Mike Ross.” Mike steps in the man’s line of sight. “I’m Harvey’s personal associate.” Thank God for Mike Ross.

But this guy’s determined. He nods boredly at Mike before motioning him to step to the side. Mike moves in stuttered motions and his eyes flicker between me and the client. I give him a face that says ‘What the fuck?’, and he gives me one back that says, ‘I don’t know!’

“You.” I look at the man and freeze. He smiles at me and goes back to leaning on his car, “What are you doing with this guy?” He nods his head to Harvey. I see his jaw clench out of the corner of my eye but otherwise doesn’t move a muscle. “With a face like yours, you could be on anyone’s arm.” The implication is clear.

Just as Harvey opens his mouth, I say, “He’s my boss.” I nod with a tight smile.

An idea floods into my brain and my previously uncomfortable posture straightens until it becomes arched. “Yep!” I pop my lips and sway my hips as I get closer to the car. “Until I get a client of my own, I’m gonna be stuck with this guy.” I point with my thumb to Harvey. “You wouldn’t know a guy who’d want to be my client… would you?” I bat my lashes down at him.

He's quiet for a second and I can feel him about to say something, but I want to make sure my answer is a yes. I slide onto the shiny hood of the car and partially lay on my hip. “Cool car by the way.” I bat my lashes once more, but now I’m looking up at him and I can tell he’s hooked.

“Love, I’m sure people would get in legal trouble just to work with you.” He flirts and scoots closer to me on the car. Play it cool.

“Y/n.” I hear Harvey’s stern voice behind me and slide off of the car.

The rest of the meeting goes without a hitch. The client, Donald Marshall, would occasionally throw in the flirty comment or look but Harvey would quickly interject. As soon as we got what we needed we headed out of the lot… Not fast enough to prevent Mr. Marshall from kissing my hand on the way out.

“What the hell was that?” Harvey asks as soon as we’re on the sidewalk. He puts his hands on his hips and appears to be fuming. “You’re gonna flirt with my client- in front of me? I should write you up.”

“Call it what you want, I’m going to have clients begging to have me represent them by the end of the week.” I pull out my cell to look up the nearest Ikea. I try to look unbothered, but my heart is racing.

“You can’t just flaunt yourself to get clients-“

I get in his face and shove my finger into his chest. “I can and I will do whatever I want to get me as far away from you as possible!” My words are laced with venom.

I hate him. Just because he still has those puppy dog eyes and sugary words doesn’t mean he didn’t lead me on and then tell me I was stupid to think there was something between us.

I breathe heavily and he does in return. There is fire in his eyes, and I don’t want him to look at me like that- but I know I’m looking at him the exact same way. “As soon as I get my first client I won’t have to look at your sorry face and I can pretend you’re not even there.” I turn on my heels to the street and raise my hand to signal a cab.

I am so over Harvey Specter.

Taglist: @technicallykawaiisoul @malfoys-demigod @notarobotipromise

If you want to be added, just let me know!

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Golden Girl

Chapter 1

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Mature. 18+ (Minors DNI)  Summary: What happens when you discover your husband has been cheating on you? You call his best friend to help comfort you. Warnings: Dieter's POV, infidelity, heartbreak, some allusions to smutty thoughts but nothing extreme, pining, fluff, comfort, drug and alcohol mentions, Dieter's down bad for his best friend's wife. Words: 2,900

A/N: This was written for @punkshort's anniversary AU challenge. I received husband's best friend Dieter Bravo. I've been in the Dieter den lately, so of course I had a lot of fun writing this soft, pining side of him. The film featured in this fic, The Philadelphia Story, is one of my favorite movies ever, and I wanted to use it in this. Mike, Dex, and Tracy are all characters in the movie. FYI… the movie is free on Tubi. :)

Next Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist

___

He can't do this. He absolutely cannot do this. 

“Dieter, I– can you just come over? I don’t want to be alone.” 

He has to do this. He absolutely has to do this.

Your voice is so defeated, bereft, empty. It pains him to even think of the despair you feel inside.

How fucking dare he. Fucking Warren. He wonders why he feels like he owes him his friendship, his time, his loyalty. Fuck that. Breaking your heart, leaving your bright light dim after taking everything from you. He’s sat idly by for years numbing the pain of watching his closest friend pilfer you, the girl of his dreams. 

Eight years of marriage gone in a blink of an eye just so Warren can fuck and supposedly fall in love with his brand new leggy blonde coworker. Warren’s always been good at taking what he wants. Hell, he took you away from him. Yeah, Dieter may have an Oscar… but he doesn’t have the girl. 

He drives to your house, the same home you used to share with your husband. He wishes he could trade in his mega mansion and live with you in the two story colonial made warm and inviting only under your touch. Warren liked to remind you he paid for it all, but what use is money when there’s no heart?

He locks his car and inhales a deep breath before taking the walkway to the side entrance, the one only close friends use. The fresh fragrance of the peonies that you planted all over the yard makes his heart ache even more for you as he opens the door. 

The house is quiet, save for the sound of your sniffles, a singular lamp casts the living room in a solemn umber tone. 

“Sweets?” He can’t help it, he’s called you that since the first night he met you in that Venice dive bar all those years ago. He was infatuated with you from the first time he saw you, smiling and laughing with your friends, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He introduced himself, you shouted your name back, grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor. He kissed you when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. God, your lips tasted like sugar from those damn overly sweet drinks. 

Your head surfaces from the couch, the sight of you wounds him… red rimmed eyes, tear streaked face, and puffy lips. You look like hell and yet you’re more beautiful than any gorgeous actress he’s acted alongside. 

He joins you on the couch, gathering your blanket covered form in his arms trying to calm your shaking sobs with a kiss against the top of your head. He rocks you like a baby, shushing you and holding you tight. His big brown eyes blink back tears, tamping down the guilt he feels over how much he loves holding you. 

He’s never been good at these situations, he’s a great actor and can cry on command, but when it comes to consoling and emotions, he’s always easily overwhelmed. His mind races, too terrified to do wrong by you; all he can think of is your favorite movie. He grabs the remote, navigating the menu to play the film. He might forget where he puts his keys or what he has for breakfast but he always remembers everything about you. Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant battle for Katherine Hepburn’s heart. Ouch. He wishes he would have fought harder for you all those years ago.

You cuddle into his arms closer, sniffling out a soft “thank you” when the movie begins.

Tracy breaks Dex’s golf club. He hopes you’ll do the same to Warren’s once you summon the strength. 

Dieter also loves this movie, the both of you first connected over your shared love of classic cinema. You wanted to act, Warren put an end to that… he didn’t want to ‘share you’ with the world. He’s so tired of Warren’s bullshit, he’s so fucking pissed off, all of those wasted years you could have been happy alone… or with him. 

He’s so angry he could kill Warren. He reminds himself now’s not the time for vexation, settling deeper against the soft cushions, cradling and softly assuring he’s here for you. Dex walks back into Tracy’s life on the screen; he prays Warren won’t be able to do the same. He calms his anger at Warren by pretending he’s here watching a movie with his favorite girl, ignoring the reality that he’s holding your shattered heart and body, picking up the mess that his so-called “good guy” best friend made. He’ll take Warren’s mess any day.

Your bleary eyes focus on the black and white film playing on the TV. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and moves to pull his hand away. A tiny “no, stay” whimpers out of your mouth, his fingers remain. He doesn’t stop gently rubbing your soft skin through the whole movie. 

Mike professes his feelings to Tracy. “No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.”

He feels the quote in his bones, in his heart, in every single drug and drink he’s taken trying to get you out of his head. You’re golden, Warren has left you rusted. 

It’s always been you. His marriage to Anika, he stood at the altar dreaming of you walking through that Las Vegas chapel doorway. The dissolution of those vows arriving soon after, he signed his name on the divorce papers while giddily anticipating your arrival to soothe him. His fuckboy ways he’s now so famous for, he always thinks about touching your body and hearing your moans whenever he enters whatever pretty person opens their legs for him. 

The credits roll. You sit up and stretch while he mourns the loss of your body against his.

“Do you need anything?” He asks, adjusting the blanket on your shoulders. 

“No,” you croak out, “I– thank you for coming over. I think this is it Dee, I can’t do this again. What did I do wrong?” Your head buries into your hands, a new batch of tears begin falling.

“No, no, no, baby, no,” he grabs your arms, wrapping his hands over yours and squeezing. “You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. Warren– he’s,” he sighs, “I don’t even recognize the friend I once knew.” 

Your solemn nod and downcast eyes almost causes his heart to break and fall on the ground next to yours. 

“Sweets, he’s a fucking idiot,” he tries to stop his words from coming out, but he loses the fight. Blame it on too many years of standing to the side and watching Warren slowly take away everything you loved brick by brick. “You a–you are brilliant, funny, beautiful, caring, y-you deserve the world.”

“You just have to say that…” your voice is so small, so infantile. 

“I don’t,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from divulging more. “Trust me Sweets, I–I don’t.”

He dreams of the moment he’ll be able to tell you how he feels, how he’s always felt, how hard it’s been to watch his closest friend snuff out the light of the girl of his dreams, how he’ll never forgive himself for standing idly by while escaping in a haze of drugs and alcohol. Easy vices he found that could never mend his envious heart. 

He changes the subject, distracts you, and mostly himself, from letting his true feelings out. “Did you want to watch another movie?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I really want a bath. I feel so dry, my eyes are burning.”

He tucks down the thoughts of you in a bathtub, on normal days he’d send himself down a spiral thinking of you naked, rubbing soap across your body, humming a contented sigh and stretching out your relaxed limbs. 

“I’ll go get it ready for you,” he says, rising off the couch and heading towards the stairs.

“C-could you do it in the guest room? I-I don’t want to be in… our room alone,” your voice cracks with embarrassment.  

He turns back to you, his head falls at your request and the look of shame across your face. He strides over and kneels in front of you, gathering your hands in his and holding them tight. “Whatever you need Sweets,” he stares into your eyes, “whatever you need.”

A small smile lifts the side of your mouth, his heart thumps against his chest at the realization he made you happy. “Thank you Dee, you’re the best.”

He nods before standing up and heading for the guest room upstairs. 

Each step he takes the more his sense of duty to help and improve your terrible day blooms inside of him. He walks into the guest room, the same room he stays in when he parties too much, usually because alcohol helps him numb the want for you he holds inside. He flicks the bathroom light on, admiring everything you designed, this house is your house, he’s going to fight like hell to make sure you keep it. 

He turns the tap on making sure the water is hot enough for you before placing a towel on the stool next to the tub. He wonders where you always get the fluffiest towels from, just another layer of your softness and care for the things around you. A bottle of bath oil lays on the tub edge, he picks it up and smells the sweet scent of almond and honey before pouring a bit into the warm water. 

He turns around when he hears you walk into the bathroom. A shy smile is on your face, you’re still so beautiful even when you look utterly devastated. 

“I think it’s warm enough for you,” he says, swishing his hand in the bathwater. “Do you want the jets?”

“I’ll take care of it Dee, thanks,” you begin unbuttoning your pajama top, revealing your light pink bra. You’re so comfortable in front of him, if only you knew the way he thinks about you. Dieter swallows, and with the heaviest most unreluctant body moves around you to the doorway. He’d do anything to watch this, but not tonight. You’re too vulnerable, he can’t take advantage of his dream. 

“Just let me know if you need anything,” he offers before shutting the door, hating that he knows it’s best to be a better man.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, a guilty smirk develops when he realizes it’s the same bed he’d touch himself on whenever he’d overhear your moans as Warren took the body Dieter always craved. He plays with the gold ring in his ear, he wonders if Warren’s still wearing his wedding ring.

His head perks when he hears the sound of your feet dipping into the tub, your body settling into the water, and the sigh you let out as you relax into the warm bath. He fights the lust coursing through his body, you’re naked and only ten feet away from him. 

Distract, distract, distract, he thinks to himself reaching for the remote and turning the TV on to a rerun of South Park; he turns the volume down, he just can’t fathom drowning out the sounds of your bath, he likes hearing the whoosh of water as you move. 

“Dee,” you shout from the bathroom, “I–can you get me my robe from my room? It’s hanging up behind the bathroom door.” 

“Of course,” he steadfastly gets up, “I’ll be right back.” 

The last time he was in your room was when you and Warren purchased the house, he still remembers the jealousy he felt that day; watching Warren kiss his pretty wife in his brand new picturesque house complete with the shiny white picket fence. Norman fucking Rockwell could never paint a more perfect picture of suburban paradise. 

He looks at the bed with the pretty floral quilt laid atop it… you’re probably so warm and soft to sleep next to. There’s a frame on your bedside table holding a photo of you and Warren laughing on some grand vacation he probably took you on to get back in your good graces. He wonders what it would be like to feel your head against his chest, to have you so close he could feel your laughter vibrate against him. You have all sorts of lotions and tchotchkes on your table, quite a contrast from the clean table top on Warren’s side. He can almost hear his friend’s voice complaining about all of your clutter. 

He finds your robe and brings the soft downy fabric to his nose inhaling the scent of you, this must be what an angel smells like. So sweet.

He takes one last glance at your bed and imagines seeing you asleep under the covers, leaving you in your peaceful slumber every morning and going downstairs to make you coffee. He gets lost in his fantasy while walking back to the guest room, ignoring the photos of you and Warren that hang on the walls.

He taps against the bathroom door and holds out your robe, the thought crosses his mind yet again that you’re behind the ornate white piece of wood fully naked. You crack open the door, peeking your head out, your hair is wet, he tries to shush his brain thinking about how wet the rest of your body must be. You look better, more fresh faced; a sense of pride settles inside of him that he’s helped you tonight.

“Thank you Dee,” you smile and grab the robe before closing the door. 

He settles on the bed, stretching out on the mattress and resting his back against the headboard. Nervousness rears its head for what comes next. He knows he’s going to see you soon, your relaxed body will be wrapped in your soft robe… he has to be good and resist any sort of desire. He hasn’t been good at saying no to temptation, but you’re so much more special than a joint, a drink, or a pill. 

The bathroom door opens, there you are, freshly bathed and beautiful, your legs peek out from under the fleece fabric.

He swallows when you climb on the bed and sit next to him. Your legs are smooth and shiny from your bath, his mouth waters at the sight.

“He hated cartoons,” you whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

“I like cartoons,” you say, picking at a loose piece of fleece on your robe.

“I know. Cartoons are the best,” he doesn’t know how else to respond.

Your heart might be fractured right now, but the comfortable silence that’s shared between the two of you makes his heart race as the four kids from South Park get caught in hi-jinks. You chuckle as Butters gets adopted by Paris Hilton. He loves your laugh, hearing it tonight means even more to him. 

You scoot closer to him, he tries to calm his rapid heartbeat and breathing when you place your head on his chest. You smell of that saccharine bath oil he poured, he tamps down the thoughts of how it’d taste on your skin. 

“Dieter,” your head angles up to look at him, “c-can you sleep here with me?”

“Of course baby,” stop calling her baby, “a-anything you need.” 

“I’m just… I-I’m so tired and I don’t want to–”

“You don’t have to say a thing,” he says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer. 

You yawn a “thank you,” as your eyes flutter shut against his chest. 

Fucking Warren, you’re a goddamn idiot rushes through his head. He would give everything up to feel this every night. The Oscar, the mansion, the designer clothes, the luxury cars, gone in a blink of an eye if he could feel this sensation over and over again. To protect you, to console you, to love you… He lays wide awake next to you, his arm stays wrapped around your beautiful sleeping form all night. 

He can’t imagine what the next few days, weeks, and months will be like for you, all he can do right now is hold you in this guest bedroom bed and vow to stand by your side once you wake. He wishes he would have intervened earlier, saved you from ever feeling this way, of ever thinking you weren’t worth the world. 

Soft snores escape your slightly ajar mouth, you look so peaceful and beautiful. He’s dreamt of being able to wake up to this sight every morning ever since that first night in the bar, when he should have been the one to take you home… not Warren. 

Next Chapter

[freelancearsonist]

Won't You Suffer for the Angels to Fly?

➔ Joel Miller x fem!Reader - 2k

➔ Joel finds religion in the last place he expected to--a preacher's daughter.

➔ Rated MA for pure blasphemy. a lot of religious imagery and defiling of holy places--please read at your own risk. unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, fingering (f receiving), corruption kink, HEFTY age gap (r is early 20s [unspecified], joel is 56), reader uses feminine pronouns and has female anatomy [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ this is for my mid to plus!sized readers :) you're beautiful and valid and i love you. this was written in basically one sitting after i binged mike flanagan's midnight mass in one night. thank you to my lovelies @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @shakespeareanwannabe for talking me through this <3 title is from "heaven only knows" by bob moses

The Bible teaches–at least according to what Joel was able to gleam from the Easter service–that everything happens for a reason. That every pelting raindrop in its descent from the sky, even before it lands heavy and dark in his hair or soaks the lush green landscape of Jackson, has a purpose.

He’s struggled a lot with purpose ever since hearing that existential crisis-inspiring sermon that Tommy had dragged him to. 

In the preacher’s defense, it went over well with everyone else. So many people are lost nowadays, adrift in a world that doesn’t seem to have space for them. They need that hope, that reassurance that they’re here for a reason. That they’ve survived hell on earth not out of luck, but out of purpose. He pulled out the big gun that everyone needed to hear on one of the two days a year that everyone in Jackson has their ears open to him. It was tactful, and Joel has to acknowledge that. Your father is clever, if not cunning.

It’s a trait that you’ve learned directly from him, whether purposeful or not. But you sat right in the front row and nodded along to every word, accepting without thought or conflict that purpose is in every action, every reaction, every change of tide and every gust of wind.

And if everything has a purpose, your purpose must be to torture him.

You never have anything but a smile on your face for Joel. Joel, a man older than your own father, a man whose hands have broken every commandment that you hold so dear. A man that should know better than to let you get under his skin and infect his dreams.

He wonders what it would be like to hold someone so perfectly untainted in hands that have killed and destroyed and sinned. Hands that are strong, hands that are experienced, hands that are greedy. He’s certain he could teach you all about greed. He could make you beg, plead, sob for more and more and more until the only thought remaining in your pretty little head is how much you want to take from him. Until you become a glutton at the altar of his generosity.

And oh, how generous he could be once he had you begging. Minding your manners and asking nicely for what you need, of course, but he would never deny you anything you asked of him.

“Can I help you with that, Mr. Miller?” He hadn’t even noticed he was struggling–and he wouldn’t be, really, if he wasn’t so distracted. Putting new legs on a pew isn’t the issue after all; it’s the fact that you’re sitting there on the stairs that lead up to the altar and absentmindedly swinging your legs as if you’re taunting him. As if you understand that his resolve is slipping with every passing second he’s alone in this room with you. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm?” You shift your posture to lean closer, and that skirt that’s already way too short to be worn by the pastor’s daughter, in a house of God of all places, rides just a little further up your deliciously full thighs. 

How is he expected to work, to keep his mind on the job, when all he wants is to know what those thighs might feel like wrapped around his head?

He clears his throat and adjusts “You can call me Joel, sweetheart.”

He sees it, then. It’s so subtle, but it’s not imagined. You squirm at the pet name, at the raspy drawl of his voice, and it changes everything for him.

He sees in his mind the sweet girl, barely out of her teens, who sits in the front pew with a Bible in her lap. He sees the girl who sings so sweetly to the tune of every hymn. He sees the girl who’s so shy that she blushes every time she catches his gaze.

And then he sees everything underneath the act. He sees the girl who’s bold enough to wear a bright red dress to the Easter service. He sees the girl who makes eye contact with him across the dining hall every night to watch the way he reacts to her lips wrapped so tantalizingly smoothly around her spoon. He sees the girl who knew he would be alone in the chapel today–the girl who wore an easily accessible skirt just for the occasion.

You bookmark the page you’re on and set down the book you were reading, eyes fixated on him all the while. “Is there something I can help with, Joel?”

There certainly is, and it’s not the pew he’s supposed to be repairing.

He remembers, vaguely, hearing something about how God spares guilt from sinners when sin is necessary. It must be necessary to teach you a lesson, then–as you stride over and kneel beside him, your eyes heavy with anticipation and lashes fluttering, he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

“Hasn’t your daddy taught you not to dress like this?” He takes the hem of your skirt idly in his hand, rubs the silky fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He’s not touching you, not really, but his hand is so achingly close. An inch or two, and he’d feel your warmth–those plush thighs that God created to rule over Joel Miller’s mind, body, and soul; ‘til death does he finally know peace, amen.

You shake your head and even manage to seem smug as you say, “No. He just teaches everyone else to resist temptation.”

“I’ve never been much good at that,” he murmurs.

He thinks that you know that. He thinks that you’re his crucible, his most important moral trial–that maybe, if he can turn you away now, he’s a good man.

Joel Miller is not a good man. His kiss is crushing. It’s hellfire, it’s brimstone, it’s everything you’ve been taught to fear your entire life. You melt into it so prettily, accepting your damnation with parted lips and eager eyes. A wanton moan gets caught in your throat when his hand slips further up your skirt. 

No panties–in a place of worship, no less. He should bend you over his knee for this transgression, make sure you understand how filthy you are. But there’s hardly time for that now, not when he’s even more desperate than you are. And you are desperate–dripping down his fingers into the palm of his hand as your teeth leave perfect little indents in the plush skin of your bottom lip.

His free hand grips your chin firmly, guiding your eyes to his. He wants to see your depravity, the flickering embers of lust in your eyes as you come on his fingers and cry out for salvation from the all-consuming pleasure.

“Oh my God–”

His hand tightens around your jaw just the slightest bit in warning. “No, baby. You moan my name when I’m touchin’ you.”

And you do–thighs trembling, eyes watering, you cry out his name like a prayer as your cunt pulses and squeezes around his willing fingers.

There’s an unpracticed tremble to your hand as you reach to work open his belt, and it makes his cock throb under the confining material of his jeans.

You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours, so desperate for it that you’re nearly in tears when he pulls your fingers away from the buttons on his shirt. He’s not foolish–no one steps foot into this place during the week, but he knows better than to tempt God’s sense of humor. This has to be quick and contained, and you know it too; you picked your little skirt for exactly that reason.

He catches a glimpse of your glistening need as you settle over his thighs, and once again he battles to resist temptation. He whispers in your ear as you settle your chest against his and grind that fluttering, sensitive cunt along his length–promises himself more than you, really, that he’ll bury his face in your folds and drink from you next time. Next time–the promise makes you clench impossibly hard around nothing.

His eyes have never been quite as heavy as they are when you start to sink that dripping heat down his cock. Head tipped back, throat exposed, completely at your mercy. He has to force himself to look up at you–to worship the goddess enshrined on his altar, all his for the taking.

You bite into your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood as your hips settle against his, completely overwhelmed by the burning stretch of his size. He’s a challenge, certainly, but one that you are determined to overcome. 

“Easy, baby girl,” he grumbles as you start to rock against him before you’re truly accommodated. His hands rest heavy on your hips–not anchoring, but encouraging. As wrong–as depraved–as this may be, he wants you to enjoy it without pain. “That’s right, nice and slow.”

It doesn’t stay that way, though; the desperation mounts to a boiling point until you’re bouncing fervently in his lap. It’s delicious, the way the thick head of him drags against something deep and sensitive within you. He guides you when your thighs start to burn, grip tightening enough to leave forbidden bruises in the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth presses to yours, breathing the oxygen straight from your lungs as he presses his hips up. There’s nothing you can do but take it, pliant in his hold, head rolling back to accommodate the wet drag of his mouth and the tickling scratch of his beard against your throat.

He feels it before you do–a subtle flutter as your cunt tries sucking him in even deeper. And maybe, if he was a good man, he’d lean away from it and have mercy on you. But he’s not a good man–he’s a greedy, wanton, desperate man. He angles his hips and thrusts as hard as he can, shoving you into your release with force.

You overflow with it; gushing over him like a flood, staining his hastily pushed down jeans and the floorboards beneath.

He pushes you onto your back like you’re weightless, adrenaline coursing as he starts to slam into you. It’s not polite or sweet or loving–he fucks into you and empties himself like an animal. He growls deep in his throat as his cock pulses within you, instructing you to “take it, baby girl” as if you’d consider anything less. 

You don’t know where your release ends and his begins. All you know is his weight on top of you, his mouth on your jaw, the collective breathless pants that fill the room as you both come down together.

You’re not sure how long it is before he pulls out of your warmth with an actual whine, breath heavy against your neck where his face is so comfortably nestled.

And you start to laugh, because you wish you’d worn panties after all–you don’t know how you’re going to get home with the mess of cum that’s dripping down the curve of your ass.

He even chuckles with you, until he tears his eyes away from your blissed face and sees the cross hanging heavy on the far wall.

“Th-that…” he gulps. “That can’t happen again.”

“It can,” you assure him, and he supposes you’re right.

You keep your head down and your eyes to yourself on Sunday, even as you spot the barely-noticeable stain on the hardwood floor next to the newly-repaired pew on the right side of the aisle. It’s so faint that no one would notice it unless they were looking for it, but it’s glaringly obvious to you. You should be ashamed; you should be begging for forgiveness. But then you meet Joel’s watchful eyes, and the shame washes away. How can you feel guilty over an act of worship?

THE END

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