#Teen rating for sex jokes

[saltycharacters]

God I'm just. Really tired of sexual shit being in everything literally cant even interact with a relativley general-age media without dealing with it at every corner. Interacting with fandoms especially it's so fucking depressing like it's not SUPPOSE to be there but people never think that their horniness isn't above critiscism and that there's little to no responsibility they have to practice when interacting with media IF THE MEDIA ISN'T SEXUAL/EXCLUSIVLEY FOR ADULTS THEN DON'T SEXUALIZE IT simple fucking logic yet I can't have shit on this bitch of an earth

[teamred]

in sickness and in health

✩‌ logan howlett x reader x wade wilson | fluff | 1.6k

SUMMARY | you may be bedridden with the flu and feeling miserable, but you're blessed with two boyfriends to take good care of you. // part of the home sweet home series + requested by anonymous!

WARNINGS | s*xual jokes, none really!

RATING | teen+

It’s early Monday morning when your body feels like utter shit. 

You toss and turn in bed, fighting the blanket away from your boyfriends in a struggle to warm up, only throwing it off seconds after because of how hot you also feel. Your muscles are starting to ache, like you ran a marathon and then some. 

Next to you, Logan’s the first to stir awake, picking up on your restless movements. Propping himself up on one forearm, he gently places the back of his hand on your forehead. 

“Darlin’,” he whispers, brushing the damp hair away from your face. “You should call in sick. Ain’t no way you’re goin’ to work like this.” 

You turn away from him in protest. “No, I’m okay. Just feeling a little tired.” 

Logan huffs and shakes his head over how stubborn you are. 

He suddenly grabs his pillow and hurls it directly at Wade’s head, who’s sleeping on the other side of you. The pillow smacks into the latter, waking him from his deep snoring with a snort and a startled jump.

“What the fuck?!” Wade mumbles, rubbing his eyes and stroking his bald head as if he’s running fingers through his non-existent hair. “If you wanted to fuck this early in the morning, you could’ve just asked, sunshine.” 

An eye-roll from Logan. “Time to wake up, sleepin’ beauty.” 

He gets out of bed and pulls on a shirt, then walks towards Wade’s side of the bed, shoving his head. “Back me up in tellin’ our girl she’s gotta call in sick today.” 

“Huh?” Wade squints at your resting body, but when he leans over and presses his hand to your forehead, his eyes widen in shock.

“Jesus H. Christ, you’re burnin’ up more than the Jonas Brothers did in 2008. You’re staying home, peanut, and that’s not a request. Doctor Deadpool’s orders!” 

You whine. “Do I really have to?” 

“Yes,” they reply sternly in unison. 

Giving into your boyfriends’ commands, you groan. As Logan heads out of the room, Wade hands over your phone.

And you hate to admit it, but you know they’re right because you barely have enough energy to call in sick. To be safe, you ask for two days off, then flop right back into bed. 

Carefully, Wade pulls you into his arms and whispers into your hair, “Need a sexy nurse to take care of you, baby? ‘Cause I think I got an outfit stashed somewhere.” 

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a flat wheeze. “Maybe later, babe.” 

“Awww, you poor thing.” He frowns sympathetically. “You can barely even laugh. Man, you must be dying.” 

A few minutes later, Logan returns, holding a steaming cup of tea and ibuprofen in his other. He sits down onto the bed. 

“Here. Take these and drink this,” Logan orders. Wade releases you as you sit up slowly, wincing as you do, and follow through with Logan’s instructions.  

“You guys should probably avoid being near me,” you rasp. You’ll definitely need to drink more tea to soothe your oncoming sore throat. 

Logan chuckles softly and Wade ruffles your hair.  

“I can’t get sick,” Logan states matter-of-factly. 

“Neither do I,” your other boyfriend adds. “Well, I mean, unless you count cancer constantly fucking me in the ass.” 

In the moment, you’re filled with utmost envy for your superpowered boyfriends and their ridiculous healing abilities.

Wade climbs out of bed, patting Logan on the shoulder as he stands. 

“I’m gonna run some errands for our little sicky princess. Hold the fort down and keep her tied to the bed with those strong arms of yours, yeah?” He squeezes Logan’s bicep playfully and gives him a wink. 

“Pick up more tea for her.” 

“Oh, most definitely. And I’ll get condoms too! You know, they say that fever sex helps you get better faster.” 

“Wade.”  

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” 

He leans down, whispering above you. “I’m not kidding. I’d still do you in your current state, but only if you were up for it. Love you, babe.” He plants a kiss on your head and departs with a wave of his fingers. 

The older of your boyfriends shifts closer to you on your bed. “Do you want me to hold you right now?” 

You groan in negation, shaking your head slightly. You appreciate the gesture, but with your body switching between chills and a fever, Logan’s body warmth would just make things worse. 

“If you need anything, baby, just let me know,” he says softly.  

In response, you hum and nod, allowing yourself to relax as much as you can. Soon enough, you drift off, and can feel a hand stroking the side of your head, soothing you towards your much needed rest. 

“Wade, she’s sick, not on her death bed.” 

You blink awake, the sunlight coming through the window stronger than before. Judging by the position of the light, a few hours have passed since you fell asleep. You’re woken up by the familiar sounds of your boyfriends bickering in the other room. 

To strangers, and even to themselves, it sounds grating. But to you, it’s strangely calming and comforting. 

“Well, excuse me for being an exceptional boyfriend! I just wanna make sure she’s got anything she needs,” Wade fires back.  

A brief pause.

“That’s… thoughtful of you,” Logan grumbles stiffly.  

Wade’s laugh rings through the apartment, and you can envision him standing up with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in amusement. “Wow, that must’ve felt like pulling teeth for you, huh? Wait—why aren’t your teeth adamantium?” 

You think Logan sighs and probably rolls his eyes too. “Go check in on her, dumbass.” 

“Love you too, my lil honey badger,” Wade says, his voice and footsteps coming closer to the bedroom door.  

A soft knock on the door. 

“Feelin’ better yet, honey?” Wade asks, peeking his head through the door. 

“Not really,” you grumble. 

In a flash, he’s right in front of your face, his nose pressed against your cheek. “How about now?” 

That gets a small laugh from you. He grins, leaving a loud, exaggerated smooch on your cheek, holding it down for emphasis. You scrunch your face up at the lovely gesture. 

“What did you get from the store?” you ask with Wade’s arm now slung around your body. 

“Literally everything. Whatever you want, I’ve got it. I’m basically Costco now.” 

You test him. “Diapers?” 

“Okay, I don’t have that,” he admits, deadpan. “But I do have five different flavours of soup, an action figure of myself and Logan for you to play with—or to enact voodoo sex, you know I love a little one-on-one action with our man!—some random German cookies, and a bottle of Chinese herbal medicine the lady down the street swore by. At least, I think it’s medicine? Hard to say. And that’s only a few of the things I got.” 

“Can I have some soup?” 

“Of course. Tomato, cream of mushroom, chicken noodle, spicy nacho cheese, or clam chowder?” 

“Surprise me.”

“Spicy nacho cheese, it is.” 

You grunt in disapproval.

“Chicken noodle soup, it is.” 

After Wade spent some time spoonfeeding you your soup and Logan replenishing your cup of tea, sleep claimed you once more. By the time you wake up again, the room is pitch dark. 

“Logan,” you groan weakly. You immediately hear the TV volume lowered, followed by recognizable footsteps approaching the room.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Logan murmurs gently, sitting on the bed and reaching out to touch your forehead. You’re warm, but it’s an improvement from the morning. “Everything okay?” 

“Is there any dinner?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Is our girl hungry?” Wade hollers from the other room. “‘Cause I’m cooking up a storm right now!” 

A corner of Logan’s mouth quirks up. “I think Wade’s on it.” 

He turns on one of the bedside lamps, the soft light illuminating the room. With it, he catches the pleading look in your eyes, one that he can decipher in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he scoots closer and pulls you into his chest, embracing you with a tight hug. 

“I feel like shit,” you grumble into him with your arms twined at his neck, inhaling his scent. 

“I know, baby, but it’ll pass. The more you rest, the faster it’ll go away,” he reassures you, stroking your back. “You gonna admit staying home was a good idea?” 

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head, even though you know he was right. 

He looks at you with a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re as cute as you are stubborn.” 

Moments later, Wade, adorning a “Blow the Chef” apron, comes in with a bed tray. You pull away from Logan, allowing Wade to properly position the tray in front of you. At the sight of syruped pancakes, you beam, especially at the attempted heart-shaped ones. 

“Voila! Voici les crêpes,” Wade declares in a decent French accent, but you’re pretty sure he’s mispronouncing crêpes as he says it like crap. 

“Thanks for everything, you guys,” you say, glancing up at your boyfriends. “I feel really bad.”

“Never ever feel bad about being sick, baby.” Wade says, setting in on one side of you. “It just means more time for us to spoil you.” 

Logan snuggles you on your other side, wrapping an arm around you. “It ain’t your fault, and it’s what we’re here for.” 

After being out for so long, you spend your time eating the pancakes and asking how their day was. Logan gets in a word before Wade rambles on how he almost got into a fight with a kid at one of the various stores he dropped by.

With both of them beside you, you finally start to feel a little better, if not from the flu, at least from the comfort they give.

[frasier-crane-style]

With the current popularity of Quiet On Set and its revelations, I've been seeing a ton of people combing through old Nickelodeon shows for adult humor and disparaging it. I'm not talking about some of the outright fetishistic stuff, but simple wordplay in teen shows.

Which is weird for me, as I've generally seen old cartoon jokes like these enjoyed and even, in some obnoxious cases, taken as half-joking proof that "X was never a kid's show!" Is it just the context or the current trend towards Puritanism in youth culture?

True, there's gotta be a line SOMEWHERE... I've seen clips of Adventure Time making outright rape jokes, which has to be beyond the pale... and kids generally aren't involved in the production of cartoons, unlike Schneider's work. (Sex jokes acted out by adults /= sex jokes acted out by children)

But still, I don't want all media to be divided into "cartoons for babies" and "R-rated adult stuff" (and that weird Venn Diagram of Star Wars/MCU stuff that is supposed to serve both demographics, in the same way that both a man and a dog can eat dog food).

I think it's probably good for children's maturation to be eased into more adult media with some small amount of violence, dirty jokes, and risque material.

Kids cannot just watch Bluey until they turn eighteen. They can't. Don't ask them to.

[shu-porang-porang]

Who's Needy Now? (sequel)

♡ You started it, what did you expect?♡ (Read the first part here.)

P.s. Honestly I feel like it's not my cup of tea, but I gave it a go, hope you like it.

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Rating: Explicit

Theme: Smut, 18+ NO MINORS.

Warnings: pure smut, unprotected sex (do not try at home!!), degradation, overstimulation, edging, not proofread

Word count: 1.2 k

You come back after two hours. He seems exceptionally normal! He even cooked you dinner. No mentions of your little mischief. You have a hunch it’s only the calm before the storm. You’re on edge the whole night, you know he wouldn’t let go of it so easily. You wonder what he has in mind. This calm façade is probably just a part of his plan. He likes to mess with your head like this, the suspense you’re feeling makes it all the more enjoyable for him.

Finally, he tells you to go sit on the bed like a good kitty for him. He takes a seat on a chair at the foot of the bed, leaning back, his legs set apart, his lap looks so inviting but you know better than to do anything you’re not ordered to, so you resist the urge of going over and sitting on his lap. Freaking devil! He knows exactly what he’s doing to you now. You wait on your knees for his next instruction.

“Strip.” He commands firmly, his tone makes you shudder. You start removing your clothes one by one, your eyes never leaving his intense gaze, you wanna put on a brave face, like your stomach isn’t doing summersaults anticipating his next moves.

Once you’re fully naked, his next order is: “Now cum without touching yourself, you have 3 minutes.”

You hope he’s joking but his stern face and the fact that he actually starts the timer on his phone tells you otherwise.

“What the fuck, Min?”

“It’s Sir, you filthy slut! You lost the first name privileges when you walked out of that door. Hurry up, time is running out.”

Your heart is pounding loud in your ears, this side of Minho you don’t get to see much often, but when you do… You lie on your stomach, pressing your hips to the mattress in a circular motion, you discovered this little trick back when you were a teen, and it had helped you reach orgasms but you haven’t done it for so long, you’ve found much more interesting ways to come ever since. You know you’re fighting a losing battle, there’s no way you could cum by just doing this in such a short time, but you decide to give him a good show at least, maybe he’ll pity you later. You raise your hips higher than you need to, just to give him a better view of your oozing cunt, your whimpers are more audible than usual, all in service of satisfying him.

“Please… I can’t… need you Sir” you try to gain his sympathy.

“But you left me to do it on my own. Don’t you think you deserve punishment?”

“I do… but I can’t… need touch”

“Oh I’ll touch you… gonna make you wish I didn’t!” with that warning he gets up and walks over to you, meanwhile the timer goes off. He sits next you on the bed, rolls your body over and cups your soaking pussy.

“Time’s up, now take your punishment like the slut you are.” He starts rubbing your clit with lazy strokes.

“By the way, this time you’re not allowed to cum until I say so.” He presses his finger harder on your clit and circles it faster, all the while looking at your face waiting for it to contort as you near your orgasm. You try to close your legs but he forces them open and lands a slap on your throbbing core. You focus on the pain to stall your climax for a bit. His hand leaves your core to travel up and pinch a pebbled nipple.

“You almost lost it there, needy bitch! It was only the first one, take a hold of yourself.”

What does he mean by “the first one”? How many times is he gonna edge you tonight?

His hand goes back between your thighs, he gathers your slick with his index and middle finger and spreads it on your puffy clit, with each finger resting on either side of it he starts pinching it. This time, the feeling borderlines on pain and pleasure, nonetheless soon enough you’re a moaning mess, trying to suppress another orgasm. You grab his arm, trying to stop him but to no avail, it only makes him angrier.

“Don’t make me tie you up” he growls as he pinches your clit harder. You think you’re a goner this time but right before the orgasm hits you, he stops. Your body is tensed, even a breeze on your clit could make you cum, as much as you wanna cum, you fear the consequences. You just lie there with your eyes closed, waiting for the stolen climax to die down.

You feel him shifting on the bed and open your eyes to see what he’s up to next. He slots himself between your legs. You think he’s done with the games and will finally give you what you need.

“One more time” he says with his face inches away from your core. He slurps at your running juices and you bite your lip from the sensation of his tongue lapping at you. It doesn’t take long before the knot in your stomach tightens again, how could it not with his heavenly mouth sucking you like his life depends on it?

“Please… please please…. Let me come Sir” you beg as your knuckles turn white fisting the sheets. Your pleas fall on deaf ears. You can’t take it anymore. You arch your back and let go, the orgasm washes over your spent body. As soon as he realizes, he stops, you came without his permission, he’s not gonna help you ride it.

“Tsk… what do I do with you? It’s as if you want to be punished!” It’s not like you stood a chance anyway.

Without hesitation, he takes of his pants and boxers, strokes his already hard cock a few times and slams it balls deep inside you with no warning. You almost scream at the sudden stretch. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust and starts pounding into you mercilessly. Tears spill as you squirm from overstimulation. He pins your hands above your head to stop you.

“Stay still you cumdump, that’s all you’re good for since you can’t follow orders.” His words stir something inside you. His hand reaches in between your bodies and stops on your stomach, you look at where it landed and you see the bump forming there with every thrust, the sight makes your head dizzy. You feel another orgasm building up. Your head roles back and he dives down to suck purple bruises on you exposed neck. Hitting all the right spots, he makes you cum around his cock. He lets go of your wrists so you can hold onto him while he keeps chasing his own release, his pace not faltering. Finally, he reaches his orgasm, thrusting his cum deep inside you as he rides it out.

“So? Did you learn your lesson?” he says while pulling out and dropping next to you. His words float around you like you’re dreaming.

“Say it. Say you won’t leave me like that again.”

“I won’t leave you… like that… again.” You mumble not even knowing what you’re agreeing to, your mind and body too spent up to comprehend anything. You just feel him cleaning you with a towel at one point, and the next thing you realize is being wrapped in his arms with sweet kisses peppered on your face.

[fiapartridge]

you don't go to parties | j. hughes 🎆🪩✨

“i don’t know who im looking for ‘cause you don’t go to parties anymore…” you don’t go to parties, 5 seconds of summer

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: after ending your relationship with jack, he finally plucks up the courage to attend a party—and all he can think about is you.

warning(s): cursing, smut (like they have sex but it’s more heated & slow than trying to be super smutty), angst + fluff?? (in some aspects LOL), also noticing now that there was no protection so beware lol

author’s note: i don’t write smut so this is probably the closest ill ever get to writing it LOL but it’s much more for the plot rather than it trying to be super 18+, r-rated type smut yk

wc: 4.01k

not proofread

Glitter hung in the air, every room bathed in a purple glow as Jack hung by the wall, nursing a beer he had managed to snag from the cooler outside. The air was thick with the scent of perfumes and sweat, and the music thumped in his chest, yet he felt—detached, almost alone in the scheme of things. 

The party was a blur of lights and sounds, of hookups and dancing. None of it held any interest for him, but his friends had practically begged him to come. They nagged him the entire summer to leave the lakehouse, to have a drink at the bar downtown, or even to just go on a drive with them, but Jack always came up with an excuse. “Can’t. Training for next season,” or “Gotta raincheck. Something came up.”

They knew what it was. It was obvious. He was missing you. You plagued his mind every second of every minute of every day. Jack knew he had messed up. The moments leading up to the collapse of your relationship replayed in his mind like a broken record—the arguments, the tears, the things he said that he couldn’t take back. The memories of you haunted him. He could feel you throughout the whole house.

You met Jack when you were 17. He hosted a draft party at the lake house the second he got back home to Michigan. Jack, being the cocky teenager he was at the time, made it an open-invite party. Sure, it wasn’t smart on his part but he was a clueless teen. He didn’t know better, but he thanks himself everyday knowing that that one decision led him to meeting you.

Your brother—one of Jack’s school friends—had been invited and asked if you wanted to come. You were hesitant at first. You had seen Jack around school, laughing loudly with his friends or pressing a girl up against the lockers, locking themselves together with heated kisses. You had always found him obnoxious, masking his stupidity with insensitive jokes and being portrayed as a “dumb jock.” But ever the hypocrite you were, because there you were, at that obnoxious, insensitive guy’s draft party. Go you.

Entering the house, you noticed the high ceilings and swarm of strangers that knew Jack better than you; who were probably wondering why you were even there, or who you even were. To your left, a group of friends talked animatedly on a set of plush couches, their drinks spilling out of their cups with every swing of their arms, and their makeup perfectly done on their face like they had hired professionals for this specific event. You felt out of place and, to your luck, your brother had abandoned you the second you stepped through that door.

Who knew you could be surrounded by hundreds of people, yet still feel so alone?

Weaving through the crowded house, you made your way to the backyard, which was just as packed as inside the house, except there was a slight breeze and it didn’t smell as terrible. String lights criss-crossed above the partygoers, creating a canopy of twinkling stars. A fire pit crackled in one corner, Adirondack chairs lining the perimeter as guests chatted all around you. The pool was lit within, its water glowing an intoxicatingly vivid blue. You stood there, watching the stillness of the water as everyone filled around you. The music thumped in your chest, in your ears, in your bloodstream, but you watched the water, and for a moment, you felt okay.

“I always wanna jump in at parties,” a deep voice said beside you. 

You hesitated before speaking. “Why don’t you? It’s your party, isn’t it?” you asked, face-to-face with the man of the hour. His chestnut hair was cut short, truly showing how young he is. You wondered how he could do this: have eyes on him at all times, have so many expectations weighing on his conscience, being judged constantly. It felt—suffocating, to say the least.

“Do you know how many hockey legends are here?” he laughed, as if the building was swarmed with secret spies. 

“And yet you’re standing here. Why’s that?” you asked, looking up at the boy.

And for the first time in your life, Jack Hughes looked at you. And it wasn’t in the gross, disgusted way he looked at clumsy kids in the hallway, or the way he looked at pretty girls like they were his next meal. He looked at you in earnest, an emotion you didn’t even know he was capable of possessing.

“Do you think I don’t know you?” he eyed you, his brow raising as you broke his—hate to admit it—intimidating gaze. You watched the water before you, crossing your arms over your chest as you began to feel that unwelcome, fish-out-of-water feeling again. Moving closer to you, his voice fell almost to a whisper as you felt chills run down your spine due to the proximity. “I know you’re the obnoxious girl that thinks she knows every answer to every question, who already judged every single person at this party without ever learning their names, who doesn’t like me, yet still came. Why’s that?” he asked, repeating the same question you had asked just moments before.

You felt bare in front of him, confused as to how he knew any of that stuff about you. Surely he was too busy making out with girls and slinging a stick around to pay attention to you. So why had he just read you like a book without you having to say a single word?

You shrugged. “I wanted to see what you were about, I guess.”

“Yeah?” he smirked, his tongue poking his cheek as you dared yourself not to look up at him. “How’d I do?”

“Not sure yet.”

He bumped his shoulder with yours, butterflies bumbling around your stomach. “Not just a dumb jock, you know. That’s all Luke.”

You scoffed quietly, a small smile playing on your lips as you lessened up the need to try to fight it. You were smiling because of Jack Hughes, and to be honest, you didn’t really mind it. “He asked me the difference between a square and a rectangle once,” you joked. You had some classes with Luke, and while you two weren’t best friends, you still talked to each other once in a while.

Jack laughed, watching Luke in the corner of his eye try to talk to a girl that was way too old for him. “You’re laughing,” he smiled, noticing you cover your face and still your giggles. “See, I’m not that bad.”

You rolled your eyes before looking up at him. He watched the partygoers on the other side of the pool mingling, his jawline sharpened and his moles scattering much of the surface area of his face. You hadn’t noticed much about his appearance until then, until you finally got a good look at him, at his personality.

You two sat poolside for a while, your legs dipped in the water as you talked about anything and everything. Occasionally people would pull him away to chat, but he would always come back to you, telling you all about the boring conversations, how much he hated networking at a party that’s supposed to be fun, how he hated being treated and expected to be like an adult when he was far from it.

He didn’t notice he was talking to you for so long until the party thinned and it was just you and him in the backyard. Cups littered all around you, his mom picking them up as she not-so-subtly eavesdropped on your conversation. His brothers were inside the house, watching you two from the kitchen window, and Trevor and Cole speculated who you even were while trying not to pass out on the couch in the living room.

For the first time in a while, Jack felt, I don’t know, good about himself? Like he wasn’t praised for doing such little things, or told he’s some amazing person just because he’s good at passing a puck around. Like he was able to talk, and someone was there to listen. And for some reason, he actually kind of liked being criticized by you. It showed that you paid attention; that you were real. He hadn’t met someone real in a while.

He remembered the time you had dragged him to a New Year’s Eve party at your friend Avery's apartment a couple years later.

He was wearing “2024”-shaped sunglasses that matched yours, and a shiny, gold, plastic fedora that made you laugh every time you looked at him. His arms were wrapped around you from behind as you entered the house, his lips planting a kiss on the crown of your head as you two separated to hug the group of people that stood near the door.

You talked to your friends, catching up on everything you guys missed in each other’s lives while in college. Jack snuck up behind you, kissing your cheek before slipping off your coat and placing it on the couch by the entrance. 

The party was chill, much more relaxed than any of the parties Jack was invited to that night. You had urged him to go to them, knowing he would have much more fun with his friends, singing karaoke, getting wasted, and blasting music until they can’t hear anymore, but he shook his head, saying, “Parties are only fun if you’re there,” he shrugged. “Besides, how am I supposed to get my New Year’s kiss without you?”

The two of you mingled for a while, sharing nostalgic stories about high school and the time Jack had confused “pads with wings” with pads and chicken wings. The living room was filled with soft music and the hum of conversations. Jack kept close, his hand finding yours every now and then as if to ask if you were okay, if you needed food or a refill on your drink, if you were tired and wanted to go home—you were always his first priority. 

As the night progressed, the countdown to midnight drew closer. People began to gather in the living room, excitement buzzing in the air. Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve played on the television as Jack pulled you to a spot where you could both see the screen. His arm wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into him, sniffing his cologne and laughing when he caught you.

Before you knew it, the countdown began and everyone started chanting along.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

You turned to Jack, his eyes locked on yours, a charismatic smile playing on his lips. Even after dating for five years, he still managed to make you nervous. You had hoped that that feeling would never go away. You want to be nervous because of Jack Hughes every single night—forever.

“Seven, six, five…”

The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

“Four, three, two…”

Jack’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his palm warm and tender against your skin as you leaned into it. 

“One! Happy New Year!”

Cheers erupted around you, but all you could focus on was Jack as he leaned in—not too slow, not too fast—capturing your lips in an impossibly better-than-the-last, sweet, honey kiss. Your hands were in his hair, his were glued to your hips, and it was perfect. And for a moment, it was just you and him, sharing the first kiss of the new year.

When you finally pulled away, grins were etched to your faces. You still couldn’t believe he was yours.

“Happy New Year,” Jack whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

“Happy New Year,” you echoed.

Jack’s head rested against the wall behind him, his eyes closed, the music muffling around him as he thought back to the first time he said “I love you.”

It was your 18th birthday and you were celebrating it at the lake house. Knowing Alex, Trevor, and Cole, they planned this huge rager for you, inviting nearly half the neighborhood—and then some. 

After you said your hellos and knowing that the party could continue without you, you wandered upstairs, finding yourself in Jack’s room as you sat on his bed; his gray cover soft under your fingertips as you brushed over the fabric. You just needed a minute. 

Before you knew Jack—like, really knew Jack—you hadn’t had a birthday party in years. It wasn’t like your family didn’t care about you, or your friends didn’t want to celebrate you. Everyone in your life meant something to you, and you meant something to them too. You just couldn’t go to parties to save your life. You would walk in, see all the girls that are prettier than you, all the guys that act like you don’t exist, you’d get in your head, get overwhelmed, and leave quickly after. This just wasn’t for you.

And because Jack knew you, he knew you would be upstairs.

The door slowly creaked open, causing your head to rise, and a sigh to fall from your lips—just Jack. He smiled at you, shutting the door softly behind him as he sat beside you on the bed. You two sat surrounded by the soft glow of dim lamps, and the distant thumping of music that had seeped through the floorboards beneath your feet. 

His heart pounded in his chest. He knew you were beautiful, but sometimes he’s just so amazed by you, like you’re a new person every single day. Like there were new discoveries to be made, like he could never get bored with you. To Jack, you were everything. And who needs anything else in the world if he had everything sitting right beside him?

His hand rested on your thigh, his thumb running up and down the exposed skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You furrowed your brows. “For what?”

He shrugged. “For the party. I know you didn’t want it.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want it,” you murmured, sighing. “It’s just—I’m not Trevor, or Cole, or the number one overall draftee, Jack Hughes,” you smirked, bumping your shoulder with his. 

He shook his head. “No one’s telling you to be. We could’ve watched a movie,” he suggested, grinning. “Or gone on a shopping spree, or went on a drive. You don’t have to do anything for anyone else, especially on your birthday.”

“I like parties when you’re there—and no one else is,” you laughed as Jack scoffed, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I like those parties, too.” He went silent for a minute, just the hum of music playing from the outside filling the room as you focused on his thumb on your thigh. “I know I’ve been busy with hockey and everything lately, but I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re not important to me, or that I’m not thinking about you, because I am—all the time. You’re the most important person in my life.”

Your heart swelled at his words as you squeezed his hand. “I know, J,” you nodded. “I knew what I was getting into when you asked me out,” you smiled, meeting his gaze. 

He had been busy with his rookie season for the past year: being called a bust, getting injured over and over again, fans questioning if the Devils made the correct choice with him. He grew quiet during those months, more frustrated—with himself, with his game, with the people around him. You were worried for him, begging him to just talk to you about it. He shielded himself from everything and everyone. He almost lost you because of it, and he vowed to never do that shit ever again; to never get so close to losing himself that he ends up losing you.

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re really fuckin’ cool, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes, that smile planted on your lips never fading away. “I know.”

Laughing, he smiled, a small, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You buried your face in Jack’s chest, breathing in the familiar scent of seasalt and ocean breeze. “Luckily for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

He kissed the top of your head, his chin resting on your hair as your cheek laid against his chest. “I love you,” he whispered, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

He felt you tense beneath him, pulling back slightly. His heart sped up. “What?”

He gulped before breathing in. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice steadier this time. “I think I’ve always been in love with you—you make it hard not to be.”

Your breath caught, a small smile encapsulating your blushy face. “I love you, too.”

Before you could say anything else, Jack closed the distance between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a tender kiss. The music was gone, the thumping of your heartbeat was put to the back of your mind, every doubt and every worry you had for this relationship was dissipated immediately—nothing existed at this moment. It was jack, jack, jack, plus a hundred times more.

Jack’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded naturally, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as if afraid he might disappear, like this moment was just a figment of your imagination. 

Gently, Jack guided you higher up the bed, his movements careful and deliberate. He laid you down, hovering over you, his eyes filled with adoration. “I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them in another kiss.

Your hands roamed his back as you tugged at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours. Jack immediately understood, pulling away just long enough to discard his striped tee before returning to you, his kisses growing more urgent. 

As you pulled him closer, your own shirt joined his on the floor, your lacy red bra standing out against your skin. Jack’s breath hitched at the sight, his hands trembling as they traced the contours of your body, committing every inch and every curve to memory. He wanted to explore every dimple and every mole, every birthmark, and every faint touch that made you squirm. He wanted to know you, as thoroughly as possible.

“Holy shit,” he murmured breathlessly, praising you to the highest level. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Jack’s lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He paused, his gaze meeting yours, a silent question in his eyes. He wouldn’t do anything unless you wanted to. You answered with a nod, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw before pulling him back to you. 

“I love you, Jack,” you whispered against his lips. “I want this.”

Jack’s hands moved with increasing urgency, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Roaming lower, they explored the curve of your waist before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. His fingers found their way to your core, gently exploring, teasing.

A soft moan escaped your lips, your body arching against his touch. “Jack,” you breathed.

He kissed you deeply, his fingers moving with deliberate, tender motions, drawing soft gasps and breathless moans. “I love you…so much,” he murmured against your lips.

Your breaths became ragged, his name becoming the only thing left in your vocabulary. The room grew warmer, more intoxicating. Jack felt you getting closer to your high, quickly removing his fingers before you could reach it as you whined out, breathless.

He paused, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and heavy. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked again.

You nodded, your eyes locked with his. “I’m sure, Jack. I want you.”

With a shuddering breath, he captured your lips again, the kiss deep and all-consuming. His hands found the clasp of your bra, unhooking it, and letting it fall away. He stared at you for a moment, taking in your bare body before his lips began to trail downwards, worshiping every inch of you.

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, your hands working sloppily as you fumbled with the button. Paying no mind, he helped you, discarding his pants and boxers in one swift motion. Jack’s body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin against yours almost too much to bear. His kisses were everywhere, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, and finally to your breasts, where he lingered, drawing soft moans from your lips.

You arched against him, your body pleading for more, for everything. "Jack, please," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He met your eyes, his gaze soft and safe. "I love you," he said again, his voice full of emotion. "Let me show you how much."

With that, he kissed you deeply, his body aligning with yours. The moment he entered you, it was like everything else fell away, leaving only the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible. The rhythm of your movements, the gasps and moans, all blended perfectly, like this was right where you were supposed to be—with Jack, here, and in love.

His thrusts were slow at first, measured, each one driving you closer to the edge. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was overwhelming. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated against your lips, over and over again. 

Jack’s thrust became more urgent, his breathing ragged, matching your own. His heavy grunts, as your fingers dug into his back pulling him closer, closer, impossibly closer, filled the warm room. 

As your climax built, your hands weaved through his hair, needing to feel him, needing to be as close as humanly possible. Each thrust hit harder and faster than the last, bringing you closer to the edge. 

“Jack,” you cried out, your body tensing as that unfamiliar feeling approached, the high almost too much to handle.

His face was buried in your neck, holding you tightly. “Y/N,” he groaned, pushing you through your high, his own release nearly there.

With a final thrust, the string you held onto so tightly, slipped from your fingers, a balloon inside you erupting at the feeling. You cried out his name once more, your body trembling with the force of your release. Jack followed, his own climax crashing over him. 

You clung to each other, your bodies trembling with aftershocks. Jack held you against his chest, his breath ragged, and his heart pounding against yours.

As you laid entwined, the world slowly came back into focus. The sounds of the party were distant now, a faint reminder of where you were. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. You didn’t care about what was going on downstairs, who was missing you, or who was asking for Jack. All that mattered right now was the two of you, and it felt perfect.

“Don’t know if I said it enough, but I love you,” Jack chuckled, his arm wrapped around your small frame.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. “I love you, too, J. Always.”

Always.

  Always.

    Always.

      Always.

         Always.

Opening his eyes, Jack watched the crowd around him, his gaze instinctively searching for you. He didn’t know why he was doing it. There was no point—not anymore, not when he fucked everything up. Not when he let you slip from his fingers and leave his life entirely.

His eyes settled on a girl in the corner of the room, a red solo cup in hand, her cheeks a flushed mess, and he wondered why he was even at that party. None of these girls could hold a candle to you, not even if they tried. 

Yet Jack watched the door, and willed for you to come, despite knowing you don’t go to parties anymore.

[buddierecs]

friends with benefits buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

if you could hold me now, you can leave me later by: justhockey “i think we both know you’re the pretty one here, buckley.” eddie says it and his voice doesn’t catch, or tremble, or break. he even manages to make it sound like a joke, a taunt, instead of a very painful truth: that buck is everything and eddie is just, well, eddie. “here.” buck puts eddie’s plate down in front of him and hands him a knife and fork. “eat. you can’t spew bullshit if your mouth is full.” word count: 4.5k important tags: idiots in love, miscommunication, getting together, love confessions, fluff, soft!buddie lying to ourselves, acting like we're something else by: himbobuckley "after a one-night stand that buck can't get out of his head, things turn awkward when the guy- eddie diaz- turns out to be the new probationary firefighter at buck's station. for eddie, the first guy he ever hooked up with is suddenly in every aspect of his life and he doesn't know what exactly to do with it. cue the pining, not-so-clandestine hookups, and lots and lots of confusion and insecurity." word count: 30k important tags: different first meeting au, season 1 au one night stand, mutual pining, idiots in love, emotional hurt/comfort, jealous!eddie diaz home is a place where i yearn to belong by: buckleydefender "the friends with benefits to lovers (to almost fiancés) sickfic nobody asked for but you got anyway" word count: 4.9k important tags: friends to lovers, getting together, sick fic, pet names didn't quite think it through by: serenelystange "in which buck insists the friends can have benefits other than sex, and everyone but eddie is just so done with him" word count: 3.6k important tags: idiots in love, feelings realisation, fluff, getting together, first kiss friends to husbands to lovers by: onyxthroughtheages "buck and eddie get engaged, have a wedding, buy a home, and only then do they get together." word count: 4.1k important tags: friends to husbands to lovers, fluff, soft!buddie, idiots to lovers glue by: prosperdemeter "a month away from graduating the lafd academy, evan buckley gets introduced to new recruit eddie diaz and things certainly change for both of them after that." word count: 85k important tags: different first meeting au, season 1 au, slow burn, hurt/comfort

[griefabyss69]

Blown A Wish

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'STUFF' wc: 483 | rated: E | cw: The mild breath play that sometimes comes with oral sex

A little love letter to men who love to suck dick; Steve finds out he's one of them.

While Steve’s always been pretty good with his mouth, learning fast when it came to whistling, the perfect smile, and eating people out, Eddie beckons him onto grass of another shade of green.

It's newness. He hasn’t experienced anything like it since he lost his virginity in his teens. Instead of the earth cracking open to let in demons, the stagnant path of his sexuality has split into fresh forks.

"There you go," Eddie says, one hand on Steve's cheek, the other in his hair. "Ease into it."

Steve thinks about the closest he's gotten to this; an adventurous date sitting on his face. He'd open his jaw as far as it'd go, but it’s still so different. Eddie’s stuffed inside of him; he's never been filled like this in his life.

His palm presses harder to feel his cock through Steve’s cheek, and he melts, starting to get the hang of not choking as Eddie carefully pushes him further every time he thrusts.

It's been very slow, one step at a time, but he's patient; happy on his knees.

"Jesus, you’re too good," Eddie groans, his fingers twitching against his head. “It’s unfair.”

Nobody’s fucking kidding when they say Eddie doesn’t shut up, but Steve's bathing in the praise, the gold-medal glow in his chest; If dick sucking was a competition, he'd train daily. The fact of the heavy throb on his tongue makes it sweeter, even as Eddie works past Steve's soft palate to bump into his throat.

It’s like floating underwater, a mermaid guiding their mouths together in a life-saving kiss; he's drowning, but not really, even if he can't breathe like this.

Eddie hisses, his hips pushing until Steve feels his pubes against his face. He could die happy with Eddie's fingers rubbing absently through his hair, with his dick resting so deeply.

"Getting close, you doing okay?" Eddie asks in a hazy mumble.

Steve gives him a thumbs up. He needs to breathe, but all he wants is to kneel here and feel Eddie's heartbeat inside of himself. He pulls back and Eddie slides out of his mouth.

"Gotta breathe," he says, palms on Eddie's thighs. "Then you can come in me."

Eddie’s eyes shut as if watching Steve is unbearable. He wonders if he looks as messy as he feels; tears, spit, deeply flushed.

"How are you so good at this?" Eddie asks, almost complaining about it. “Insane.”

"Hotdog eating contests," he jokes, and settles in as Eddie laughs. "I'm ready."

Eddie cups his jaw and guides his dick to Steve’s mouth, making hot eye contact as he pushes in. He's gentle; Steve notices how hard he’s holding back, so he shoves forward until he's stuffed full again. Eddie chokes and shudders and he starts thrusting, shaky and uncoordinated, grinding up against Steve’s face until he’s coming down his throat.

Steve melts while he drowns in it.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 13 - С'est Lui Que Mon Cœur A Choisi

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: Teen-rated… non-graphic references to sex/sexual situations. ANGST!!!

Word Count: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Beware, this has been coming; things have come to a head with the reader's family and Eloise. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Aubrey Hall, UK, October 1939

It's a dreary Friday afternoon the following week when the phone rings in the hallway.

After a brief exchange, it appears the call is for you, much to your confusion - no one knows you are here. As you tentatively pick up the receiver from the family butler, the familiar tones of Solène ring out down a crackling line.

“Mon Cherie! Have you quite lost your mind!” her opening is quite abrupt.

“And hello to you too, Solène; I have missed you,” you chuckle.

“Yes, yes…” you can almost hear her dismissive hand wave. “Why did you not yet contact your famille?” 

Your stomach plunges. 

“I- I forgot?” you squeak the truth. 

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind with Benedict; it has honestly felt detached from reality. A parallel universe. And this is you landing back on earth with a resounding bump.

“Well, please call them. I have had too many telegrams and now two phone calls,” she explains. “They are quite worried about you! I had guessed you may be chez les Bridgertons but did not want to say. I’m sure you have beaucoup news to tell them that they need to hear from you pas moi.”

“I will call them,” you promise, even as you feel a pit of dread low in your stomach.

“Please do… now, how is married life?” she teases, and after deflecting with a joke, you spend time catching up. The knot inside you loosens as you exchange pleasantries, handing the phone over to Eloise when she appears at your side, eager to reconnect with her Parisian friend.

—

“I have to call my parents,” you profess a few hours later, watching water streak in rivulets down the French doors, the lake beyond a blur, the pitter-patter sound on the roof above you.

His lips pause on your clavicle, and his hands - warm through your cool silk slip - flex around your waist, but he says nothing.

“Just to let them know I am safe. Solène called earlier; they have been trying to get hold of me,” you explain, burrowing your fingers into his hair, delicately scratching your nails over his scalp.

“What will you tell them?” his question hushed and tentative.

“That part I haven’t decided,” you confess with a sigh. “There is so much to say; I don’t know where to begin…”

“I will be there with you,” he replies emphatically, pushing up to gaze down upon you. “Whatever you decide, I will be there, in support, silent or otherwise.”

His generous sincerity makes your chest bloom, devotion evident in his words.

“Thank you,” you whisper, staring into his hazy eyes, again your confession of love on the tip of your tongue. 

He cups your jaw, and you feel the cool metal of his wedding ring, which he has never once taken off in the four weeks since your marriage. “No need to thank me. You are my wife; it is what I must do.” His use of that word makes your heart leap.

“I hope it isn't only out of duty…” you can't help your insecurity from crossing your lips.

“Of course not,” he assures, eyes soft.

“Thank you, husband,” you whisper back, and something flares on his face, a change rippling over his handsome features. His fingers sink between yours, caging your hands onto the towel underneath you.

“Call me that again,” his voice taking on an odd, gravelly quality.

“H-husband?” you falter, a knit of confusion over your brow.

He growls and surges his hips roughly between your legs, igniting that fire you always feel inside for him.

Oh.

“Husband,” you repeat bolder this time, treating it like a jewel dripping on your tongue.

His lips are hot and insistent on yours, his tongue almost punishing, ravaging your mouth. Before you know it, your clothing is ripped from your body, and you are crying his name, fingers digging into flesh. His hold is possessive, almost feral in the way he takes you, swearing that you hear him grunt the word mine into your neck as you both reach completion.

—

You wait until Eloise visits a local friend the next day to make the dreaded call. It’s a Saturday lunchtime, early morning on the American East Coast, when you pluck up the courage, knowing your parents should be home then. 

The handset feels heavy in your palm as you raise it and dial the operator, giving your parents' number. Benedict hovers beside you, a reassuring presence you want to lean into as each ring echoes heavily in your ear.

“Hello?” 

Just the sound of your mother’s voice causes a flood of emotion through you; you slump onto the hallway bench, Benedict bobbing down to crouch before you, his expression concerned but silent, touching your knee delicately. 

“Hello Mom…” it's probably barely audible.

“My love!!!!!” she exclaims, and you can hear the wash of relief in her voice, the knowledge that her child is safe after weeks of uncertainty. It makes guilt burn even harder behind your ribs. “I'm so happy to hear from you! To hear your voice! Are you safe? Please tell me you are safe!” Parental concern colouring her every word.

“Yes, Mom, I'm safe,” you begin, a tremulant quality to your voice that you are unsuccessfully trying to wish away. “It's… it's a long story, but I ended up in England with Eloise. I'm sure Uncle Robert told you all about her.”

“Indeed he did. Well, I'm so happy you escaped France! I hear an invasion could well be imminent. I was so worried! Let me call your father...” Before you can protest, she is holding the receiver away from her mouth and calling out your Dad’s name. “Oh, and Stanley will be so pleased to hear the good news!!! We must tell him right away! He has been concerned too…”

The mention of your ex-fiance's name raises bile in your throat, and you instinctively reach for Benedict. Lace your hand with his upon your knee—an anchor you need. You don't know what to say about your ex, so you don't respond, hoping your mother will move on quickly in her relief, which, thankfully, she does.

You hear your dad’s familiar voice in the background and bite your lip, nervous that both will be listening.

“So when are you coming home, darling?” She continues after giving your dad an economic explanation. 

“I… I don't know that I can,” you stumble, knowing your lip is darkening under the worry of your incisor tooth.

“Whyever not? Just move up your ticket!” Your dad chimes in.

“I tried that while still in France; unfortunately, the company scammed me. I could not get a ticket to any sailings to America, so, for safety, I came to England with Eloise.”

“You got scammed!” your dad’s huff is indignant.

“Let's focus on what is important, Ron. She is safe,” your mother lectures, placating his ire as you mumble an apology. 

Your downcast eyes lift to meet Benedict’s as they seem to remonstrate between themselves on the other end of the line. His mien is benevolent, his finger swiping rhythmically across the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You know he can hear the voices leaking out of the receiver jammed to your ear, if not the words, then the general tone.

“Well, I'm glad you were able to enter England with a visitor visa. I thought they had been suspended since the war was declared. Your Uncle thought he was among the last to be let in with one…” your dad comments, immediately honing in on what you have been dreading the most.

“I am not here on a tourist visa. Thanks to a wonderful member of Eloise’s family, I have been able to secure residency.” Your fingers grip Benedict hard now.

“What do you mean?” your Dad queries, sounding suspicious.

“In order to escape - which I know, Dad, is the most important thing - I had to make a rather drastic choice…” you try to emphasise the jeopardy before your confession.

“What kind of drastic choice?” he echoes your words slowly, and you can feel their suspicion down the crackling line.

“I had to get married…” your voice is so tiny you almost hope they do not hear. Benedict's other hand lands on top of yours, enveloping yours in his warmth, which makes you look at him so grateful, a glassiness to your eyes. 

There is a moment of shocked silence and then an explosion of indignant words and noises, to the point that you have to pull the handset away from your ear. 

It's alright, it will be alright, Benedict mouths silently, and you can't help but pitch forward and rest your forehead on his. One of his hands touches your cheek gently as you close your eyes, a tear swelling on your lashes.

“I did not plan for this, Mom, Dad,” you cut in, sitting back upright. “But it has happened, and now… I… I need time.”

“Need time for what? You get that marriage annulled right away, young lady, and get yourself back here to marry the man you are promised to!” your mother’s voice shrill and didactic. “You had better hope Stanley understands and forgives this transgression….”

Something about her choice of words lights a fire of outrage inside you. As if your life choices are not your own.

“Transgression?!” you spit back. “I was caught up in a country where war was imminent. I did what I had to to escape to safety. What would you want me to do!? Remain in a possible war zone?”

“How about not flit off to Europe on some ridiculous jaunt in the first place!” she yells back. And in that very moment, you realise how little they ever supported your trip, a plunging sense of familial support being ripped from under you. “We only agreed to this reluctantly as you were so insistent. And now look what you have done?! Possibly ruined your future by marrying god knows who instead of the man you have been due to marry since you were a child, y/n….”

“I married a wonderful man,” you defend instinctively. “He is twenty times the man Stanley could ever be!!” You practically roar, “and I do not regret a single thing. I wish to remain here. With him.” You huff, drawing ragged breaths as finally you look at Benedict again and see the desire writ large on his face. It makes you want to kiss him so much your lips tingle.

Down the phone, your parents are stunned into silence. You knew this news would upset them and how awkward this could be, your family being so intertwined with Stanley’s family, being the son of your father’s business partner. But also, you know you cannot lie and return to life there, even if things with Benedict do not work out. 

“I only knew one way my life could go,” you press on, a frenzy of bubbling emotions bursting from within like hot lava. “Well, I have seen something of the world beyond Long Island, and it has things to offer me that Stanely and Long Island could never. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not that girl, and even if I were to annul this marriage, I would not wish to marry Stanley. Ever.”

By the end of your somewhat dramatic speech, you are heaving breaths and clinging to Benedict like a liferaft in a tsunami, your whole life as you knew it crumbling around you. But that fire in your belly that you are finally recognising and standing up for what you want, pursuing what you want, not what is expected of you, gives you the strength of your convictions, painful as this moment may be. That and the man kneeling before you—he is a choice you know you would make over and over again. 

“Well, if that is your decision, then I am not sure what else there is to say,” your father intones icily. “Perhaps call us back when you have come to your senses….”

And with that, the line goes dead, and you collapse into Benedict’s arms, weeping bitterly.

—

Something changes after that phone call. Benedict doesn't leave your side, always seeking you out. Perhaps to check on you, somewhat deflated after the emotions had been wrung out of you, but apparently also to spend time together without intimacy. Just to be in your company. You only realise it when you are curled up reading on the sofa, and wordlessly, he takes a seat next to you, pulling your feet into his lap, opening his book with a soft smile. His hands swirl idle patterns over your ankle bone through your stockings as you both sit in quiet relaxation.

At one point, you brush his shoulder gently, almost unable to stop your need to touch him. Then he curls into you, resting on your chest. He chuckles as you rest your book on the back of his head and keep reading. There is no denying it has all the hallmarks of a couple in love, and yet you don’t comment; just accept it with a lightness inside that feels bubbling. 

However, his warmth and weight soon make you drowsy; you are not sure when, but you fall asleep. You suspect he does, too, based on the rude awakening you receive shortly after.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

You startle awake, your book sliding off with a thump to the floor as Benedict seems to do the same, his head rising in shock.

Eloise is standing before you. Mouth hanging open, an utterly stricken and horrified look on her face.

You want to curl up and die. There is no way to deny what has transpired. Your arms are wrapped around his, his head on your breasts. There is no way this pose is anything but intimate - not one either of you might have accidentally slumped into.

“I can explain…” you being, your voice a rough croak from sleep.

But Eloise does not stay around to hear it. She storms out of the room, the door slamming so loud behind her that a row of framed photos rattles against the picture rail. You curse ruefully, kicking yourself for being so cavalier today after weeks of being so careful. The call earlier really throwing you for a loop. Benedict twists to sit up, head slumping into his hands, wiping his palms down his face with a harried expression.

“I suppose it was bound to happen eventually,” he monotones after a pause, but his knee bounces with nervous energy. “She’s going to tell Mother…” he adds, sounding defeated, almost scared. 

And you know you can wait no longer to divulge it.

“Your mother already knows,” you admit quietly, pulling yourself upright to sit beside him.

He swivels with almost comedic speed, his face a picture.

“She approached me a few weeks ago,” you shrug. “I could hardly lie; I’m a terrible liar,” you remind him delicately.

“Mum knows….” his tone disbelieving, mouth agape.

“She said you, her children, are all terrible at hiding things from her,” you elucidate. “And….” You tremble as the words form on your tongue but feel powerless to stop them from spilling out, “… she said she knows when you are in love.”

Again, his head whips to you, and he looks panicked. “She said that?!?”

“Yes…” you look down at your hands wringing nervously in your lap, the ring on your left hand feeling like a weight.

“I… I…” he stumbles, seeming at odds.

And before you know it, he is on his feet, too and has swept out of the room in an apparent hurry.

As the door clicks shut behind him, a dread fills every nook and cranny of your being, suddenly terrified that everything you have come to treasure in the last few weeks has just been ripped violently from under you. 

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[kitchenisking]

September Fic Rec

History in these Streets by orphan_account - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 3,988, sterek)

Its Derek's birthday and now that Stiles doesn't have Malia, he misses Derek even more than before. Fortunately Braeden is back and gives him a way to contact Derek. In doing so however, old emotions resurface and grow as the two talk on the phone almost everyday. Derek says he probably won't come back though, and that hurts Stiles more than anything.

Or Stiles misses Derek so they talk on the phone but will Derek come home for him?

(We both failed each other in a way) by hellodickspeight - (Rating: T, Words: 742, sterek)

"Why are you laughing ?" he asks through his teeth.

"Are you actually hearing yourself ? Me, cheating on you ? That's like reverse day. If someone did the cheating, it would be you--""

In which Derek thinks Stiles is cheating on him.

Say You Love Me by sunnydalewerewolf - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,540, sterek)

“Say it,” Stiles repeats, kissing him on the lips again.

“If I say it too much it might lose its meaning,” Derek jokes.

“If you never say it at all it will definitely lose its meaning.”

Derek sighs. “Why don’t you say it?”

“I asked you first.” 

AKA: Stiles and Derek have sex and say I love you a bunch of times.

Bravery is a Loaded Gun by DefNotForWork - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 17,389, sterek)

“No, I’m not asexual, Stiles,” Derek said shortly.

The teen’s heart sank in his chest, his palms going clammy and his neck prickling with the familiar feeling of rejection.

“So then it’s,” Stiles swallowed, throat clogging, unable to give voice to the facts he would much rather ignore. The silence grew between them, growing tense the longer it was left. For the first time in years, Stiles couldn’t speak. The weight of inadequacy held down his typical stream of useless banter. What does one say in this sort of situation? ‘I’m sorry you don’t find me attractive?’

In which the boys speak in half sentences and have two totally different conversations. What they can agree on, eventually, is that they love each other. And that Derek should jerk off more.

No Stones in Heaven by DothTheRaven - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 9,652, sterek)

Derek knows the moment he meets eleven year-old Stiles that he’s found his mate. Of course he doesn’t tell the boy this, because he knows that would be creepy and would probably get him arrested. So he bides his time, and befriends the boy and falls in love and waits for the day when Stiles can be a part of his life, forever.

And really, in the end, it’s all Derek’s fault.

Stiles will become a more permanent part of Derek’s life, just not in the capacity he’s been hoping for. Not in the capacity he needs.

It’s because Derek wanted his privacy. It’s because Derek lied to his family. It’s because he wasn’t paying close enough attention.

It’s about happiness and sacrifices and loving your family and doing what’s right, even when it feels like the worst decision of your life.

The Same Old Blood Rush (With A New Touch) by rainsoakedshoes - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 29,564, sterek)

“Friends with benefits,” Derek stated. “I just happen to be in a position to provide a few more benefits than your usual hook ups.”

***

Derek was an Alpha with a pack and a multi-billion dollar company to take care of. Stiles was a college kid with assignments and student debt to worry about. Neither of them were looking a serious relationship. A one night stand turned into an easy no-strings-attached arrangement. Although nothing is ever as easy or as simple as it first seems.

Cause I Built a Home (For You, For Me) by noneedforhystereks - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 59,719, sterek)

Mechanic!Derek and Daddy!Stiles

Derek Hale is a mechanic in the sleepy town of Beacon Hills, where he has lived all of his life. He spends his day in a simple routine: wake up, fix cars, go home, sleep. It's what he's good at, and it keeps things simple and uncomplicated. Derek doesn't let people in and remains emotionally distant from everyone except his sister, Laura, and her daughter. This all changes when Boyd tows in an old blue Jeep that needs a lot of work and Derek meets the owner of said Jeep.

Because once Derek meets Stiles and his kids, he can't stop himself from caring. And he doesn't want to stop.

my wings a hurricane by kellifer_fic  - (Rating: T, Words: 20,322, sterek)

Stiles had been like any other kid growing up in the era of dragons. He'd watched the cartoons, the news stories, had the lunch box. When his screening at Beacon Hills High had come up negative, he'd been disappointed but unsurprised. His positive results were returned three years too late for it to be in any way convenient or cool.

Or, the one where they ride dragons.

Becoming Yours by dbeaux - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 46,688, sterek)

As a dom and owner of Stockholm Syndrome, Stiles takes pride in providing a safe place for people to scene. After a bad breakup, he's not looking for a sub, isn't sure he wants a full time sub again.

College student and curious sub Derek needs a full time dom but hasn't found anyone willing to take him on so he spends as much time at Stockholm Syndrome as he can, pairing up with various doms willing to take him on for an evening.

When their worlds collide, can they find what they need in each other?

Beacon Hell by alikatastic - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,693, sterek)

It had been easier than he thought to talk himself into the field to save Derek's furry ass. The raid was over, and, hell, he couldn’t believe it went as well as it did. Stiles had lost his job, but they hadn’t sent him to some supernatural jail, so he would take his wins where he could. Except, Stiles wasn’t ready to go home. He’d just gotten away; he was free.

[aziraphales-library]

hi! i don't know if this ask has been done before but do you have any comedy fic recs? i've had enough of angst for a bit and i just want to read aziracrow bicker and laugh out loud :))

Hey. We have #humour, #humor, #crack, and #bickering tags, for all your laughing needs. Here are more to add...

Seamstress of Soho by GayDemonicDisaster (M)

Season 2 spoilers! When Mrs. Sandwich spots a suspicious new guy apparently lurking on her turf, the misunderstanding leads to an unlikely friendship between the ‘seamstress’ and a demon. So in episode 6 we see that Mrs. Sandwich is clearly at ease with Crowley and he with her, enough to share a joke together. Combine that with the curious sign on her door which might just be referring to Crowley, and we have a little buddy comedy in the making. I decided to explore the backstory of how they came to know one another between season 1 and the beginning of season 2. While this little comedy is about sex workers, there is NO sex in it, and rated M solely for oblique references to things like contraceptive devices and so on - honestly it could get away with a “teen and up” rating but I like to err on the side of caution.

Pass the Remote, Angel by Mrs_Cake_Is_Here (M)

Aziraphale has returned to Heaven, leaving Crowley a tv binge-watching wreck. However, healing can come from the most unlikeliest of places. While Muriel has been instructed to provide daily reports of the demon’s emotional state, they find that sharing time together, even by watching a scary show, can be the catalyst that builds friendships. And they’d probably both be couch potatoes by now if the Supreme Archangel hadn’t just gone missing.

Christmas Lights by FuzzyGoblin (T)

Christmas Lights is on the agenda at the monthly meeting of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Traders Association, but it's not the only thing on Mr Brown's, of Brown's World of Carpets, mind. As he pines for the mysterious bookseller, his efforts are thwarted by the tall ginger goth.

The Book Thieves by ThingsJustHappenSometimes (T)

“Did they steal it? Professional book thieves, probably going around in their car stealing books.” Be careful what you tell an adolescent antichrist who has the ability to warp reality, he might just make things real. - - - Featuring: A confused ineffable duo in ridiculous costumes, a presumed relationship, overpowered magical books, meddling humans, multiple chase scenes, and a generally all around silly action-packed time. - - - [If you like 1920s Costumes, Indiana Jones, Isekai Vibes, and/or That-One-Auction-Heist-Scene from Uncharted 4, you’ll like this story.]

Rattle Those Pots & Pans by Mackaley (M)

“My instructions…” He parted his mouth as he searched for a word. “Instruct that I just get right into it. You all have been brought here tonight because you have one thing in common: you’re all being blackmailed.” A tense hush fell through the room. “You’re all paying what you can afford - in some cases I’m sure more than you can afford - to prevent your secrets from being exposed. And none of you know who is currently blackmailing you.” Gabriel scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I’m an upstanding member of the international finance community - what could I possibly have done to be blackmailed about?” “You’re a member of the international finance community,” Crowley drawled. ----- A Good Omens Clue (1985) AU

through the tides by viperinz (T)

With that thought, Aziraphale takes to asking experts if his feelings are something more or just love for his dearest, most sweetest friend. If he wasn’t sure himself, then surely the experts on the internet will have something for him. Which brings him to the front of his computer, ready to search something up on the search engine he has pulled up. He’s not one to ask too many questions, but he supposes it won’t hurt. He starts typing, and is satisfied with his search of "Am I in love with my best friend?" Straight to the point, and very concise. Aziraphale has no doubt he’ll find what he’s looking for. He presses enter on the keyboard, and a bunch of results flood in. “Oh, dear,” he gasps at the mass amount of answers. Where is he supposed to start?

Aziraphale discovers the wonderful world of online love quizzes and WikiHow, all in the process of wooing and confessing his love to Crowley.

- Mod D

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 10: Wing Fic

After the Storm (The Meaning of Flying) | @cassiecasyl Rating: General Word Count: 1,132 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Canon Related, Angel Wings, Flying, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff, Feelings, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, can be seen platonic, actually this is platonic, but definitely leading up to something, Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Home Summary: The storm has ended and finally allows Castiel to fly again. The only shadow over his happiness is Dean fearing he might not come back.

After the Flight (The Meaning of Home) | @cassiecasyl Rating: General Word Count: 1,438 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Canon Related, Feels, Storm, Angel Wings, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Abandonment Issues, Home, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Poetic, Massage, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Dean Winchester is Castiel's Home, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Promises, Castiel Won't Leave Summary: Castiel's shoulders are tense after his first flight and Dean helps him out with a massage. Confessions and promises are made.

Hold Me in Your Wings | @tami-ryver Rating: General Word Count: 1,670 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cursed Dean Winchester, Winged Dean Winchester, Angel Wings, Wings, Sentient wings, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Alternate Angel Lore (Supernatural), HugsFluff Summary: Dean can see Sam stretch his hand forward as if he wants to touch. As he is about to allow it, his wings stiffen and pull away from Sam' hand. Dean looks at them, then at Sam. ,,I didn't do that."

Flower in Bloom | @tami-ryver Rating: General Word Count: 1,679 Main Tags/Warnings: Wingfic, Winged Castiel (Supernatural), Seraph Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Wing Grooming, Molting Castiel (Supernatural), Wing Hugs, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), Pining Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester Mutual Pining, Mutual Pining, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Winchester Can See Castiel's Wings, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Light Angst, First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss Summary: Dean gasps, as now he can see them more closely. They are not only black, but they seem to shift colors from deep blue to black and dark purple. They open even more, and Dean stills when one of them comes closer to him, almost touching him. Dean inhales sharply when the soft feeling of feathers registers in his mind. They are so soft, but also so strong.

Like Flying | @Cmccle01 Rating: General Word Count: 2,355 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Amara, Gabriel, Balthazar, Jack. (No warnings. It is a pretty clean story) Summary: Dean and Cas get what they deserve. and Jack smiles

Be Not Afraid | @envydean Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,075 Main Tags/Warnings: angel!cas, human!dean,Alternate Universe, angels as different species, Xenophilia, bottom!Dean, Top!Cas, Wings, Outdoor Sex, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, previous childhood meeting, Artist!Dean, dean is obsessive about angels Summary: Dean saw his first angel when he was ten years old. Ever since then, he's been on a self-serving mission to see one again. Sixteen years later, by luck — and lust — he finds the same angel again during mating season.

dressing down | @hornystiel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,971 Main Tags/Warnings: Sharing Clothes, Possessive Behavior, Wing Kink, Wing Oil, Dick Jokes, D/s elements, Scents & Smells Summary: “Pick something and it’s yours.” Cas hesitantly touches each item, reverently rubbing the material between his long fingers. He trails the patterns, the band names, the sparkles. Dean follows his hands like they’ll show him all the secrets of the world.

The Hounds Of Love Are Hunting | @melancholictearz Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,275 Main Tags/Warnings: AU - Ancient Greece, Fallen Deity!Castiel, Artemis Worshipper Priest!Dean, Prophecy, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Injured Cas, Dean Takes Care of Cas Summary: IS A STRANGER WORTH THE WRATH OF OLYMPUS? It is said that an experienced hunter shall meet the path of a fallen god. The mortal’s faith in the Goddess he worships must decide whether he kills his prey or shows mercy, and the Fates shall write the future accordingly; the divine entity will either die to the wounds of his fall or will perish as mortal. Dean worshipped the Goddess of Hunt, Artemis, for as long as he could remember. But when the prey that the Fates have chosen for him crashes into the field of the Artemis temple under his care, he doesn’t draw the feathery arrows from his quiver.

Falling Never Felt So Good | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15,066 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 5, canon divergence, wing kink, winged Castiel, touch starving, shower sex Summary: Castiel is alive! After saving Dean and Sam from Zachary, Castiel reveals he's now a fallen angel and he should serve Dean as his loyal servant. But thinking about having an angel watching over you because he fell for you isn't worse than the consequences… Lucifer is out there trying to break mundane seals to get stronger, and the only way to stop him is through fallen angel and human bonds. If only strengthening Dean's bond with Castiel didn't include touching and kissing, things would be easier...

Say Yes | @verobatto Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,843 Main Tags/Warnings: Winged!Castiel, BAMF!Castiel, mutual pining, fluff, miscommunication, angst, wing kink, angelic grace kink, touch starving Summary: After evading the apocalypse, Heaven faces a new crisis. Without archangels and with an absent God, the angels will appeal to their last hope: to achieve a perfect bond between two of their own and thus generate the necessary energy to save Heaven. But when the first attempts fail, and everyone begins to lose hope, it's then that Castiel admits that he may have "accidentally" started a bonding ritual with Dean Winchester by bringing him out of Hell, and now the restoration of Heaven depends on a brave hunter agreeing to complete the bond with Castiel, a ritual full of enigmas and sensuality that will confront the angel and the human with their most hidden feelings.

[bogleech]

I said this on twitter too but even though the right is currently having a huge meltdown about sex education and alleged “grooming in schools,” it was already a meme of the boomer generation that every little boy would have a secret stash of girlie magazines, sneak into adult movies or spy on hot neighbors. Every old right wing white guy I ever knew would reminisce about their pre-teen horniness as a wholesome good old american experience. It’s joked about in movies and cartoons of their era. Now they think younger people only know these concepts thanks to either internet porn or liberalism. As someone who grew up rural - something they also tend to respect - I literally saw the neighbor’s animals boning all the time and then there’d be little baby ones. I knew what reproduction was, scientifically. I still didn’t know what human sexuality was, but I started liking the sexy lady characters in my perfectly G-rated media by the time I was six or seven. Nothing corrupted me or forced it on me. I literally had no idea what those feelings were at all, they just fucking happened. The part they don’t want to believe is that for some people, those feelings just fucking happen but it just fucking happens to be gayer. They just really want to believe that any hint of anything LGBT has to come from a nefarious place.

[steviewashere]

Always Need You

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Vague Suicidal Thoughts Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst With a Happy Ending, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Needs a Hug, Hand Holding, Eddie Munson Overthinks A LOT, Reference to Hamlet, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Smart Steve Harrington (Because He IS), Perceptive Steve Harrington, Water Imagery, They Go to The Beach, They're Going to Plot Against Steve's Parents For @steddieangstyaugust Day 7 Prompt: Moonlight Though, I will say, I went more with moon rather than moonlight, but there's still a little bit in here about the actual moonlight.

🌕—————🌊 The sand is wet, squishy, and sort of grainy under his toes. At the edge of the water, there’s not enough of it to come rushing between his toes, but he knows he’ll walk back from here with soles painted brown. Little bits and bobs of gritty sand in the fine wrinkles of his feet. Probably catch some of the drier stuff, too. The ocean roars again; a big, cold, eye-catching wave crashing into his shins. Thank god I rolled up my sweats, he thinks.

It wasn’t his idea to come out here. Not out here as in right now, but out here to the beach in general. He’s never been. Doesn’t think he could survive if swept away into the ocean—though, maybe he’s alright with that thought. Passively and not, he’s okay with it.

Steve’s idea came one late night when his parents told him it would be good for him to get out of Hawkins for a while. Neither in an act of kindness nor grace, the Harringtons don’t do that. Him and Steve think it’s one big notion to follow through with the motion of selling the house—the estate he had joked once, empty silence following it that still haunts him to this day.

That alone had to be reason…18, he thinks, of all the reasons to come contemplating out here.

Out here. Out here.

Only thirty yards away from the beach house they rented for the foreseeable week. He’s having a good time, at least he believes so anyway. Hanging out with his boyfriend—which, shit, that’s the least plausible thing he’s ever heard in his short life—making s’mores around a screen-perfect campfire, holding each other close under a heavy and hot comforter while the cold breeze outside comes flittering through a cracked window, having sex for the love and no longer the thrill. There’s no thrill if they can’t be caught and there’s no thrill if they aren’t dancing around each other anymore. There’s a thrill to it, though, that makes him excited just to get his shoulder touched, but that comes from the lonely years that prehistorically predated all that he has now.

Thirty yards away from the safety zone. Or is it a buffering zone, he asks himself. It doesn’t matter. Steve’ll probably correct him on it for the fiftieth time and they’ll giggle like it’s funny, but sometimes he thinks he gets on Steve’s nerves after a while. Can’t even get your stupid brain to remember what he loves. What kind of boyfriend are you?

Out here, he doesn’t have to worry about Steve stroking his forehead and complimenting him all soft like. Because he can’t be read on the face in the dark. He can’t be picked apart in that silent, persistent, perceptive way that Steve knows how. Sometimes he wonders if the roles are actually reversed—maybe Steve is the freak, maybe he’s been stalking the entire time. Because how in the hell does he just know most days? The self loathing and the wandering thoughts and the kick to his own ribs…he’s picked up and carried by Steve’s hands after it all. It won’t be the last time, he knows that, but maybe the last time won’t be so far away.

The ocean waves crash into him again. This time, he staggers with the force. Hands plucking on the sides of his pants, trying to get them to stay rolled up. Toes clenching for purpose in the wet sand. 

He wonders if, when and how he falls, if he’ll survive the ocean. If it’ll be like surviving his brain the last few years. Bobbing and weaving and then getting caught on something and then drowning in that pocket for a while. He wonders what drowning feels like. 

Steve told him it burned. Steve told him that it was like an icy fire was making home in his lungs. Steve told him he’d never been more afraid of anything else in his life. Steve told him to stop asking, teary eyed and frightened. So he dropped it. He listened like an obeying dog.

Though, he wonders if, how and long he continued to ask, if Steve would’ve told him what it felt like to be heavy in the cold. If the imminent death that seemed closer and closer was easy to come to terms with, or if he wanted to kick his legs harder to propel away.

He shakes himself and rights where he stands. The wave recedes. Low tide soon, maybe—that’s more something that Steve would know, not him. Sometimes when he gets too big, he needs to feel small for a long while. He thinks the low tide is going to be soon. Sooner, if he continues to stay out here.

Now that the waters have lessened their work, a mercy cry, he hears more of the world. The cars driving by late night on the road just beyond the beach houses. Clicks of lighters and that first slow inhale. A far away boat, one long horn.

A stride of heavyset feet on dry to wet ground. The struggle, he thinks, of them trying not to eat it on the sand dunes. But the stampede gets closer, closer, closer still as he continues to stand. Eyes out on the vacant, abyss horizon. Water kissing the insides of his ankles. A calm, deep nothingness around him—he wonders if it would be easy to slip into it, or maybe he’s already there. I could live out here, he thinks.

“Hey,” a familiar voice pants on his right, “hey, Eds. Found you.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of the water. Doesn’t blink. “Didn’t know we were playing a game of hide & seek,” he murmurs, but it’s more of a croak. It sort of hurts. Maybe it’ll stay this way, for his sake. But he doesn’t get what he wants, even when the mere thought manifests. He knows he won’t get it because he’s already melting with Steve’s warmth around him.

Steve chuckles deep from his chest. Shoulder bumping Eddie. Bare skin from elbow down on Eddie’s own. He’s warm. “I came out of the shower to an empty bed,” he murmurs, too. 

“Sorry,” he responds on reflex.

“Don’t need to be,” Steve brushes off—that perceptive way of his. “I saw you from the window. Thought I’d come join. Maybe the breeze will help dry my hair.”

Eddie gives a noncommittal grunt.

Almost in his ear, Steve copies him. “You’ve got that look on your face,” he whispers, “what’re you thinkin’ about, Eds?”

You’ve caught me, he wants to exclaim, you know me! How the hell do you know me?!

A million things, he then wants to say, a million pointless, probably concerning things.

He thinks about that Hamlet speech:

“To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep, No more.”

The Hamlet speech that made him pass theater class. The Hamlet speech that he clung onto years after because it just made sense. For once, with this skillset and his wandering imagination, he could focus his brain front and center on Shakespeare’s words. It was the first time that Shakespeare ever made sense. Even as there’s a million interpretations, much like his thoughts, there was a certain way he read it that could only cover how he felt. A passive question he always asked himself. And yet, it was a non-passive question—he knew what it meant for him.

He’s thinking of the time he saw a murder of crows protect the limp, sodden corpse of a stray cat he once fed, now turned to roadkill. Of how he wandered close to them. Of how they didn’t ignore him, but rather let him pick the cat up and bury her in the soft dirt across the street. How they watched him pick weeds that resembled flowers enough to count as something. Like he did for his mom whenever he visited her grave, too young to have a job and couldn’t afford the big, fragrant bouquets that he saw others wander by with. He’s wondering if they both appreciated it, or if they pitied him like the fool he is—maybe they saw that he was trying too hard to make things right, as if it was his whole responsibility to mend the holes.

He’s thinking about the first time he had Steve’s hands on his body. Applying pressure to wounds that weren’t superficial in the slightest. But Steve had believed he would survive. He was the only one to believe it. He wonders if the rest of their crew looked at Steve the way Eddie’s mother probably looked at him when he visited. Pity, like he was a fool, too. Maybe love makes fools of all of them, pity or no—even in the good relationships, like he has now.

He’s thinking about how, even though he has a lot of good things, all of it doesn’t outweigh the terrible he experiences back home. It’s safer by the cold, crashing ocean than it is walking through the back ways of Hawkins. That says something, not poetic, he thinks.

“I don’t know,” he eventually says, “probably too much for what’s supposed to be a vacation.” Eddie swallows. There’s nothing in his mouth but words and teeth and his own tongue. 

He wants to be honest.

A moment later, he admits softer, “Thinking about dying. About…about if I’d survive being swept into the ocean. Probability points to a zero percent chance because I don’t swim that good.”

It’s quiet again. The way it was before Steve got here. Cars beyond and clicking lighters and small crashes of tiny ocean waves. So quiet, he thinks he hears the squelch of his feet in the sand. The squelch of him grabbing onto something before he drifts too far away.

“I used to think that, too,” Steve breathes. “Used to wonder about it all the time. If I’d survive the impossible. A car crash from any side, the drop over the quarry, Lover’s Lake and the ocean.”

Eddie looks away from the water, finally. Not a side glance at Steve, but something contemplative at his own feet. “What made you stop?” He asks quietly.

Steve shrugs, feels his shoulder brush. “I don’t think I stopped until Vecna fucking ate it,” he confesses in a low murmur. “Until I knew I was safe.” His hand, cold and slightly damp reaches out for Eddie’s wrist. Fingers wrapping around, not clenching or squeezing, just loosely grasping for purchase.

“I wish I felt like that,” Eddie sighs. “Maybe it’s just not in the cards for me.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, so clearly thinking. Probably mapping out all kinds of routes in that wonderful brain of his. His whole arm slips through the gap of Eddie’s, linking them together. “Did you know that the ocean wouldn’t be what it is without the moon?”

He looks to Steve at that. Questioning eyes and words bubbling inside. Can’t help himself, he laughs. “What?” He gets out between fits, “where did that come from?”

A smile adorns Steve’s face. A soft, thoughtful one. “It’s true, though,” he speaks, quiet and traversing, “the…uh…there’s gravitational pulls that come from both the Moon and the Earth. And these forces kind of work together. The pull on the Moon makes these bulges in the ocean, both where the closest side is to it and the farthest side. These make the tides go high, those big beautiful waves. And when the bulges are low, low tides are created.

“Without these forces, without the Moon, the Earth’s ocean would be only low tide. That means a lot of the smaller animals that survive off of these tides would cease to exist, the ecosystems would be absolutely destroyed. The ocean kind of carries the things these animals need to survive. And, well, without them and the Moon…poof…no more.” Steve’s smile doesn’t leave his face, but it’s stronger now that it’s pointed directly at Eddie. All of his teeth a muted white in the light reflecting off of the water. And his eyes glistening, dark in an abyssal way. His skin a dusty white-blue.

For once, he doesn’t know what to think. Or how to think. It’s as if the currents that activated all those burbling worries just ceased to exist. He’s a lot thankful for it, but he won’t say that yet. Steve’s got this look to him that reads more. More in the best way.

“How do you”—

“Science class. It was, outside of gym, the subject I was best at.”

Eddie probably could’ve figured. Steve’s always had this way to him that reads: diamond in the rough. Things waiting to be excavated. So he’ll go with it. “And…where is this”—

“You’re the moon to me,” Steve says easily, “you do this really wonderful thing to me, y’know? Make my heart race every time I look at you or touch you, even when I just hear about you. And makes my day sort of…worth it? Think it would destroy me if you weren’t here. If, after all this wonderful time with you, we got nothing together in the end.

“I don’t know…I don’t know where your brain is tonight or what you’ve been thinking exactly, but I can assure you right now you’re much needed. Not just for me, you know? Dustin looks to you for guidance all the time. All the time. He’ll come bug me at work, say something about Hellfire, and is usually saying: ‘I bet Eddie would know. He always knows.’ And it’s the same with the other members, I can tell you right now.

“Wayne would be…I don’t want to even imagine what Wayne would be like.” Steve’s eyes glisten impossibly more. Swallowing hard—probably consuming all that flickers through him, what those things are, Eddie knows better than to ask about them. “I don’t know what I’d be,” he whispers, “if I had to only wonder what you’d think or what you’d say when something happens. If I had to wonder because you weren’t…” His fingers are still wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, but now they tighten. Hard enough Eddie begins to feel the bite of his nails. Another swallow. Clarity. “My point is is that you’re a much needed presence in everybody’s lives and all those shitheads from Hawkins who don’t like you, because they can’t see the person you actually are, they can go suck a fat fucking egg.”

All the air in Eddie’s lungs leaves him, wheezing out of his mouth as he laughs something so loud and unexpected, he thinks it could rival the sound of crashing waves. “Wow,” he marvels, “you have such a way with words.” He squeezes the hand in his, fingers tight to Steve’s. “And for the record, sweetheart,” he says when he can fully catch his breath, “I wouldn’t actually do anything, y’know. It’s just…I wander, I guess. Especially out here. When it’s like only quiet and pretty and…The best part about this beach not even being close to Hawkins is that nobody here knows me. And I can just be. Though, I guess just being makes me think too hard. About life back home.”

Steve hums. Smile still stretching across his face. And with him, Eddie knows he’s safe. In their hold they have, in the light they share, in the warmth they’ve created. He can admit anything out here and Steve won’t stare at him strangely.

“Maybe we should find somewhere else to go,” Steve quietly suggests a moment later. “Now that the world isn’t ending. And we know that it’s all done for for good. We should go find a reclusive place to be. I’ve heard that Oregon’s got some great beaches. Washington and California, too.”

Eddie snorts. “I don’t want to laugh at your idea, but how on Earth are we going to be able to afford that?”

“Easy,” Steve says, “we goad my parents into giving me money. Maybe I…I’ll come up with some lie that I heard that they’re selling the house without giving me notice. Because I know that’s exactly what they’re doing. And I’ll threaten to like…I’ll expose them, that’s it! Ruin their reputation if they don’t agree.”

“It’s alarming that you’ve got a mastermind plan already building in that head of yours,” Eddie states. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. You always know how to get things done. What to say.”

A flattered expression washes over Steve’s face. But he doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s words. A discussion for another time, then. Instead, he goes on, “I’ll get Nancy in on it, Eds. She’s been waiting since high school to take my parents down a notch. This is her chance. And this is going to be our chance to get away.”

“I’m with you so far, but I’m hung up on what I’ll do without Wayne.”

“Bring Wayne,” he says immediately, “he’ll have his own room and everything. We’ll figure it out.” And Steve’s eyes are squinted with his smile, his body lax and easy. He knows, in his own perceptive way, that they will.

“Okay,” Eddie gives in, “we’ll figure this out.”

Steve swings their arms back and forth for a moment. “Let’s go to bed, baby. I want to show you all the ways I love you.”

He can’t stop himself from letting out a giddy giggle. “Okay,” he agrees, “let’s do that.”

“And the ways I need you. Because I’ll always need you, Eds. Even when your brain goes elsewhere, I’ll need you.”

“I need you, too, Stevie.”

And as Steve pulls him along the dunes, sand sticky to the soles of his feet, Eddie takes in the roaring quiet again. Wondering, the only thing he can wonder, what it feels like to live in Steve’s heart the way he does in Eddie’s. He’s warm. He’s excited. And he knows, perpetually and no matter where they are in the world, they’re safe with each other.

Much like the moon will always be with the ocean.

🌕—————🌊

[ferhog]

My INSANE, out there predictions for Arcane's final Act:

Hello friends. As we approach the last 3 episodes of this show I come to you with the craziest predictions I've made in my efforts to understand the twisted machinations of Riot and Fortiche. I'm not 100% expecting most of these to happen but I'm not joking when I say these either.

Isha will be saved... and so will everyone else: Contrary to the opinions of some fans I think Isha is a good character with a good death, but it's undeniable that it was more predictable and heavy-handed than this show's usual standard. So I think she and Vander will blow up... and a distraught Jinx will go catatonic and do nothing as she's impaled by Noxian soldiers. Ambessa will close the distance on a distracted Caitlyn and slice her head off, and Vi will despairingly witness exactly what she feared she'd see in the season 1 finale, before being cut down herself... only for everything to rewind back to Echo's stopwatch in a parallel to season 1's seventh episode, and Echo and Heimerdinger will fly in (As deduced by some people analysing the trailers) and save everyone except Vander, who will still be mostly destroyed by the blast so he can be reconstituted fully as Warwick later.

CaitVi sex scene: My safest prediction that many have already made. I believe it will happen because we got to see Jayce and Mel go at it while Vi and Caitlyn is the show's lead romance. To my knowledge there has been no on-screen gay sex in western animation (Except maybe that threesome in Castlevania) and this show will cross that boundary and go all in. It's not gonna be Game of Thrones borderline pornographic stuff but it's gonna tiptoe on that teen rating. We're gonna see toes curl. We're gonna see O faces. We're gonna see Caitlyn try her best to defy nature and get her girl pregnant.

Future shows will be directly set up: Arcane has been a huge success and the Medarda plotline seems like it's setting up too much to be completed in just 3 episodes. So I think it's gonna directly tie into a whole other show all about Noxus. But maybe it won't stop there. Maybe a very confident Riot will have Arcane end on a tease for everything that is to come. A character like Ambessa, Heimerdinger, or Vi will narrate how everything that's happened is a sign that the world is changing, and this narration will play over Lux and Garen overlooking the kingdom of Demacia, Diana and Leona meeting on the battlefield, Miss Fortune breasting boobily on the high seas, and... whoever lives in the Freljord. My non-Arcane League knowledge comes entirely from TBskyen videos and rule34.

Someone will actually say "League of Legends": It's a big joke that this would happen, but y'know what, they made how Jinx got her name one of the most impactful moments in her show when in most other shows or movies it would have been hilariously stupid. So I think they should challenge themselves and actually do it just to show they can pull it off. Maybe have Vi seeing the good she's done for Piltover and Zaun and reflect on Maddie calling her "A legend amongst the enforcers" and say "Heh. Maybe I am in the league of legends". BOOM. Roll credits. Lincoln Park starts playing. Again.

Silco will return: My absolute craziest, never gonna happen theory is that Silco's body will be recovered from the river and revived by either Singed experimenting again or a straight up magic villain like the Black Rose 9If they can do that). But his mind will have deteriorated enough in death that he's brought back wrong, yet another parallel to Vander. He will remember almost nothing, not even his name, with his attempt resulting in only half success as the name... Shaco. That's right, the champion infamous for having no lore will suddenly have all the lore. Because they have a sorta similar nose and chin combo.

Loris will still do nothing: It would just be really funny if that happened. Actually you know what, it would be really funny if in the final battle Vi is about to be killed before she's suddenly saved by Loris throwing his shield in front of her. And then they give each other a knowing look like old friends who'll always have each-other's backs and he'll walk away, never to be seen again.

[ms-demeanor]

I'm all for sex work on Tumblr cause like hell yeah going back to our roots. But now that I'm a grownass adult with a job that involves a lot of waiting around with other people, I think that people can at least tag their NSFW NSFW so I can save that NSFW for later when I am not idling around Tumblr waiting FW

that is very different than the tumblr live avatars and if your coworkers are getting offended by the tumblr live avatars they are looking too closely at your phone.

But also block and move on. If you can't trust someone to tag their nsfw and it's causing a problem for you, block that person. Curate your experience, bud, or create a tumblr account that you just use for scrolling at work and only follow people who post safe for work sasuke before their hole pics.

Like. It used to be a sitewide joke that you were taking your life into your hands when scrolling tumblr in public, let alone at work. Tagging NSFW isn't going to keep teen and up Onceler/MLP manips from drifting across your screen.

This is why the safe bet is to only look at boring blocks of black and white text on the clock so that no one can tell that you're reading E-rated onceler/mlp fics.

It is *polite* for people to tag NSFW but if you make it a hard fast rule to always tag everything that could possibly be interpreted as NSFW you start blocking truth coming out of her well to shame mankind.

[helaelaemond]

The Light Beneath Your Skin - Billy Washington x plus size!reader

Pairing:  Billy Washington x plus size girlfriend reader - thank you @arcielee for letting me borrow your Billy x reader origin story, you slay

Word count: 2k

Summary: you're a plus size woman who's insecure about it. Billy finds a way to reassure you, at least for now.

She/her pronouns, established relationship, no sex

Content warning(s): in-depth talk of body issues/insecurities, fatphobia, mentions of past sexual harassment

Rating: Gen/Teen

You never thought that anyone you were attracted to would want you back. No one ever had, not really. Your father used to tell you that you were pretty, that you looked so much like your mother. Across the table, your mother would agree and smile. By the time dinner was over, she would lament how monstrous she looked.

Billy isn't much of a cook. He can't afford to take you out much. But he's trying more often now. He made you a pasta and mushroom dish not long ago, and he smiled when you ate it together.

You were never teased to your face. But once, the boy you liked grinned at you across the classroom in Double Science, and you blushed. His friend then joked that he liked you, and he'd been almost violent in his response. 'Eugh, that's disgusting! Don't fucking say that!' He shoved his friend so hard that he fell off his stool, and they both cackled. That kind of thing happened a few times, actually. The mere hint that you had interest in a boy put a target on his back. A laughingstock by association.

Billy holds your hand, his long fingers resting easily between yours. "You're quiet tonight."

You smile faintly. "Just thinking."

"Hm. Wanna share?"

Shrugging, you wrap your arms around yourself and try to hide your double chin in the neckline of your jumper. He watches you for a moment, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on your shoulder.

The first time someone kissed you, you hadn't wanted it. Nineteen, you'd been, on a date with a man who seemed nice online. In the booth of the restaurant he had taken you to, he slipped his hand up your skirt so high that it had frozen you in place. "You like this?" he asked. The memory of his face is a haze now, all grey shapes and soft shadows. A void, a memory that you no longer sink into. You shook your head slightly and managed to whisper the words, "please stop." And he did. For a moment. He smirked, and after, you thought it would be alright. An hour later, though, he dragged you outside and into the alley, where he pushed you against the wall and ground against you. He kissed you and it felt strange and alien and made your throat close up in fear, disgust.

At some point, the man without a face told you "you should be grateful for this. Who else is gonna want someone like you?" and you believed him. You tried to enjoy it.

He was right. No one else even looked your way for years. You got a few matches on dating apps, but as soon as you were honest about your size, the matches were gone. You didn't even get a first date.

"Hey," a voice calls to you. "What's wrong?"

You smile and shake your head, laughing softly. "Nothing. Nothing!"

Billy sits up and tries to touch your cheek, but you pull away. The sudden movement spills the tears gathered in your eyes. The smile stretches into a wince. He watches you in silence, and when your face cracks into something sadder, he squeezes your hand. "Tell me."

Your voice is strained as you try to find the right way to say it in a voice that is steady. On both counts, you fail. "I don't have the right words."

"Use the wrong ones."

"Who else is gonna want someone like you?"

You remember an advert you saw for a food product once. Odd, you thought at the time, that to advertise food, someone like you was ridiculed. A man in a workplace break room was sat at a table with a larger lady who was making eyes at him. The whole premise was that with a better lunch, he could sit with the pretty and thin ladies, and the fat lady cried from the rejection. It was supposed to be funny.

The man in the advert had been slender and tall, like Billy. Billy has never given you reason to think he might not find you worthy of love. But the whole world tells you that one day, he will.

"Why are you with me?"

"Oh." His voice is soft. You've asked him this before. The first time you asked him, he was understanding. By the third time, he was irritated and angry at needing to repeating himself. After that, things got worse for a bit.

That was a while ago now.

"What's brought this on?" he asks, and his large hand strokes your leg.

You shrug. It's impossible to look at him.

"Hey?"

You bite your lip before speaking. "Tried to find a nice dress for next week. Nothing in my size."

Billy sighs and shifts on the sofa. "Try another shop."

"In a shopping centre of fifty thousand bits of clothing, not a single one was for me." Your chest hurts.

"You'd look beautiful in a bin bag."

"But..." your lip trembles again. You wonder if your chubby cheeks shake like some gruesome creature gobbling a foul feast. "I just want a pretty dress."

Dissolving into tears makes your cheeks burn with shame. Billy wraps you up in his arms anyway. He's so tall.

He pulls you against him on the sofa, and eventually, with a pillow for your head, you lie in his lap, and he strokes your hair soothingly. He doesn't say anything. Billy is a man of few words. Tender fingers glide through hair, gentle on any tangles they find. Occasionally, his nails make contact with your scalp and a quiet noise sounds in your throat.

When you try to get away from him, he holds you down. Quietly, he shushes you, and you melt. He murmurs your name. Your cries are softer now. The headache begins to fade.

"I'm sorry," you whisper thickly.

"Don't apologise."

"Billy, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Shh."

"No, I-"

"Are you gonna listen to me?"

You look up at him blearily. He shaved earlier, and his cheeks are soft. He uses the aftershave you got him for his birthday. He'd turned the box over in his hands quietly, and sniffed the bottle in curiosity. The pleased face he had pulled was so endearing. You remember everything with him. He smells like that birthday.

"Tell me what you thought of me when you first saw me."

Your brow furrows slightly. "Eh?"

"Eh?" he echoes with the hint of a grin. "Tell me."

"You know."

"I wanna hear it."

Licking your lips, you take the hand in your hair and pull it down to your chest to play with his fingers. He lets out a shallow breath. "You came through the door out of the rain with your hood up. But it was wet. Just cotton. Bit dirty." You remember everything. "You ordered a black coffee, and you were so quiet that I couldn't really hear you."

"First thing I ever bought with you was a raincoat." He rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

It soothes you. "Yeah."

"But what did you think of me?"

"That you looked like a sad, wet cat." You laugh when he gently presses your sides, tickling you slightly. How you used to hate him touching you. Always afraid he'd recoil in disgust. Still afraid. "I wasn't sure about you. You looked a bit..."

"Hmm?"

"Stern."

"Hmm."

"Why're you asking?"

Billy's gentle smile - the secret one, the contented one - fades slightly. He leans his head back against the sofa cushion. "I dunno... I dunno how I can ever convince you that between the two of us... it's you."

Knots twist in your stomach. Around his fingers, your hand tightens. "What's me?"

"You're... you're the one."

"What?"

"I... I ain't got the words."

You smile faintly. Closing your eyes, you let your head sink deeper into the pillow on his lap. "Any'll do."

"I'm just some bloke. But you?... God, you've got this, this, this light in you."

Not the words you expected. "Billy."

"Nah, I mean it. I knew it the first time I saw you. This bright old smile, this loud and happy voice, you just... shot into my life. It was stupid to spend money on coffee every other day, but I couldn't... I couldn't stay away."

Loud. Happy. Pictures of jolly clowns dance across your eyes. No one wants to fuck the clown.

"Yeah, I'm a laugh a minute." It's impossible to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

"Listen to me," he chides. "Don't make me feel stupid for saying the wrong thing."

"Sorry."

"I know."

You sigh. There's always somethng you need to apologise for these days. He deserves someone whole and kind and beautiful and sexy and-

"You got this light in you," he murmurs again after a long pause. "It comes through your skin like the sun."

Billy doesn't talk like this. It's not like him. You hold back snide comments, the knee-jerk instinct to say something funny. Instead, you listen.

"After Cranstead, I didn't think I'd ever see something beautiful again. And then I found you. Shining."

Pain gnaws away at you. It's sweet, it really is. But he could say that about a friend. No one wants to fuck the clown. No one wants to fuck the sun. "That's a pretty thing to say."

"Yeah?" He looks down at you and lets go of your hand. Instead, he strokes the hair back from your forehead and kisses it. "Pretty words for a pretty girl."

"Promise?" you ask. The word almost chokes you.

"Yeah, of course." He sees your face threaten to crumple again. "I love you. You know that, don'ya?"

You nod. It's hard to keep it together. "Yeah. But... but do you... you know..."

"What?"

"I'm worried that... that I'm not..."

He is more patient now than he used to be. Your asks for reassurance were met with anger once. But you learned him - and he learned you. By heart. He will be your broken record. "You're beautiful."

"I need you to promise. That you... that you want me still. Despite how I look. How... how much of me there is."

Billy lifts your hand to his lips and kisses your palm. For the briefest moment, he takes your fingertip between his teeth, before you stroke his smooth jaw. So pretty.

He whispers your name. "I want you every moment of every day. Sometimes, I can't even think straight because all I can picture is you. Your eyes, your mouth, your hands. God, these hands. They make me feel so good."

Blood heats your cheeks. He kisses them.

"And your perfect face. I wish you'd watch us fuck in front of a mirror. You don't know how good your face looks when you're taking me inside you."

Fuck. He's getting so good with his words. He saves so many of them for you. "You think about it?"

"Yeah. I think about coming home and finding you naked. I wanna come home and find every inch of you bare for me. All for me."

"Promise? Promise I turn you on?"

Billy laughs breathlessly and nods. Craning his neck down, he presses a deep kiss to your lips. His tongue meets yours and you taste coffee and sugar. Sweet Billy, dark and hot, steals the breath from your lungs. "You do so much for me," he murmurs between kisses. "You make me laugh. Make me feel safe. You make my dick hard. And," he pulls away enough to look into your eyes, "that light beneath your skin. It saved me. It's like... it's like it was midnight forever, and you brought the dawn."

"You're turning into a poet," you whisper. There is no jest here, though.

He kisses you again, and cradles your head in his lap. "It's what you do to me. Make things beautiful. Even me."