#and ed being all smug

[dallonismysavior]

added subtitles to Stede calling Ed his boyfriend and now I'll go scream for a while-

[wickedcriminal]

Had this really funny idea that Ed and Al meet Selim Bradley as kids and they managed to drag Selim into a really profound and helpful discussion about alchemy and Selim is like 'hmm these twerps are pretty smart we could use them as sacrifices' and decides from then on that he's going to be the Elrics' Best Friend

So he twists Bradley's arm into letting him go to Resembool every once in a while to hang out with the Elrics and meanwhile the rest of Resembool is quaking in their boots like "???? The Fuhrer's son??? Wtf is the Fuhrer's son doing here??" Meanwhile Ed and Al had wave at Selim and his 50 bodyguards like 'hey what's up we're eating dirt so you wanna join in'

And by the time Trisha dies Selim is like 'perfect this is my chance to convince them to commit alchemy's greatest taboo it'll probably take a lot of convincing though because those boys are so smart' and then he goes to Resembool and the boys have literally already done it

So they join the military and that means the Elrics get to hang out with Selim more often and he's like 'crap now I have to age my body a little to keep up appearances' which is hilarious because he's been an Actual Toddler for so long that whenever he goes to report to Father Father is like 'who the actual hell are you'

And then he doesn't plan for the fact he actually starts to like the Elrics like they're growing on him and they get him out of his Good Little Fuhrer's Son Lessons to play hooky and hang out and maybe bring down an Evil Alchemist or two with The Boys

So what I'm saying is Pride enters this Rebellious Teenager phase by hanging out with some Bad Influences (Edward and Alphonse Elric)

Also I think it would be funny if Ed sat teenage Selim down and they bitched about their dads together (even more funny if Greedling is also there that's four times the Dad Slander)

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | a series of nights spent with a neighbor you find an unlikely connection with, sharing a similar interest to pass the time, it forms into something much more intense and suddenly, neither of you can deny it anymore.

content warning | no outbreak!joel, f!reader that is mentioned to have hair that can be pushed back but no exact length, descriptions of outfits, lots of w*ed smoking/consuming ed*bles, a quick mention of a burn, joel being a good neighbor, he's still the biggest girl dad, age gap implied but readers isn't specified, joel's not afraid to go for what he wants, most of the interactions happen while they're high so please keep that in mind when reading, lotsa boob worship, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, mentions of joel being sterile, strangers to friends to lovers. this was written over the course of a weekend don't look at me

word count — 8k

The first and only time you see him is when you’re moving in next door, trudging in the moving boxes on your own as he seems to ready up his own truck full of boxes, followed by two younger women who seem to be bickering at him and he bypasses them with a smug smile on his face—he’s older, so you came to your own assumption that it was probably his daughters. 

That’s all you know about him. 

Outside of the fact he drives a truck, works long hours, and that his name is Joel.

The girl with the begrudging smile and worn out converse called his name while you were throwing away your trash and trying to not seem like the nosey neighbor. 

He comes, he goes. The roar of his truck is all you hear and you never really see him outside of an occasional swish of his curtains through your own windows, but occasionally you leave your trash can out by the curb longer than necessary and it magically appears at the beginning of your driveway. 

Now, you don’t want to point fingers—but the only ones tucked away are his and your own, leaving the other neighbors to fend for themselves.

 It’s a simple gesture, kind.

You want to thank him but you never get the chance.

You’re curious if he’s a night owl—lights staying on even into the early hours of the morning, shadows crossing around his living room that you can see from your bedroom window, tossing and turning most nights as you struggle and struggle to fall asleep.

You’ve learned methods to help, plenty—if you ever remember to charge your vibrator it was usually your first choice, a quick release of some of the built up tension over the day and you could eventually find it easier to fall asleep. But, your tried and true method was weed. 

That was it. Sometimes you didn’t even need much—an edible to curb the anxiety that filled you, a puff or two at the pen you had stashed away in your bedside drawer, but most of the time it was occupying your mind with the work of rolling the joint before smoking it out your bedroom window that helped the best.

However, tonight was different.

You toss and turn and fling the blankets away that stick to your skin, the broken ceiling fan doing nothing to quell that muggy heat that was permeating in your house from earlier in the day—it just sat frozen, menacing and taunting at you. You search through the drawer at your bedside for the small tin case covered in stickers of various interests and things you enjoyed, kicking the sliding backdoor with your foot as you traveled through the living room to your kitchen and stepping out onto your back deck.

It’s still hot, but the breeze allows a noticeable difference.

You work quietly, hunched slightly over the railing and using the faint glow of the light hanging beside your backdoor, just finishing up rolling the joint as you bring it to your tongue and the distinct creak from the house next to you grabs your attention—the sliding door mimicking your own.

Your heart races and you don’t know why. It could be one of the girls, still strangers but somehow you find it easier to look that way if it was them—Joel was intimidating, the aura he carried within just a few seconds of a glance. 

It is him, unfortunately—and suddenly you feel the need to hide your stash, tossing the tin box in the cheap plastic chair you bought when you first moved in. Tucking yourself away as you light the joint and bring it to your lips.

He’s being surprisingly noisy, chair scuffing the deck as he moves it around and you look at him curiously from across the way, a fence and several feet of grass dividing you both. You can see the mug clutched in his right hand and his left hand filled with a few various things. A phone, for sure—lighting up in his hand before he lays it on the table beside him, lifting a leg over the lounge chair in a straddle-like motion before he sits down.

And he does seem like a smoker, not that you have proof or theory—it was just the vibe, but as he lights the item in his hand and takes a slow drag you quickly realize there's not an ounce of nicotine in sight. It’s clear when he catches your gaze and his brow furrows slightly, noting the similar item tucked between your own fingers and you can’t help but laugh to yourself.

You don’t say a word. Neither does he. But, he does offer a weak smile when you grab the tin box from the chair, nodding in acknowledgement. Your entire body flutters to life for some weird reason that you will absolutely blame on the THC obscuring rational thought. 

Thankfully, sleep comes easy after that.

–

But, it doesn’t stay that way.

Most of the time you stay tucked inside, especially on the days and nights when the heat wasn’t as ablaze as usual, but there is usually a day or two out of the week where you find yourself outside—sometimes you lounge, or pace, but it never fails that the moment you step foot outside your backdoor, Joel does too.

Once a week, rarely twice—though it does happen, both of you find yourself in quiet submission as you smoke and enjoy the peace, even with the constant click of crickets and lighting bugs that seem attracted to both of your houses, flying around your backyard in a small swarm.

And you wanted to keep your distance, not wanting to impose on his space but your two months into these unspoken nightly meetings when your cheap lighter finally decides to shit itself, offering nothing but dull sparks against your overworked thumb, trying and failing to light the end of the joint. 

Joel had been watching, an amused smile growing on his face as you cursed and tossed the lighter into your yard out of frustration—you’d grab it later, whatever. Eventually you sigh, giving up on it for the night and turning to pack away your stuff before Joel is calling over to you from his side of the fence, heart dropping into your stomach at the sound of his voice.

“I got a light,” He offers, “if you’re interested?”

It’s definitely a question. A proposition. An offering.

You scratch at your brow and hesitate for a millisecond, not giving yourself enough time to debate your answer before you’re mumbling “Fuck it,” and taking the path down the steps and to the gate that separated your yards, watching as he stepped toward you all in the same breath, feeling so much more intimidating this close—the smell of him, musky and sweet. His hair was wet, too.

He took a shower, got dressed, and immediately decided to step back out into the humid heat of Texas summer.

You pluck the lighter from his grip with a soft tug, flicking open the top. It was a good lighter, not the crappy three-pack you bought at the gas station down the road—it was chrome, engraved with a JM, and soft to the touch. You admire it for half a second before you attempt to light the end of your joint, still tucked between your lips. 

But, as fate would have it, you make a fool of yourself. It wasn’t that you couldn’t get it lit, but that the wind was being your worst enemy in a situation where you just wanted to smoke the goddamn joint and go to bed.

Joel puffs at the joint between his lips and breathes out the smoke through his nose before he huffs out a low laugh and nods in your direction, reaching his arms over the fence and beckoning with his fingers for you to hand the lighter back over. You nearly go cross-eyed as his hands come toward your face—much larger than your own and far better at keeping the flame strong, he peeks around his cupped palm and waits for the end to turn a bright orange before he pulls away and you eagerly pull the smoke into your lungs.

“Thank you,” You tell him, rubbing your bare feet into the grass beneath you, patchy and poorly cut from your own mow job, but you were working the best with what you had—even if it was an ancient lawn mower you snagged at a garage sale that only worked half of the time. 

You didn’t like to ask for help, hated it. But, here you were, taking help from a stranger.

Well, neighbor.

It didn’t feel fair to call him a stranger anymore, even if you’ve only spoken a little under ten words to him. 

“No problem, sugar,” Joel responds and your cheeks burn with heat, that distinct nervousness spreading throughout your body that couldn’t be mistaken with anything else, “curious, though—you ain’t ever thought about investin' in a good lighter?”

You shrug, tapping away the ash gently with your fingertip and taking another puff, “Why? My neighbor’s got a perfectly good one himself?”

Joel raises his brows in unison and smiles slightly, he laughs. It’s more of a lazy chuckle.

“I… have more. I just lose them a lot. Besides, they’re only like ten bucks a pack.” 

You’re waiting for him to cut the conversation short and walk back to his chair, but he finds himself leaning, arms tucked and crossed over the fence, oblivious to how daunting this felt to you—the man you’ve been so helplessly curious about for months suddenly standing in front of you and interested, unbothered…not at all what you expected from him.

“Thanks for constantly moving my trash bins,” You tell him randomly, blowing the smoke out through your lips as you tilt your chin up, “I always forget.”

Joel makes a face, wordlessly offering an “I know,” with his eyes and you roll yours in return, following it with a laugh as you pop a hip out slightly, leaning most of your weight onto one leg and crossing your arms over your chest, suddenly remembering how bare you were under your thin top, assuming you’ve probably already given him quite the show already.

Though, Joel seems like the type of man to be nice enough not to point it out. 

You perk up suddenly, asking the first thing that comes to mind.

"Can I ask a question?"

Joel nods.

“What’s the JM stand for? On your lighter.”

“Sweetheart,” The laugh shakes his entire chest, “come on now.”

From sugar to sweetheart—you were clearly making quite the impression on him. 

When you don’t respond he answers your question.

“Joel. Miller. I figured that was obvious,” He says, stubbing out the end of his joint into the wood on his side of the fence.

“Oh.”

“It’s on the mailbox.”

Curious, you leave him for a brief moment to slip through the side gate of your yard and….yeah, sure enough.

“I swear I’m not always like this,” You tell him as you make your way back over, forcing away the smile that was creeping its way onto your face.

“Too bad,” He responds, carding fingers through his still slightly damp hair before running his open palm over his beard, scratching at his chin, “s’pretty entertaining.”

“O-kay,” You answer, sarcasm smothering your tone, “I think it’s my bedtime, Joel Miller.”

“Goodnight then,” He bows his head slightly, “neighbor.”

The tone of it makes you snort with a soft laugh, flipping him off as you depart.

Suddenly, Joel Miller doesn’t seem all that scary.

–

The next week is suspiciously quiet, to your surprise. You’ve opted out of keeping yourself inside now that you had a friend to keep you company, but when he doesn’t show up after a few minutes, you can’t explain why you feel disappointed.

Next week is the same, his house suspiciously dark. 

You can’t pass judgment—he could be busy, tired, or there could be no reason at all.

But, the need in you is there—for what, you’re not even sure.

By the third week you’re ready with a peace offering, a truce.

That night his lights are on and he’s even moving around, somewhere in his kitchen you’re assuming, but instead of sneaking out into the backyard you’re crossing over your front lawn and into his, seemingly fresh mowed and smelling of wet grass, having been under mostly rain showers all night and you knock at his door.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the door opens and you smile at the sight of him, sleep pants hanging low on his hips and his shirt slightly raised by his stomach. He looks exhausted, eyes puffy with sleep as he rubs at them with his knuckles, but he doesn’t look displeased at the sight of you—in fact, he almost smiles in response.

One rolled joint in your left hand, a second in your right. It’s a wordless gesture that makes Joel scoff in amusement and nod you inside of his home. His home. That you’ve never seen until now. You were in his house and it was the most casual thing in the world. You don’t linger for long, following him toward the sliding door to his backyard but the place feels…homey. Lived in. So much unlike your own and disorganized in a way that showed years of age and memories, pictures scattered along the walls and years of personal crafts that you couldn’t examine for as long as you wished.

“Sorry I disappeared,” He acknowledges the unasked question, even though it lingered on your tongue, “—got a huge job at work, getting the site ready has been a pain in my ass.”

You share the lounge chair, taking a seat against the part of the chair that was propped up while Joel opts for the end, giving you a comfortable amount of space to stretch out if you wanted but also, and maybe instinctively, trying not to pressure you into feeling like you had to share space with him.

“Can I ask?” 

Like a goddamn broken record, Joel chuckles at that. Full and genuine as he lights the end of the joint and wordlessly helps you, the same cupping motion of his hands that you welcome this time, almost eagerly.

“Ya gotta stop askin’ that,” Joel says, “especially when you’re just gonna ask anyways.”

Well. 

“I’m a carpenter. Long hours, got a bad sleep schedule ‘cause of it. Pays good, though.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Not interesting at all, I know.”

“No—no, I mean. I don’t know what I was expecting you to say. That sounds…fun?”

“If you think busted knuckles and an achy back is fun—but I’m old, can’t really escape that.”

You laugh under your breath and inhale the joint between your lips, blowing it out as you speak.

“You are not old, Joel. Come on.”

“I’ve got two fully grown daughters in college and a 401k callin’ my name in about a decade.”

“So, what? Fifty five? Fifty six? You can do better than that.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

You shrug at him, a satisfied smirk stretching over your face.

It’s a back and forth game you play for a while—nights spent at his house where you bicker back and forth, offering snacks and occasionally getting the royal treatment of dinner or a late-night breakfast if Joel was feeling too antsy to sleep. 

He never flirts, really. Despite how you don’t cover up around him for his own sake, always showing up in your sleep clothes that barely allowed for any modesty or the summer clothes that clung to your body and hugged your curves, allowing his eyes to trace and outline all over your figure as much as he wanted to—and sometimes he did, catching his gaze on you for a brief moment before it fades.

But, the first crack in his hard facade comes over a late night meal of pancakes and bacon, grabbing the blueberries from his fridge as he fries the meat on the stove, his elbow bumping the fridge door and knocking the small plastic box of blueberries out of your hand and to the floor, a surprised yelp coming from your throat as you scramble to catch them all.

“Shit, shit—I’m sorry, that was my fault.” You apologize, picking at the blueberries that didn’t make it, shoveling them into your hand and Joel leans down slowly, kneeling as he scoops the tainted blueberries into his own hand and dumps them in the trash.

“My bad, baby—that was on me,” It flows off his tongue with ease and if he realizes he’s said it, he doesn’t acknowledge it, “damn grease popped at me—go on, sit down. I’ll clean the rest up and we can use up what’s left.”

You both enjoy your meal without a blip, not daring to address the slip-up—he peppers you with sugars and sweethearts and the occasional honey when you get a little too combative over a topic, but never baby.

The second time is less surprising and more of a comfort, if you’re being honest with yourself.

Again, struggling with his lighter—this time your hand is holding one of those sparklers you haven’t touched since you were a child—leftovers from the bunch that Sarah and Ellie, his two daughters had brought home over the holiday. You never came over, despite his insisting invitation and running into his brother Tommy on the way home the night prior to the Fourth of July. He'd insisted too.

It just won’t light—and Joel had made the mistake of getting a few of them wet when he’d cleaned off his deck that night and suddenly you’re wondering it’s just a dud.

You hover the flame, mind drifting as you watch the flame grow and you don’t realize you’re burning yourself until Joel is pulling the items from your hands, dropping you back down into reality as you feel the sting, the sudden burn to your thumb as Joel says something that you don’t quite hear at first.

“Sweetheart, you gotta pay attention—“

You look up at him meekly and he pulls you inside with a nod of his, turning on the cold water and pulling your hand under the stream.

“Where’d you go?”

You raise your eyebrows in question, the lingering high drifting off from earlier in the night.

“Oh—just, kinda spaced out, I guess?”

Joel rubs his thumb over yours gingerly and turns off the water, grabbing you a clean washcloth stuffed with a couple pieces of ice to soothe the burn for the time being.

“Baby, you really gotta be more careful.”

Your head snaps over to him as he threw a damp paper towel into the trash and watches the sudden realization cross your face—looking for uneasiness, fear, worry; but in an instant, your body relaxes and you shake your head.

“I promise. It won’t happen again.”

You see the way his lips part slightly, almost as if he’s gearing to add a, “Me too,” for a different reason, but it never comes.

-

Near the end of summer, you find yourself there again.

But, things feel different.

“So, I’ve got a surprise.”

Joel leans up at your words, arm resting over his knees as you plop the bag down on the table beside the chair—Joel looks slightly worried, eyes flicking toward you and back at the bag.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never tried edibles.”

“It’s not really my thing, sugar—”

“Joel, you’ve been smoking longer than I’ve been alive.”

“Now, you know that don’t mean a damn thing.”

You shake your head in fake dismay, slipping your hand into the bag to grab a few pieces. 

One for him…a couple for you.

“Aren’t those supposed to be pretty strong?”

You shrug, “I think it depends. Person to person. I’ve never tried these before, but I’ve never had a bad trip, so…”

Joel’s eyes linger, finger poking at the small, cube gummy in your hand like a child discovering a new toy.

“Hey, we’re doing this together,” You offer as a half-assed comfort, “so if it sucks, it’ll suck for both of us.”

Joel doesn’t seem to need much convincing, though. He plucks the gummy from your palm and places it on his tongue, watching as you do the same and you chew, settling back on your palms at the end of the chair, feet outstretched and crossed in front of you as you stare up at the sky.

It was a Waxing Gibbous moon, not quite full but nearly there—it hovered over Joel’s house, just enough light to illuminate the space between you two. And you wait in comfortable silence aside from the low hum of music playing inside Joel’s house, dark inside now that he had turned off all the lights as you had followed him outside.

He always spent more time out here with you than he intended nowadays.

By a half hour, you find the idle conversation quickly divulges into things more obscure, your gaze lingering on the sky longer than you realize and Joel speaks to you softly, your heart pounding slowly in your ears.

“It ain’t going nowhere.”

You turn to him slightly, blinking a few times before you realize what he’s referring to.

“Oh. Well, obviously. It’s just pretty. I could stare at it all night.”

“Can’t blame you,” Joel responds, but his eyes are nowhere near the sky.

Oblivious, your gaze lingers upwards still, leaning back so far on your hands you feel yourself slip and yelp, only caught by Joel’s hands nearly a second short of a serious head injury.

“Come here,” Joel beckons, fingers wrapping around your bicep as he pulls you forward until your back is against his chest and he allows you to lean into him, feeling him clear his throat behind you as he keeps his hands a respectable distance despite how easily he’d move you into this position to begin with.

Commendable? Sure. Frustrating? Absolutely.

If you couldn’t feel the hard, solid line of his body at your backside it wouldn’t bother you so much. And the heat of his body, scolding to the touch like a furnace. He ran hot, that much you already knew just by a few faint touches before but this—it overwhelms your senses.

You try to distract yourself, noticing the carved out wooden statue of a cowboy riding a horse while it was rearing back, you squint your eyes before perking up with a sudden question.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Get what?”

You giggle slightly, tapping at his arm to grab his attention before you point in the direction of the statue placed by the stairs, “That thing.”

“Oh, that—I…made it.” He looks away with a sudden embarrassment as you quickly twist your head up to look at him in complete and utter shock—he scrunches his face up and dares to take a peek at you from his peripheral and his face heats up when he sees you looking so rapt.

“Joel, that is insanely fucking good.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t sweetheart me,” You mock his tone, “how long did that take to make?”

Joel tries to think—it’s been years now. Sarah was barely out of grade school and he had just adopted Ellie, it was all a blur anymore with both of the girls in college now.

“A month, on and off between jobs. It’s just a piece of junk, really.”

“Joel, shut up.”

Joel can’t hold back the even bigger laugh that escapes him at your bluntness.

“It’s just a hobby.”

“A hobby you seem to be really fuckin’ good at.”

Joel shrugs and you decide to leave it be, relaxing back into his chest more comfortably, though his arm lingers more closely to your body, fingertips resting against your bicep that slowly start to move on their own, whether by Joel’s own conscious movements or just by nature of seeking touch. It’s a gentle trace, it tickles and you shrug your arm slightly to which he responds with a gentle squeeze.

By the hour mark you find that Joel hates when you ask about his statues or some of the homemade structures in his backyard—littered throughout along with an old playhouse that you can only assume belonged to his daughters, much outgrown and covered in vines and weeds, intertwined through cracks in the wood.

He hates it so much he actually tries to distract you with something else. Anything. 

Unfortunately, nothing really works. So, he changes gears completely.

“What’s with the sundress tonight?” Joel asks suddenly, the playful lilt to his voice hidden behind a sudden need for authority over the situation. “Gettin’ all dolled up in the middle of the night.”

“It’s new,” You say with an eagerness, rubbing your finger over the silk fabric of the dress, “do you like it?”

“You really askin’ my opinion?”

Of course. I bought it for you. 

“Do you have one?” You say instead.

“It’s nice,” He runs his pointer finger and thumb over the strap on your left shoulder that slips down, lingering against your skin as his palm covers the expanse of it.

His touch feels far away but so intense, head swirling with thoughts you can’t follow—there’s a primal need there, though. And you can’t tell if he feels it too. If it’s just the weed in your system or if it’s weeks and weeks of built up tension boiling over the edge.

This is the closest Joel has allowed you to be—he’s relaxed, his barriers are down and the hand lingering on your elbow is careful but explorative, his fingers trailing to the middle of your chest, flipping the small silver necklace around your neck under his fingertips, feeling so delicate. More importantly, he feels your heart, stretching the palm out wide and over your skin.

“Y‘alright?” 

You nod and shuffle your feet, planting them on the end of the chair as you pull your knees up, the dress falling just at the apex of your thighs, barely allowing any modesty and if you spread your thighs even a half inch—

Joel breaks his eyes away, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest despite your rapidly beating heart.

“That heart of yours is racin’, sugar. Are you sure?”

Again, you nod. But, the subtle shift against him forces his fingers lower as you adjust yourself higher, ass pressed right against his groin and it does no favor for Joel, who’s fingers dip just below the fabric of your dress in the process, grazing down the center of your chest.

“You nervous or something?”

Nervous, no. Joel didn’t make you nervous anymore. The heat between your legs told you otherwise, and the need for touch was impossible to ignore and maybe just for a moment—just a second, you could let him. It would solve this ridiculous ache that had grown between your legs.

Joel seems so in tune with you and he sees the way your eyes are locked on his hand, unmoving but the half of his fingers tucked under the top of your dress.

“You don’t make me nervous, Joel.”

That wasn’t necessarily the question—and suddenly, you realize your misstep, looking up at him suddenly to catch the intense look on his face, almost like he was anticipating your gaze. His bottom lip is slightly parted from his top, face flush from the summer heat but his eyes are dark, follow the path of your face until it lands on his hand and then he speaks.

“What is it then?”

The way you press your thighs together at the sound of his voice, low and heated, spoken behind a gaze that made you feel small but admired. 

Touch me. Make it better. 

You don’t say it, it’s only a thought. 

But, Joel is a mind reader. He never leaves your sight, but his hand moves on its own accord and squeezes your breast gently. His rough and calloused palm is a stark contrast over soft skin and if you would have made any sign of not wanting this, he would’ve pulled away.

Instead, your chest cants under his touch and your head nods without an answer to his question, because he already knew.

“Lemme see ‘em, sweetheart,” It takes little effort to pull the straps down your shoulders, his other hand pushing the fabric just below your breasts, allowing them free and Joel makes a soft, low noise behind you as he covers your chest with both hands, thumbs grazing over your nipples as they pebble under his touch, “that feel better?”

Not good. Not alright. Better—was he helping you? Was he soothing that ache he’d created?

“Y-Yeah, yes.”

He’s just as curious, squeezing the flesh in hands and occasionally letting his finger trace down your abdomen as your dress shifts and shifts until it’s barely a means to keeping your modesty over your lap, hands pressed down at the space beside Joel’s hips as you push yourself up until your head is nearly level with his, his hands squeezing your tits together as you sigh. He hooks his chin over you shoulder and watches, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back.

“You need more?” He asks, “Tell me, baby—I’m right here.”

The baby rings through your head like a warning bell. 

Once was an accident, twice a coincidence, three times…

Stop it. Stop it now and you won’t have to face the awkwardness after your high wore off and you both had a night to sleep and think and regret—but you find yourself nodding anyway.

Why was Joel any different from a random hookup? Other than being your neighbor, slowly coming to what you consider to be a friend, crumbling apart before you as he hikes your dress up over your hips and grips it tight.

You nod to his question.

“Take those off,” He speaks over your shoulder and you don’t need persuading, fingers hooking into the underwear clinging to your hips and down, over your ankles as you kick them away and almost instantly Joel’s hands are on your knees, spreading you wide, his palms squeezing at the inside of your thigh, “shit, look at that—“

He dips a finger down the center of your pussy, through the slick pool of accumulated pleasure and pulls away, shiny and glistening against his fingertips as he breathes against the shell of your ear, “All that just from me touchin’ you?”

You could answer—keep dragging out this game of cat and mouse that had started between you but instead you reach for his hand, placing it against your cunt as he cups it with his palm, dragging the two middle most fingers up and down the seam, circling over your clit briefly before they’re plunging inside of you with ease, aided by just how wet you were—your pussy throbs around his fingers.

Words are few and far between outside of the soft, mewling noises you make into the side of his face as your arm comes up and wraps around the back of his neck, yanking at the short hair at his nape and dragging your mouth along his cheek as you breath out in short huffs, his other hand coming down to circle at your clit with no preamble—straight for the kill and eager without saying it. 

His grip is heavy, forceful as his fingers pump in and out of you pussy with little care, the soft squelch of your arousal around his fingers forcing the heat to climb to your face and you feel his jeans rutting into the backside, desperate for relief just as much as you but too selfless to speak up about it.

And you feel the crest in your chest, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy flutters around his fingers, a shout that is quickly muffled by Joel’s hand as it covers your mouth, the fingers still buried inside of you and working you through the aftershocks as he shushes you gently. Your body feels like it’s vibrating, legs shaking slightly as he removes his fingers and squeezes tenderly at the inside of your thigh, feeling the dampness from his fingers spread over your skin  before they’re climbing their way up your body, along your skin until he’s bringing them to his mouth silently and cleaning them up like he’d made a mess of his meal, your eyes widen at the sight and you feel overtaken, flooded with desire that you can’t sit and suffer with any longer.

“Knew I was right in callin’ you sugar,” He teases, catching your face in between his fingers as you turn to kneel between his legs, “so damn sweet.”

His fingers tap at his thighs, rough denim under his fingertips to match his overworked, weathered hands and you can’t help but admire, knowing they had been buried inside of you a few moments ago and you bow your head, popping the button of Joel’s jeans as he casually reaches for your hips, kneading the muscle of your thighs as he watches, helping you situate his jeans far enough down his own thighs that you can slip your hands past his boxers, straining against the weight of his cock, hard and aching as it reached up toward his stomach.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to,” He tells you, but you scoff slightly in amusement, not wanting to know how frazzled you look, half-lidded and bloodshot eyes under the moonlight, bare aside from the newly bought dress at your waist and Joel is most definitely still staring at your tits, his eyes dragging up to your face a few seconds too late, “I’m guessin’ we should of talked through this first but I just wanted to make you feel good—”

“You think I feel obligated?” Your eyebrow raises up slightly before you’re pulling his boxer down just enough that his cock springs out, bobbing away from his stomach slightly and you only allow yourself half a second to react.

He’s big, from root to tip you know it is the biggest you’ve ever had and you’re waiting for the cocky remark, the begging for compliments and thoughts that you hear so often during these halfway thought out hook-ups but this wasn’t that. It was weeks of build up, the tension line snapping under the weight of your unspoken desire for each other. 

“Joel—”

“Don’t go boostin’ my ego,” He chuckles, “—not you, baby.”

You laugh softly and dip your head, feeling his hand curve over and through your hair, down your neck before it settles against the middle of your back and he brushes the stray hair from your face, allows his finger to rest behind your ear as you tilt your head and lick a long stripe up his cock, flicking your eyes up briefly to catch him staring, mouth closed and unnaturally stoic for a moment, like he’s holding his breath.

“Show me,” You plead with him, “whaddya like?”

You move down slightly to roll your tongue along his balls, the weight of it in your mouth as you suckle and feel his fingertips scrape gently along your skin, allowing a few moments of your own exploration before he’s wrapping his hand around his shaft and using the other to grip your chin and rubbing the tip against your half-open mouth, forcing a dribble of spit between your lips and letting it trail down the tip before he feeds his cock into your mouth, tongue spreading flat over the underside and keeping him in your eye-line before it’s nearly impossible, feeling him guide you down until his cock nudges the back of your throat with a slight sting, eyes watering.

“Look at that,” His voice is low, gruff as it rumbles in his chest, “makin’ it all fit in that pretty little moutha’ yours.”

You quickly realize that Joel enjoys watching you feel consumed by him, choking on his cock as your head bobs up and down with fervor, a gentle guiding hand against the back of your head as you breathe through your nose, feeling him nudge the back of your throat over and over and over until you find yourself fighting for air and oblivious to the symphony of curses Joel was spewing above you as his neck was tight, straining as he tipped his own head back against the chair.

And he looks too fucking good to pass up on. You rise, pulling at the collar of his shirt to grab his attention and his eyes open wide, his pupils blown out and dilated as he watches you move, biting at your bottom lip as you shuffled your legs over his hips to straddle him.

“Can you fuck me?” 

“Can I—sweetheart, you sure?”

You give him a look of flippant disregard, too impatient to pace through the steps of sureness. But, Joel is focused suddenly, pulling your attention to him as his palm finds your face, cradling your cheek and rubbing his thumb over the shape of your lips.

“Don’t give me that look,” He tells you.

“Yes, Joel.” You answer him impatiently, “I just—I mean I don’t have anything, but…”

“You ain’t gotta worry about that,” Joel chuckles, “been out of commission for a while, sugar.”

You can’t help to release the giggle that bubbles in your chest at that.

He’d had kids, a family at some point—but that wasn’t his life now. He was a renewed bachelor, experiencing all the things he’d put on the back-burner to be a good and proper father. While this hadn’t been at the top of his list, or even anywhere on it really, you can see the happy satisfaction on his face with how comfortable he’s grown in the time you’ve gotten to know one another.

“Can’t tell,” You comment slyly as you lift up on your knees, allowing Joel to shift his jeans further down until they’re bunched sloppily at his ankles.

Joel rolls his eyes fondly, “Go on, baby.”

He watches, eyes following your hand as you grip his cock at the base, rubbing it along the center of your cunt, gliding through messy arousal and finding some excitement in the way he squeezes at your thighs a little too hard, fingers curling around the back of your knee as the head of his cock catches against your clit, again, again, barely allowing him to press inside of you until finally, a few harsh pleas balancing on his tongue that quickly dissipate as you sink down onto him inch by suffocating inch.

You breathe out slowly, watching Joel as he watches you, his eyes locked on the sight of his cock as it settles inside of you, only allowing the slow, gentle rock of your hips as you adjust.

His stomach flexes under your touch, fisting your hands into his shirt and lifting it out of the way before Joel gets the hint and strips himself completely, kicking his jeans off weakly as you sigh, squeezing gently as his shoulders and feeling his hands grip at your backside, into the soft flesh of your cheeks and you strip the wrinkled fabric over your head, tossing it somewhere behind Joel’s head as you fingers grip along the edge the bar of the chair above his head, lifting your hips in time with his movements as he keeps a firm hand on you, allowing soft puffs of groans to fall from his lips as your tits bounce with the frantic movement and Joel leans forward, capturing the side of your breast between his teeth, a gentle bite that causes you to squeak.

It’s quickly soothed by his tongue before he flicks it over your nipple, circling the peaked and pebbled nub before he’s sucking it between his teeth, eyes locking on yours from the depraved angle it allows you, still able to spot the few shining grays of his hair in this light. You card your fingers through his hair and arch your chest into his mouth, “J-Joel, maybe we should move this inside.”

He shakes his head, mouth still stuffed full with you as you moan out loudly when he smacks your ass in one gentle but solid swing and you want to blame his boldness on the dwindling drug in your system, but somehow you come to the conclusion that it was just Joel, unbridled and wanting. Of you.

“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” Joel disagrees as he pulls back, “no one gives a damn ‘round here, anyways.”

“Says you,” You laugh weakly, whimpering softly as he snaps his hips into you with sudden force, his hand reaching for the back of your neck to urge you forward, forgoing your body for your lips and it’s more intense than anything else going on around you—his cock stuffed inside of you, the fingers on your skin, it didn’t matter for that brief second of a first touch, kissing you sloppily as you moan into each other’s shared space.

“Well, I do—got this one neighbor,” He jokes, “nosey as shit but damn is she a good fuckin’ time.”

You gasp as he pulls you close, free arm wrapping around your back as he slips his tongue past your lips, using the opportunity as your lips part to devour you in an instant and you pull at the stands of his hair in turn, kissing him back with a harsh pressure that begs for more.

“M’not nosey,” You defend lamely, “just—fuck, curious, ya know?”

“Thank god for that,” Joel sighs, and your pussy flutters before squeezing around him, “oh, fuck baby—do that... do that again.”

You do, teasingly, watching as Joel curses under his breath and leans back, watching you move against him without shame, a hand pressing against your stomach to guide you to lean back slightly, “Look at that, sweetheart—makin’ a goddamn mess on me.”

The short, coarse hair at his groin is wet and sure enough, covered in the messy slick of you and mixed with the thin sheen of sweat that had covered both of your bodies in this sticky heat.

“You like the idea of gettin’ high and letting me fuck you?” Joel questions amongst the pound of your heart in your ears, the heat of his gaze quickly driving you toward the edge again. He chuckles, “Dirty—dirty girl. Was that what you’ve been plannin’ since the beginning?”

“Would’ve let you fuck me either way,” You admit, only a half-truth. You weren’t sure if you’d ever pluck up the courage had Joel not made the first move, but you’re damn sure glad he did anyways, “and with a cock like that, god—”

“Easy,” Joel warns, “givin’ me a complex the way you were looking at it.”

“It’s big, Joel.” You admit, pushing the stray hair that had fallen down over his forehead away and back into this messily quaffed hair, “You like knowing I can barely fit it all in my mouth, don’t—don’t act coy about it.”

He’s not—he’d been more than willing to allow you to choke on the girth of him until you begged for mercy, but given his normally gentle nature with you, he wasn’t going to take it that far. 

Your brow drags up in a pinch, moaning as his thumb presses against your clit and circles, presses down gently, just the right amount of everything to drive you to near insanity. Your thighs squeeze against his own where he has you spread out, hands balled up into fists that punch gently at his chest.

“You’re right there, baby—gotcha, I gotcha.” He murmurs, watching you intently as you grip at the arm wrapped around your back to keep you upright, fingers digging into his bicep as you tip over the edge, legs shaking through the second orgasm he’s given you that night, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you start to see the flurry of stars in your darkened vision.

Your limbs give out shortly after, falling against his chest as he snaps his hips, just near the edge himself as he groans, grunts, breathing hotly into the curve of your neck and you rub at the little spot behind his ear that makes him chuckle, “Want it all inside,” You tell him through a cloud haze of need and pure desire, “can you do that, Joel?”

“Fill you up, sugar?” He asks, sounding a little taken aback, “If that’s—if that’s somethin’ you’re comfortable with.”

You nod eagerly and he loosens the reins completely, lifting one of your legs until you can plant a foot near his hip and he pounds into you, pulling back when he feels the impending orgasm grow in his gut, hot and intense. He watches as he comes inside of you with a few slow snaps of his hips.

“Shit,” He curses after a drawn-out silence, helping you move off of him and into a more comfortable position between his legs as he grabs lazily for his shirt, cleaning up the mess of your wet arousal against his skin and letting the spoiled shirt rest over his groin for modesty, breathing in slow, full breaths.

It’s been too long for him and he knows it.

Joel reaches for the dress that caught on the edge of the chair by his head and hands it over, watching as you slipped it over your head, legs still spread out over his own and he can’t help but draw his eyes to the sight of his come dripping out between your legs and he grins subtly, motioning you forward with a tired finger that you look at curiously before scooting forward an inch, thinking he may wipe something of your face, arrange a piece of hair back into place, but instead he’s slipping his ring finger inside of you and it forces a surprised gasp from your chest.

You laugh airily and swat his hand away, “Stop that,” You tell him.

“Just makin’ sure you don’t waste any of it, sweetheart.”

You snort, flipping him off half-heartedly as you reach for your underwear, standing up to pull it back up your hips and under your dress, swaying slightly on your feet after having been sat for so long. 

You sigh, pushing your hair back with your hands, suddenly feeling sticky and gross in the aftermath and Joel seems to notice, slowly redressing himself as he stands.

“Why don’t you shower?” Joel suggests, leaving his jeans unbutton but pulled back up his hips. Shirt balled up in his hand.

You look geared to say no, but Joel sweetens the deal.

He looks at his watch, nearing two in the morning.

“I’ll make us an early breakfast,” He offers, shrugging with a lazy smile, “I mean—early early, because I know you’re probably starvin’. I know I am.”

“Only if you’ll make the blueberry pancakes.”

Of course that was the ultimatum.

“Deal, sugar—go get your ass in the shower.” He nods toward the house and you laugh, running away from the hand that pushes at your back.

So, maybe Joel wasn’t the scary neighbor you assumed him to be. But, you couldn’t deny the bursting affection that was growing in your chest for him and that was even more terrifying.

And when he serves up the pancakes to you, hair damp and dripping down your back and onto the shirt he’d lent you, a small square of pancake balanced on a fork that he feeds into your mouth, you feel it.

He's still shirtless, barefoot against his kitchen floor.

“We can—we can do this again, right?”

Joel smiles, looking down at the plate as he cuts off another piece.

“I’ve been waitin’ an entire summer to get the courage to do that, or even ask you on a proper date—we can do whatever you want, sugar.”

“Dates are overrated,” You shrug, “I like this better.”

“Good,” Joel grins, “least now I can mow that lawn of yours without feelin’ bad for asking.”

“Excuse you—I do just fine on my own,” You gasp with mock offense.

You’re lying—that mower was a piece of shit and Joel could see the way your face quickly melts into embarrassment, laughing quietly behind his fist.

“I like helpin’ out,” He tells you with a shrug, beginning to list off a few things he could help work on around your house, eyes drifting off as he went through the mental list, oblivious to the sudden closeness as you leaned over the counter and capture his lips, closed mouth with both of your cheeks puffed full of pancakes.

“You ramble when you’re high,” You tease him, “it’s adorable.”

Joel grimaces at the word but relents when he sees you smile, wide and spreading out across your entire face, snatching the fork from his hand while he’s distracted.

“So, same time next week?”

“Deal, sweetheart.”

Joel doesn’t care that you show up empty-handed the following week.

And frankly, neither do you.

divider creds: @saradika-graphics

[ashwhowrites]

Hello, I saw that your inbox is open again, so I'll share my idea: it's a little dirty, embarrassing and funny. Imagine Eddie and the reader, who have been together for a while, being caught by Uncle Wayne while making love. Eddie is shocked and tries to protect the reader (perhaps by covering her with his body), and then Wayne lectures them both. After the reader leaves, Wayne scolds Eddie for being thoughtless and disrespectful and doing it in the worst possible place. Eddie responds with smug pride, saying, "I didn't do anything she didn't want." It seems like a fun scenario to me; I hope you can bring it to life.

-🧚🏻‍♀️

A little blurb since it's quite short. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

Caught

Y/N moaned as Eddie trailed kisses down her neck, her back against his mattress as he settled on top of her. Her nails scratched down his back as his cock slid in and out of her.

"Quiet baby," Eddie warned in her ear. She pushed her lips together as she tried to keep quiet, knowing Wayne was in bed just across the hall. "Don't want to be interrupted do we?" He teased, purposely snapping his hips against hers to push himself deeper inside of her.

She glared at him the best she could with her heavy eyes. "You are such an ass," she groaned, her eyes rolling in the back of her head as his fingers worked on her clit.

"You weren't saying that when you were begging for me to fuck you," he teased. She couldn't reply when he sped up, the sound of their bodies smacking against each other.

"Ed-OH MY GOD"

Y/N screamed as Eddie's door flew open and Wayne stood as he covered his eyes.

"Shit!" Eddie said, quickly sliding out of her and moving to cover her body.

"Get dressed and meet me in the living room, now!" Wayne demanded, closing the door behind him.

Y/N felt her face burn in embarrassment, and horror on her face. She looked at Eddie and he began to laugh.

"It's not funny, asshole!" She said, smacking his arm as she pushed him off of her.

"It's not my fault you can't keep quiet," he was smug as he threw on his pants. Y/N ignored him as she quickly got dressed.

She grabbed Eddie's hand as they walked out, shame in her bones. Wayne was standing in the living room and they quietly sat on the couch.

"I understand you guys are in a serious relationship, but sex comes with a lot of responsibility. You need to be mature and do things correctly..."

For the next few minutes, Wayne went on a rant about protection, sexual diseases, and pregnancy. He did a good enough job to scare Y/N off. She quickly left the two boys in the living and raced home.

"Really Eddie? With me in the house?" Wayne shook his head.

"You know what it's like! You've had to have had a smoking girlfriend before," Eddie tried to reason.

"Edward, this is about you. You need to treat your girlfriend with respect. You need to use protection because I swear if you get her pregnant I'll kill you. I get that it's your bedroom but be considerate about the location and who's all around. It was thoughtless, disrespectful, and the worst time to do it with me here. I'm not saying I want you to do it when I'm gone. Just don't do it!" Wayne ranted, hands on his hips as he stressed out.

Eddie leaned against the couch, spreading his legs and crossing his arms. He had a smug smile as he thought about how she was whimpering underneath him.

"Trust me, I didn't do anything she didn't want," Eddie smiled.

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a conversation i walked past during my commute this morning

Eddie is outside when Steve arrives home from work, sitting on the front porch and waiting for their daughters’ bus to drop them off from school.

“Hey!” Eddie grins as Steve makes his way up the steps, “You’re home early.”

“Last client of the day canceled,” he replies, and he grabs Eddie’s hands to pull him to his feet and into a long kiss.

“I love you,” Steve said when he pulled away, snaking his arms around Eddie’s waist to hold him close, “So much.”

“I love you too, Stevie,” Eddie laughed, “Something happen today?”

“Not really. There’s just this guy – the guy who started at my practice last month.”

“The one you don’t like?” Eddie clarifies.

“Ed – I hate him. He came in all smug and smiling today and looked so thrilled to be there, and someone was like dude, what’s your deal? And he had the audacity to say, my wife is home with two sick kids, so…”

Eddie made a face.

“Like, don’t sound so fuckin’ proud of yourself, man,” Steve continued, shaking his head, “Whatever. Anyways, I looked at his schedule and – get this – he had one client today. At three in the afternoon. So he spent the entire day lounging around the office doing jack shit while his wife was home with a sick baby and toddler.”

“What a prick.”

“Right? Anyways, I just want to make sure you know how much I appreciate you and how you stay home with our ridiculous children while I go to work, and that I’m thinking about you guys all day, and all I ever really want is to be home with you.”

“I know you do,” Eddie tells him, because he totally does. He knows it in the way Steve’s week is about as short as it’s allowed to be, and in the way he always checks in on Eddie when he gets home to feel out the day he’d had and to give him a “night off” if he needs one.

Steve nods, and then he adds, “When I was leaving I made a whole point of saying, like, headed home to spend time with my husband and children who I adore more than anything.”

“Of course you did.”

“Kind of forgot he’s also a licensed and practicing therapist so he totally knew I was being passive aggressive.”

[no-144444]

playing favourites- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist.

pls remember this is fiction and purely for fun!

part one | part two | part three | part four |

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

It wasn’t exactly your plan to have a DNF on your first race but, thus the joys of a backmarker team. Zak had promised you, sworn even, that McLaren would be up there, fighting with Ferrari and RedBull. He’d told you that leaving RedBull would be worth it. Now, you were getting beaten by a fucking VCarb, the seat you could’ve had. You stalked over to Oscar once you got out of the car. 

“Care to fucking explain?” you scoffed. He looked at you, unimpressed. 

“It was an error with the steering wheel,” he shrugged. “Nothing you, or I, could’ve done.”

You sighed. “Of course not. Nothing anyone could’ve done, do you think the media will take that? Do you think this won’t mark my fucking career?! Oscar I need you to understand-” 

“Stop shouting at him, it wasn’t his fault,” Zak demanded. 

“Exactly, it’s yours. Make your car drivable,” you said before walking away. 

It was your reputation on the line, your career, your life. You’d worked to be in Formula One your entire life, you were the first woman in years. You didn’t have the option of  ‘just having a bad race’. You had to impress every single time, or else you’d be ridiculed. You knew what you’d see online tonight. You knew what people would say. You knew what questions you’d get from reporters. You knew it all. You’d done the song and dance a million times before, and you weren’t interested in doing it again. 

“SO, WHAT HAPPENED?” “YOUR FANS ARE DEMANDING ANSWERS?” “WAS THIS AN ACTUAL FAILURE OF THE CAR, OR JUST THE DRIVER?” “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO YOUR RACE ENGINEER AFTER?” “DO YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR RACE?” “WHAT DO YOU SAY ABOUT PEOPLE’S OPINIONS ON YOUR DRIVING AFTER TODAY?” “SHOULD YOU HAVE STAYED AT REDBULL?” 

“ARE YOU EVEN A GOOD DRIVER?”

Walking out of the media pen, you had your head hung low and a blank expression. Every single reporter wanted to talk to you. Every question was more and more degrading, and you just felt empty by the end of it. Megan, your press officer, left you in the hallway of the motorhome and you leant against it and sighed. 

You couldn’t keep doing this. 

In recent months you’d been questioning whether or not any of this was worth it. Every single weekend of your career had been a step towards gender equality, you were the poster-girl for being a good driver, but it was always just not enough. You’d left RedBull because of it. You realised they’d never give you a seat and just continue to use you as a diversity hire. It hurt though, that had been your home for years. You’d always been a RedBull driver, since you were in karting. The whole lead up to your first race was months and months of questions, everyone wondering if you could finally show everyone that women deserved seats in F1. 

And you’d just fucked it up. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d started crying until you felt them on your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away, but it wasn’t quick enough to fool Oscar. He frowned as he looked at you, walking towards you. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t fucking pity me,” you scoffed. “Come on, we have to debrief,” you said, walking into the boardroom. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Oscar, when am I pitting?” you shouted, hoping he would finally fucking answer you. 

“I’m not sure yet, give me a moment Y/n-”

“Y’know it’s really fucking impressive how we finally get in the points and now I’m getting fucking undercut because you’re not fucking ready Oscar, this is ridiculous!” you shouted. 

“Pitting next lap,” he said, neutral. It pissed you off how level-headed he was. 

“Fuck off,” you muttered. You pitted next lap. You finished the race in P11. 

Shit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Fuck!” you shouted at Oscar, getting out of the car. “This is such fucking bullshit.”

“Y/n-” he started.

“Just fuck off,’ you sighed, pushing his hand off your arm. “That would’ve been our best finish! P5?! And then Lando turns into me?!” 

He nodded. “Calm down,” he soothed. Your mood turned. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you ripped your arm back. 

Lando DNFed. You DNFed. Shit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

P15, another failure. At least you’d gotten higher than Lando, stuck down in P17. 5 races in and 0 points between the two of you? Fucking hell. You’d never scored so badly in your life. You walked over to the barrier, finding Oscar standing there. 

“Sorry,” you sighed. “We’re so fucking slow.”

He nodded. “We’ll keep working.” 

You nodded, but you felt that same nausea twisting your gut. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, somehow sensing it all. You shook your head. 

He stared at you a second longer, then took your answer, despite the way he sensed your lie. 

You two didn’t get along. He understood that. It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of your insane diet and work out regimen. He was completely aware of the way you blame yourself despite the car being the only issue. He watched you work yourself to the bone. He almost wished you would be a bit more arrogant, like Lando, he wished it fell off your shoulders as easily as it did his. 

He couldn’t stand the media. The narrative they were pushing about you was ridiculous. You’d won every junior series, you’d waited your turn in RedBull, only to get kicked to the curb, you were good enough, but something told him you were starting to believe otherwise.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“So what’s the issue?” Zak sighed, pacing the garage, starting one of his famous pep talks. 

“Y/n,” a voice from the back muttered and everyone's heads snapped to you. It had been one of the mechanics who had preferred Carlos, but you just shrugged. A few chuckles were heard, one of them coming from Lando himself, and you just continued what you were doing, staring off into space. 

“It’s the car we built,” Zak answered his own question, trying to do damage control. 

“She’s not exactly Hamilton,” Lando said, a little bit too loud, as he joked with his engineer. 

“She’s consistently placed in front of you in the same car,” Oscar pointed out, his voice neutral. “The only reason she DNFed in Saudi Arabia was because you turned into her. Also, you haven’t gotten any points.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” He chuckled, making the garage laugh. You rolled your eyes, getting up and walking off. “Is she fucking PMSing?” 

Oscar’s blood boiled at the way his co-workers laughed at that, at you. You didn’t deserve this shit from Lando, from anyone. Oscar went after you. He stopped right outside your driver’s room. 

“I don’t know what to do.

He heard your voice, thick with emotion. 

“You’re not working hard enough, look at Lando. You have to pay your dues here, it’s how McLaren works. Go for a run and clear your head.”

“I’m exhausted-”

“I’m not asking.” 

He stepped back, letting the door swing open. You stared back at him with wide eyes. “Run?” he offered.

“She should go on her own-”

“Yeah, sure,” you shrugged. 

You didn’t like Oscar, but it was better than going alone. 

“What’s Richards’s problem?” he asked as you two ran the streets of  Miami in the pitch black of the night. Richard was your trainer.

“He’s just a bit of a pushover,” you shrugged. “He’s making me better.”

“He’s making you train more, relax less, and eat less,” Oscar pointed out. “Is that better?” 

“So you’re a health expert now?” you scoffed. “The gaul of you, to always assume that you know better than someone just because you can. It is fucking insane how much of an ego everyone here has.”

“Maybe you should get one,” he scoffed. 

“An ego? No thanks.”

“No, a backbone,” Oscar said. “You can’t let Lando walk all over you, he’s without.”

“Without what?”

He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” you continued. “Explain.”

Oscar smirked. “Talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so strange.”

And off you went, running again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

P4, finally a good result, finally a result worth all the struggle, all the shit, everything.

But no one was at the barricade. None of your mechanics, no Zak, no one. Not even Oscar. You looked like a fucking idiot. Lando had DNFed. They were busy with him. McLaren was such a fucking boys club, and you didn’t fit in. You shook your head as you searched the barricade, not one familiar face to be had. Bullshit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You walked back into the motorhome after all of your media duties, and you scoffed when they let out a half-hearted cheer. No celebration for you, only sympathy for Lanod, who crashed because of his own reckless driving, Lando who was totally fine, Lando. You pretended it didn’t hurt. You’d been congratulated by everyone else, every other driver, especially Danny, Liam, Yuki, Max, and Checo. They all gave you the biggest hug, told you how well you were doing, and celebrated you.  You wished you’d just stayed as their reserve driver. Maybe then you’d be something to someone. 

You stumbled into your driver’s room and found a note on your table, beside it, your favourite chocolate bar. 

Congratulations on your result, you deserve to be celebrated, but Lando sucks so we had to pretend that you aren’t incredible. I thought you’d enjoy something sweet, sorry we had to be the ones to leave the bitter taste in your mouth.

Osc. 

You stared down at it for a moment. Oscar knew your favourite chocolate bar. Oscar explained himself and apologised. Oscar was there for you, even if it was just in spirit. Oscar wanted to celebrate you. He wished he didn’t have to leave you alone, standing in Parc Fermé with no one to congratulate you. 

“Fuck you,” you said, to no one in particular. You were alone, as always. You crumbled up the note and threw it into the bin. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When Oscar looked at his desk in MTC the next morning and found the same chocolate bar he’d spent 3 hours searching for, he frowned. McLaren was ruining you slowly. Your mental health was falling further and further away from ‘alright’, and he seemed to be the only one to notice it. He saw you out of the corner of his eye. “Y/n,” he called. “Come here.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to him. “What?”

“I don’t like these,” he shrugged. “You should take it, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t like them either,” you shrugged. “Go give it to Lando, since you’re his bitch now too.”

“I-”

“I don’t fucking care about where your loyalty lies, Oscar, but don’t play both sides. You picked one in Imola, so stick with it,” you seethed, hitting the bar out of his hand. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[piccolos-bigtoe]

I’m not really sure,,, how I feel about this to be honest,, but I’m trying new things and that’s what’s important. This isn’t explicitly my sniperscout wildwest thing I surpose but I drew it with that in mind. I have the draft for like the first part halfway thru, all I gotta do is finish it then edit it. I’ll probably post some of my notes here of it sometime.

I fr went so hard on the characterization notes,, I’m proud of myself. I’m gonna draw tomorrow probably and try and do their references and notes and stuffs maybe.

This drawing kind of looks a little sad, I think, but don’t worry scouts not actually sad. The way thag I imagine scout is that he is like, very loud and opinionated on everything, even things he knows nothing about, and is usually pretty ‘honest’ about what he thinks (sometimes the annoying “brutally honest” way where it’s not so much honesty ws it is being an asshole), unless it comes to himself. Like when it comes to himself he’d sort of be a liar, whether it’s how he feels or stuff he’s done because even if he wouldn’t ever admit it he REALLY cares about what people think about him… unconventional emotions get hidden with either smugness or anger, and he boosts his ego with stupid lies about feats he’s pulled. He’s like the kind of guy that talks and jokes a lot as an attempt to hide his feelings woah emo…. 🖤

In contrast Sniper to me would be the type of guy that doesn’t really have a lot to say, but he is truly an honest person about himself and what he feels when he does speak, he’s never been one for socializing so he learned to not really care about how others perceive him to a huge extent. He wears his heart on his sleeve almost but like in a more quiet sort of way. Okay,,, I’m ending my rambling I’m getting really sleepy

I’ve never been a huge opposites attract fan to be honest, but I think the way I set up sniper and scout in my mind works for me.

I’ve been in an art rut lately but I think I am coming out of it, I hope, I took a few days break to like, play video games and read and i think it helped,, I finished my first run of Fallout New Vegas a bit ago (NCR ending), and started a new one. I got a multiple companions mod (the JIP one that adds like, a different interface) and it’s pretty cool. I’m rocking with Boone and Veronica and Arcade and Cass and EDE. I’m debating on who to send to stay back at the lucky 38 cause I feel like I have too many people in my group.. Urgh I like them all though…. Boone is my ride or die fr though.. he stays for sure. Same with EDE.

I played it on very hard + hardcore mode expecting some new game + stuff but all I got was this stupid achievement.. boooo. Whagever it’s okau. I had fun.

[theflashjaygarrick]

Today I want to talk about Cassandra Cain and the 'silent asian' trope.

From what I have read the silent Asian trope is seemingly a manifestation of the far older 'inscrutable Asian trope in Western culture and fiction. The inscrutable Asian trope positions Asian characters as the perpetual foreign other in comparison to a ''familiar' whiteness or Westernness. They are mercurial, mysterious, and 'exotic', hyper-competent and alluring but cold. Considering the white, Western gaze in which American media is created, these Asian characters are therefore constructed to be as distant and mysterious to the audience as they are to the characters. And it is in this way that Cass, even when she was (largely) silent challenges this trope.

I'm going to be analysing issue #2 of the Batgirl 2000 run. (it'll be a long post so I'm going to put this under a keep reading.

Cass is undoubtedly mysterious to the other (largely white) members of the Batfamily but through Batgirl 2000s the reader is made very aware of who she is. This is achieved through close narrative focus wherein the reader is more mostly supposed to be seeing the world from Cass’s perspective, not her from other peoples perspective.

This disparity between the inner world the audience is privy to and the external impression of her is made explicit in issue #2. We see explicitly that Babs finds Cass unknowable.

Cass’s shrug is snarky and she is smiling and looks pretty pleased with herself. But Barbara cannot understand what she means, and condescendingly berates Cass for not learning language and therefore not being able to talk to her like a ‘normal person’. Here we have a blatant case of the inscrutable Asian trope, but we aren’t meant to be seeing this story through Babs’ eyes. We’re seeing it through Cass’s.

Damon Scott’s art style here emphasises dynamic and clear expression over looking pretty or normal. Thus allows the reader to see the world through Cass’s eyes where the important information is equally communicated through pose and facial expressions. What would be micro expressions becoming macro expressions through Cass’s eyes. See how Babs’ friendly smile contorts into an exaggerated frown one panel apart. See again the smug and satisfied look on Cass’ face that in universe a skilled detective cannot decipher.

the characters in this (of all genders) are allowed to be expressive even when it is not attractive. The close ups are centred around their faces and their bodies in a way meant to convey emotion and unspoken thought, not sex appeal. Like compare this depiction of Babs and Cass to how Oracle is drawn by Ed Benes in birds of prey.

And unlike the inscrutable Asian Cass is allowed to be bold, opinionated, and snarky when silent. She’s allowed to have emotions so clear on her face that the reader can identify them beneath a full face mask. In a world where casting directors are still saying they don’t hire Asian actors because they ‘can’t emote enough’ drawing an Asian woman as one of the most expressive dc heroines is important.

In the rest of this Cass goes to find a missing man who she saved earlier in the issue. Oracle has located him in an abandoned derelict prison and Cass immediately throws herself into the situation. By the time she gets there however the man is already about to die. He’s been beaten too bad for anyone, even a Batgirl, to save him. And when he dies Cass stands there watching as the light leaves his eyes. She becomes brutal, although not murderous. And he when he dies he gives his wife the last letter he ever wrote. He asks this Batgirl to gave his final words to his wife.

Of course Cass does. And sees the tears drying in the widow’s eyes as the woman reads what he said (we don’t know what, Cass does not either). No other well meaning words or gestures can bring the relief and peace to that woman that his letter did. Seeing for the first time what the written word can mean to people Cass goes home to Oracle’s watchtowers and begins to try to learn to write.

And there we are one again introduced to the external perspective that sees Cass as unknowable. Who cannot begin to imagine what about seeing a man die after failing to save him would encourage her write when she never was interested before.

But we know. To the audience she is not inscrutable but instead a traumatised yet perfectly understandable young women. We are walked through her motives. see the world filtered through her point of view. Even with her speaking two words throughout this issue it is hard to call her silent.

[steveslevis]

delicate - chapter one

is it too soon to do this yet?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: singular mention of abuse & mentions of a shitty ex, mentions of violence, not much happening yet just lots of lead up <33

wc: 3.5k

a/n: first chapter!! i'm actually so excited for this i love it so much <3 hope you all enjoy!

The smell of coffee hits your nose as you slowly wake, the feeling of sun beaming in through a nearby window makes you squint and roll over, trying to avoid waking up for as long as possible. 

Sleeping a little bit longer would be possible if it weren’t for the clanking of a pan and spatula a few feet away from your head. It’s in that moment that you become painfully aware that you’re on a cheap, cold leather couch and not in your normal, warm and cozy bed. You only groan and flop onto your stomach at the sound, hastily grabbing the pillow that was under your head in order to cover your ears and muffle the loud banging while trying not to think too hard about the situation you were in. 

“Am I being that loud?” you hear a voice call across the room from beneath your pillow.

“I don’t think so, someone is just cranky and a light sleeper,” another voice says with a laugh, this one coming from closer to you, just before you feel the couch dip near your head.

You uncover your head at that remark, finally looking up from your spot on the couch to see your best friend, Eddie sitting beside you with a smug smirk on his face while his boyfriend, Alexander, was starting breakfast in the kitchen just behind you. 

“None of those allegations are true, thank you very much,” you say matter-of-factly, sitting up while wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, “I just would’ve liked a little more sleep than I got, but your uncomfortable ass leather couch decided otherwise.” 

Eddie only rolls his eyes and shakes his head, extending a mug full of fresh coffee your way. You give him a knowing look before taking it, eyes falling to the liquid in the cup, making sure it’s to your liking – even though you know Eddie knows exactly how to make your coffee at home, with just enough creamer to drown out the burnt taste from the cheap drip. 

You can feel your best friend’s eyes on you as you take the first sip, unspoken tension holding in the air as you avoid his gaze. Eddie notices how you look like you barely got an ounce of sleep, just like the four nights before when you’d slept on his couch. The leather couch is partly to blame for your lack of sleep, but you and him both know that the thoughts of your now ex boyfriend is what’s really keeping you up at night. He knows you went to see him last night, so you definitely got not a minute of sleep. His eyes shift towards Alexander for a moment, who shoots Eddie a knowing glare, encouraging him to talk to you.

“So,” he says while clearing his throat, “what’s on your agenda for today?”

“Eds – you really don’t have to keep up with the pity small talk,” you say with a small laugh and a genuine, but sad smile, “you can ask me, I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Babes, I’m not gonna ask about that piece of shit if you don’t want to talk about it –”

“We’re done, Eddie.” you interject, a sad yet relieved look washing over your face as you finally say it out loud, “We talked and decided that no contact was for the best.”

“You’re telling me that Luke, that insufferable asshole who rarely ever let you get a word in and tried to control you in every sense, had a civil conversation about breaking up and agreed on no contact?” Eddie says with an incredulous glare in your direction.

Shit. You were lying straight through your teeth and got caught immediately. You should’ve just told him the whole truth, how you got yelled at for two hours straight about how you were such a slut, how you would never find someone half as good as him, and how he’s the reason you’re wearing a hoodie to cover up the bruises on your forearms from Luke’s drunken grip. But you knew better, you knew telling Eddie even half of the truth would end with someone in the hospital — and it probably wouldn’t be him.

“Okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went, but that doesn’t matter.” you shrug, shaking your head before taking another chug of coffee, “What does matter is that I am single and in desperate need of somewhere to live, so my search starts today —“

You reach for your laptop that sits on the coffee table in front of you, but Eddie swats your hand away, giving you another glare. 

“You’re not gonna find anything for one person that’s reasonable anywhere around here, babes.” Alexander calls out from behind you while battling with a sizzling pan of bacon.

“He’s right,” Eddie replies, his face twisting into a look of genuine concern, “why don’t you just, you know, like I said before, live here? This dump is rent controlled and two bedrooms, I don’t need an entire office for playing guitar and planning DnD campaigns, y’know.”

“No—No way am I gonna continue to mooch off you and live here! You guys have done too much already, I can’t ask that of you too,” you shake your head quickly, a frown spreading quickly across your lips as you furrow your brow. 

The room falls quiet as you shake your head, both boys staring back at you while you fight back tears you didn’t know were forming. You blink quickly and sniffle before looking back to Eddie, forcing a smile onto your lips to convince him that you’ll be okay.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, this time in a quieter, calmer voice.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll find somewhere to go, I’ll be fine.” you assure him.

“Will—Will you at least try to look for new jobs before you move?” Eddie begs, knowing you continuing to work as a bartender at the same bar Luke is a bouncer at would only cause trouble. “At least at a bar that’s a little nicer, where you can get good tips?”

“Yes, Eds. I’ll start looking for new jobs today,” you say with a small smile.

—————————————

Your eyes are tired and dry, your hands are sore from the amount of typing and scrolling you’ve been doing. All in the name of a job search, which was proving to be damn near impossible. Every coffee shop with an online application seemed to have a broken portal or no available positions, even the library and gym on campus had nothing for grabs.

There were probably fifty different tabs open on your laptop now, and you were close to giving up for the day. It was almost 5 pm at this point, and nothing was giving any positive signs. You were hungry and in need of time outside or you might end up going stir crazy.

So with a sigh, you begin to close all fifty tabs on your screen to spare your sanity. 

Forty-nine tabs later, you’re left with one Indeed tab open in front of you. Before you close it out, a listing at the bottom catches your eye. You blink once to clear your glazed over eyes, leaning in to read its description.

The link reads, “HELP NEEDED: Full-Time Nanny in Manhattan wanted! Rent, meals and transportation included along with weekly salary. Please contact the following number with serious inquires only.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were reading, it all seemed way too good to be true. Nobody in their right mind would fall for something like this, you thought. But, you didn’t feel like you were in your right mind, anyways. 

You click on the link and it takes you to a simple Indeed page. The page itself was bare, only the description from the previous page along with a phone number next to the lister’s name, Steve Harrington.

“Find anything good?” a voice booms in your ear from behind.

You jump nearly a foot in the air at the voice, turning around quickly to swat Eddie in the shoulder for startling you like that.

“Ow!” 

“Asshole,” you mumble, rolling your eyes at him as you try to hide a smile. 

“I guess I deserve that.” he says with a laugh. 

Eddie throws himself onto the couch next to you as you turn your attention back to the computer in front of you. He cranes his neck enough to read what’s on the screen, furrowing his brow as he reads the job listing.

“Well that seems like a dud. Too suspicious, not enough description.” Eddie murmurs, shaking his head.

You look at him, then back to your computer, then back to your best friend. He’s going to kill you for even thinking about it, you know it. But you can’t help but be curious about the whole situation, especially when it seems like too good of a deal to pass up.

“I—I don’t know, Eddie. I kinda wanna see what it’s all about.” you say with a meek smile.

“What?” he gasps, sitting up with a look of disbelief crossing his face, “hell fucking no, no way you’re actually thinking about this. That seems like a scam waiting to happen.”

“Eddie—“ you interject, grabbing your phone from your pajama pants pocket, “what will it hurt to try? If the texts are too sketchy or things go weird, I’ll block them and that’ll be the end of it, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head, you’re too convincing to him and he knows you’ve won without much of a fight. A sigh of defeat falls from Eddie’s lips as he stands from the couch, making his way into the kitchen for a drink.

“Fine, but I’m driving you to and from whatever interview processes there are if you do follow through with this ridiculous plan, just so I know you’re safe.” he suggests, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

“That’s fine by me,” you say with a triumphant grin, turning your attention to your phone.

You spend a few minutes curating a text to the mysterious Steve Harrington, reading it over multiple times before deciding to hit send. You wanted to sound as professional as possible, since there was no actual application process and one wrong text could ruin your chances. After reading it over approximately ten times, you finally decided to hit send. 

Hello Steve! My name is Y/N, I was on Indeed in search of a new job today and came across your job posting. I am extremely interested in the position and would love to hear more about the opportunity. Is there any more information that you could provide me with about the position? Thanks in advance!

Once you sent the message, you stared at the blue bubble on your screen for another minute, rereading it once more. 

“Alright, quit obsessing over that sketch ass job and let’s figure out what we’re gonna eat tonight.” Eddie calls from the kitchen, with a Chinese takeout menu in his hand, “wanna go pick up some lo mein, crab rangoon and some cheap wine? Alexander hates that place but he’s got a shift tonight, so it’s just me and you.” 

“You know me too well, Munson,” you smile, shutting off your phone and shoving it into your pocket.

—————————————

The early autumn air bites at your cheeks as you walk down the street with Eddie, a bag of chinese food in your hands and a bag full of wine bottles in his. The two of you are laughing about something that Eddie said when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

You try to continue the conversation but stop mid-sentence when you see the text from none other than your potential future employer, Steve Harrington. 

Steve Harrington: Hi Y/N. Thank you for your interest in the position. I would love to see if you’re a good fit and see if we can get things started as soon as possible. Would you be available tomorrow morning at 9 to meet us at Ralph’s Coffee on Fifth? I will have all of the details and contracts printed and ready to sign if you’re right for the position. Let me know ASAP.

“What’s up?” Eddie says as he peers at your phone, making you realize you had gone silent for too long, “oh shit, tomorrow? At Ralph’s on Fifth Avenue? That’s like, rich people territory that we’ve never stepped foot in before. What the fuck kinda job is this, Y/N?”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, looking up at him for some kind of guidance, “what do I say?”

“Say ‘fuck yes’?” Eddie laughs, reaching for the door of the apartment complex once you reach it, “shit, I don’t know. Just say something professional-ish about seeing him tomorrow.”

“Right—Okay, obviously. I’ll do that.” you giggle as you stomp up the apartment stairs. 

You’re silent as Eddie unlocks all the doors on the way to their place, eyes glued to your phone as you type out a text that’s professional but not too eager.

Sounds great. I will see you tomorrow at 9 a.m. at Ralph’s. Looking forward to meeting you!

—————————————

Being awake before 8 a.m. on a Saturday felt like a crime to you, but you were hoping it was worth it for whatever job you were about to get yourself into. 

You woke up bright and early at 7:30 just to make sure you had time to fully get ready and look decent before making your way across town with Eddie to Ralph’s. There weren’t many options for your outfit for the meeting, since you had to donate half your closet to save space in the shoebox apartment you once shared with Luke, but you opted for a nice pair of black wide-leg jeans, a cream-colored sweater and a pair of black Chelsea boots. You got ready in record time before you made your way into Eddie and Alexander’s room, attempting to wake up the curly haired boy. 

Eddie was not happy to be up, but there was no way he was letting you go alone to meet a stranger about some random job, even if it was at one of the fanciest coffee shops in the city. 

You led the begrudging and very tired man out of the apartment after he got changed, into the crisp morning air to start your walk towards Fifth Avenue.

“You owe me a nice coffee when we get there,” Eddie adds as he hugs himself, trying to create some warmth. 

“You’re the one who wanted to come with, remember?” you remind him, shooting him a knowing glare. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I just wanna make sure you’re safe.” he retorts, shaking his head at you.

Before you can reply, a text buzzes through on your phone.

Steve Harrington: I grabbed a table off to the side in the shop, look for the crayons and coloring books on the table and you’ll find us. See you soon.

Your brow furrows in confusion at the text, surprised to see that he was bringing who you assume is his child along with him to the meeting. You shrug it off, smiling to yourself at the thought of getting to meet the kid today instead of after getting hired. 

It takes only another 15 minutes to arrive, getting there a few minutes before 9 a.m. to make a good first impression. To shut the complaining Eddie up, you decide to get your coffee first, then find your future employers. 

You order a hot vanilla latte for yourself, and a black coffee for Eddie, who grabs the drink hastily once given it. He bids you goodbye and wishes you good luck before finding his own seat in the coffee shop to occupy himself for the time being. With one last deep breath, you look around at all of the tables, trying to find the one with a coloring child.

Eventually you spot them in a far corner of the room. A little girl and her extremely well-dressed father sit at a table in front of you, both of them engaged in a deep conversation about which color she should choose for the fur of the puppy she was about to scribble on. Your eyes wander from the little brown-haired girl with a baby pink dress and matching shoes and up to her father, who you’re taken aback by immediately. 

He looks only a few years older than yourself, and has the nicest head of hair you’ve ever seen on a man. You can’t help but stare at it for a moment, wanting to run your fingers through the chestnut locks. It isn’t until he looks up from the paper and actually makes eye contact with you that you realize how beautiful he actually is. His doe-eyes are like honey, your mind immediately runs to places it shouldn’t when you gaze into them. 

“You must be Y/N.” he starts, shooting a smile your way as he stands up from his seat to extend a hand and greet you. 

“Y—Yes, I am!” you stammer nervously, cursing yourself for seeming too excited as you throw your hand into his, “you must be Steve, it’s great to finally meet you.” 

After you shake his hand, he gestures for you to have a seat, pulling the chair next to him out so you can sit. You quickly sit down and look at the young girl next to you, who has an excited grin and bright eyes when she looks up at you.

“Hello!” you greet her with a smile, “what’s your name, sweetheart?” 

“Amelia.” she says with a giggle. 

Before you can continue talking to her, she turns her attention back to her coloring page, having decided on coloring the puppy in front of her with a purple crayon instead of the brown that Steve had suggested.

“She obviously has very important business to attend to,” Steve laughs, while reaching for some papers on the table in front of him, “and so do we.” 

For the next thirty minutes, the two of you do a lot of back and forth, professional discussion about your life and what your job for the family would entail. You tell him that you’re in online courses at NYU, so you’ll need time for homework and exams, which he understands. You also learn that Steve is a CEO at Penguin Publishing, and that he is in need of a lot of help with taking care of Amelia, who seemed to be the best behaved child you could ask to watch.

The conversation was flowing between the two of you so easily, like you had known each other for years. Every time he cracked a smile at one of your remarks, it made your heart flutter. What the hell? What was wrong with you? You tried to push the fluttery feeling away as he spoke, not wanting it to get in the way of whatever this good thing was that you had going.

In the middle of your intense conversation about your schooling and working around it, Amelia pulls at your sleeve to get your attention. When you turn to her, she looks up at you with the same doe-eyes that her father has and shows you two crayons, one red and one green.

“What color for trees?” she questions, looking at you intently.

“Hm…I think red, it’s much prettier than green and it’s like all the fall leaves outside right now.” you suggest, which makes the little girl light up.

She nods feverishly at your idea, dropping the green crayon and immediately coloring the trees with the scarlet red.

“Well, it seems like we have a pretty good thing going here and that we’re in agreement for expectations and whatnot.” Steve says with a smile after watching the interaction between the two of you, “Although,I think there’s one thing that might make you change your mind about this whole thing that wasn’t specifically mentioned in the job description.” Steve starts, shifting in his chair nervously. 

“I’m sure I won’t mind, whatever it is.” you say with a smile, now feeling desperate for this job after building such a quick connection to the two of them.

“Well, I would really, really appreciate if you moved into my penthouse, into the in-laws quarters that are obviously not being used. It would be so—so helpful for you to be there all the time and—that’s why I had rent, food and transportation on the description.” he rambles nervously, as if that had ran off past applicants before.

Who would wanna turn down living in a penthouse, especially if it’s with him of all people?

Fears and doubts flood your mind for a quick moment, but you shake them away, not wanting him to rescind his offer if you think about it for too long. 

“A—Alright, when would you need me to start? Like when would I move in?”

“Tomorrow, if possible. I can send a truck and some people over to where you’re currently living to help move whatever you need—“

“Tomorrow?”

—————————————

TAGS (ask to be added!): @frostandflamesfanfic @definitionwanderlust @diffrent-spokes

[louloulemons-posts]

Feral Boy

Eddie Munson X Reader

Summary : Just Eddie being his wonderful Munson self.

Word Count : 1.2k

Warnings : not proofread, cuteness, just eddie being a gross boy, kisses, swears, sexual innuendos, petnames (eddie calls reader baby/babe), just eddie being a cute goblin.

A/N : Guys! There’s now 800 of you! This is crazy, I can never thank you enough, I love you all so much 🤍

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Eddie was strange to say the least. He really didn’t care what people thought of him, he was weird and he loved that. You loved that. However, you genuinely thought his weirdness and his ‘fuck it’ mentality would be the death of him.

These are some of those situations where Eddie was just being his wonderful Munson self.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Eddie come on!” you whined, tugging on the boys arm. “No I wanna try!” he argued.

“How many times, those aren’t for you to eat, stop!”

You and your boyfriend had decided to walk through the woods, just wandering. However, Eddie had seen a plant that he thought looked delicious.

“Eds it could be poisonous!”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“But what if it is?”

“We’ll never know if we don’t try!” He pulled out of your hold and ran to the bush.

Popping one of the leaves in his mouth he chewed, his face slowly changing. “How is it?” you teased.

“Tastes like dirt.”

“Who would’ve thought.”

“Yeah yeah okay, you were right.”

“What was that?”

“Oh stop being smug,” he rolled his eyes, pulling you towards him.

The boy attempted to kiss your mouth, but you turned your face, lips brushing on your cheek. “Hey!” he whined.

“I don’t want to taste the plant!”

“You’re horrible to me.”

“Tell you what Munson, you buy me a shake and I’ll kiss you.” Eddie huffed a laugh, pulling you by the hand and through the woods. “Better be the best kiss ever!”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Lay on Eddies bed, you were resting your eyes, the day had been long and you were so ready to sleep. Waiting for your boyfriend to get out of the shower, you were lay half on the bed, your feet still on the ground.

You heard the door creak open, Eddies stomping footsteps moving across the room. You did once tell him he was bigfoots son.

“You comfy?”

“Mhm, it’s nice.”

“Baby,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Baby.”

“Eds what?”

“Baby.”

“Munson I swear to god,” you pushed up to be sat on the bed and looked at the boy. All of him, he threw his damp towel in your face.

Cackling to himself, he walked over, shaking his soaking curls all over you. “Eddie!” you squealed. You could feel his bare skin all over you, damp and sticky.

“Get off you big lump!” you couldn’t help but laugh as the boy rubbed his wet hair all over your face. “But it’s so comfy!”

“Jesus christ at least put some pants on!”

“What you don’t wanna see my-“

“Finish that sentence and I’ll chop it off.”

“Fine fine,” giving you a wet kiss on your cheek he climbed off, giggling like a maniac.

“You are something else Edward Munson.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sat with your knees to your chest, bowl resting on them, as you munched on your cereal. You heard thumping coming from the other room, Eddie was finally awake.

You had tried to wake him up multiple times, however when that boy slept he was dead to the world. He came hoping down the hall, tugging his shoes on.

Running past you, he halted came back, kissed your head and said “Love you.”

“Wait,” you said, pulling on his shirt.

“Babe I’m gonna be late.”

“Just hang on,” you laughed, placing your cereal on the coffee table and standing up.

“Arms out,” you said.

“What? Baby, now is not the time for a quickie.”

“Your shirts backwards Munson,” you smiled, pecking his mouth, “Arms out.”

He chuckled, pulling his arms into his shirt, allowing you to turn it round, before he slid his arms back in.

“There you go.”

“Okay now I need to go.”

“No you don’t,” you said.

“It’s 9:00.”

“It’s 8:30, I put the clock back thirty minutes. So sit, eat.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” you grinned.

“Maybe we do have time.”

“Time for what?”

The boy smirked, tugging you into his arms and throwing you over his shoulder. He took your cereal bowl in the other hand, drinking the milk before dropping it in the sink and running to the bedroom.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were walking down the hall, you’d had a free period so decided to swap your books in your locker for your next class. You’d almost made it when someone put their arms around your waist and dragged you backwards.

You screamed as you were lifted from the ground, the door being kicked closed. You began swinging your legs when a familiar voice came, “Chill! Baby it’s me.”

Eddie let go of you putting you down, “You are such an arsehole!” you smacked him with each word. “It was funny baby you have to admit.”

“You gave me a heart attack! You horrible boy.” He pouted at that, putting his hands on your face gently, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no puppy eyes. You really scared me.”

“Please forgive me,” he said, kissing your cheek softly. “It was real mean Eds.”

“I know I’m sorry,” he kept pecking your cheek, even going to your neck.

“Eds,” you sighed.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

“Horrible boy.”

“I know, but you love me.”

“I do.”

“Forgive me?”

“Of course.” You could feel his grin against your neck, “Don’t you dare.” It was too late, he blew a raspberry against your neck, leaving it covered with his saliva. “You’re so gross!”

“Oh am I?” he laughed, licking your cheek.

“Get off me you little goblin!” you squealed.

“Let me love you!”

“No!” you couldn’t help but laugh as you ran from him.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were attempting to do homework, attempting being the key word here. It was near impossible to focus on something when Eddie was around, because of course he always wanted your attention.

You felt a light tug on your hair, “Stop,” you said. You felt his hand leave your hair, leaving you to read something in your text book and take notes, but soon enough another tug came. It was harder this time.

“Munson.”

“What?”

“Stop it.”

“‘m not doing anything.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

Another few minutes passed, then another tug, you slammed the book shut. “Okay I’ll bite you little demon, what do you want?” you turned to the boy, seeing him lay on the bed, smile on his lips.

“Cuddles.”

“I don’t think you deserve them honestly.”

“I do!” he whined.

“No.”

“Baby please, I just … I need some attention please,” he pouted.

“God it’s a good thing you’re cute.” A full grin broke out on his face as you put your textbook on the floor, laying down beside him.

“Can I have scritches please?” he whispered. You opened your arms and the boy moved quickly, one arm wrapping around your waist, face nuzzling into your neck, leaving soft kisses.

You hand tangled in his curls, gently scratching his head. The boy almost purred at the feeling, snuggling in closer. “I love you,” he said softly.

“I love you too silly boy.”

And it was true, although he was strange and weird and a freak or whatever else people called him, you loved him. More than anything.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

[theemporium]

“Atta girl, honey, takin’ us both so well.”

You gasped, your back arching off Steve’s chest as his hands traced up and down your sides, slow and teasing. You tried to reply, tried to say something but all that came out was a choked moan when his hands moved up to squeeze and grope your tits. 

“Look at her, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice sounded from in front of you as he thrusted his hips up, as he sunk his cock a little deeper into your needy cunt. “Such a pretty whore for us, just for us.”

“Just for us, Eds,” Steve groaned as he slowly worked his cock in and out of your ass, feeling the way you clenched around him tightly. “The desperate thing could probably just come from us being inside her alone.”

“Is that true, doll?” Eddie questioned, his fingers gripping your cheeks until your teary eyes met his. “Are you such a lil’ slut that you could come from us just fillin’ you up? Hm?”

“Mhm,” you whined, nodding shamelessly as Eddie grinned down at you. 

“What a pretty whore,” he cooed as he tilted his head. “A shame you gotta wake up now.”

Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “What?”

“Wake up, doll,” Eddie said, his face blank and his voice monotonous as he continued to repeat the same sentence. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake—”

“—Up! Baby, wake up!”

You blinked, your actions slow and dazed as you tried to take in your surroundings. It was still dark in the room, barely any light getting in through the closed blinds until a lamp was suddenly turned on beside you. You let out a wince, feeling someone murmur an apology against the top of your head before you fully opened your eyes to take in where you were. 

You realised pretty quickly you were in Steve’s bedroom, and suddenly the rest of your memory came flooding to you.

It was Friday movie night. Eddie had picked you up like he did every week, drove you both to Steve’s where the boy would have set up the snacks and whatever movie he had brought from his work, and the three of you would cuddle on the couch to watch it. Somewhere between the movie ending and the credits rolling, you had fallen asleep and one of the boys must have carried you upstairs—into Steve’s room where the three of you usually slept.

And once the memories returned, so did the embarrassment of your situation quickly hit you too. 

The heat between your thighs, the racing heart and the warmth in your face said enough as you quickly sat up, trying to pull away from your boyfriends and make a beeline for the bathroom where you could try and calm yourself down. 

However, Steve wound his arm around your waist and pulled you back into bed before you could make your escape.

“Don’t,” you groaned as you leaned back into Steve’s chest, lifting your hands to cover your face so you didn’t have to see them laughing at you. “Don’t say anything.”

“Sweetheart—” Steve started but you shook your head.

��Can we please forget this happened?” You pleased, your face still covered so you failed to notice the look your boyfriends exchanged, or the smug grins painted on their face.

“Why would we wanna forget?” Eddie said as he crawled closer towards you on the bed, until he was close enough to place a hand on your knee. “Seems like you were having a pretty good dream. I think you should share with us.”

You shook your head.

“No?” Eddie let out a hum of disapproval. “Tragic. I thought you were our good girl.”

You froze and both boys tried to hold back their snickers.

“I’ll tell you what,” Steve hummed as he nosed your jaw whilst keeping you pressed against his chest. “You tell us and we’ll make it worth the embarrassment. We’ll give you something to distract you.” 

Your hands slowly dropped from your face, but your eyes were still clenched shut. “Like what?”

“Start and you’ll see,” Steve rasped in your ear, grinning a little when you shivered in response. 

And he got you right where he wanted because he knew your curiosity would win over the embarrassing feelings you were currently experiencing.

“I, uh,” you took a breath when you felt Eddie’s hands caressing up and down your thighs, like a comforting touch. “I had a dream. About the two of you.”

“Really?” Steve hummed. “What was the dream about?”

“Us,” you whispered out when you felt Eddie’s fingers curl around the waistband of your sleeping shorts.

“What were we doing, sweetheart?” Steve questioned as his fingers lightly traced shapes on your arms. “You’re gonna need to give us more than that.”

“We were in bed,” you confessed as Eddie slowly dragged the shorts down your legs, your panties hooked down with them before you could even try to clench your legs shut. 

“We must’ve been doin’ some interesting stuff in that bed, doll,” Eddie mused as he pressed a chaste kiss to your knee. “These panties are soaking.”

“Tell us the good stuff,” Steve murmured as he pressed a kiss just below your ear.

“You—” You cut yourself off when Eddie spread your legs, the sudden chill against your wet pussy making you gasp. However, a small squeeze from Steve warned you to keep going. “You were both touching me!”

Steve hummed again. “And how were we touching you?”

“You were both—oh shit,” you mewled as you bucked against Steve’s hold, as you tried to evade Eddie’s relentless attack as his tongue swiped up and down your cunt, cleaning up the mess your dream had made. “You were both inside me!”

Eddie let out a groan, his arms winding around your thighs and locking you in position as he began to lick and suck and kiss your pretty cunt like a starved man.

“Is that what you want from us, baby?” Steve whispered in your ear as you squirmed and bucked against his hold, as you tried to focus on his words instead of Eddie’s tongue teasing your hole. “Is that a secret lil’ fantasy you’ve been hiding from us?”

“Maybe,” you gritted out between panted whines. 

“We’re gonna have to work you open, to take us both,” Steve warned you as your body squirmed and wiggled and arched against his hold. 

“I know!” You cried out as your thighs squeezed around Eddie’s head, as his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit. “I want it! I want it so bad, Stevie! Wanna feel you both inside me, wanna feel you come inside me.”

“We’re gonna give you it, honey, don’t need to cry about it,” Steve cooed, a little condescending before he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Now be a good girl and come for Eddie.”

.

[edytae]

Puppy Daddy (smut-mature) ft. Kim Taehyung x Reader

pairing: Taehyung x (female) reader        

summary: You would like to promote Taehyung from your puppy daddy to baby daddy.

rating: 18+, smut, mature, do not interact if you are underage

genre/warnings: impregnation kink, Taehyung talks FILTHY, not much explaining just talk

word count: 1403 (a shortie!)

masterlist | Tae-time | Spoiled | inexperienced |

——— 

“Yeontan, house.” You pointed the door; your little furry baby wiggled his little tail. His adorable face melted your insides but you had to be strong. “Come on, you lazy puppy.” You rubbed his rich fur to encourage him. 

“That’s not how you speak to your son.” Taehyung laughed at your attempts from where he sat— while looking ridiculously handsome. You glared at him. “Tannie, come to daddy.” He excitedly said while patting his thighs. Yeontan ran back to him with his silly tongue out.

“Oh, my son.” He fondled the dog as you huffed, kicking your legs frustratingly. “I will give you a son!” you thought. “We are shooting videos for the Internet, mummy. Will you leave us alone?” Taehyung picked up Yeontan to his face and talked over him.

You dropped your head back, “Ahh, don’t…” You groaned. How he could be this handsome and fucking attractive and father material; yell at you with all of his being to fuck him and bear his kids. 

Taehyung let out an airy laugh when you saw thighs rubbing each other. “Tannie, will you leave us alone, baby?” Taehyung lowered the dog to the floor and patted his back. “Mummy needs some attention too. You know some girl stuff.” You watched Yeontan rub his face to Taehyung’s knee before running on his little feet. “Nah, I just want to promote you to baby daddy from puppy daddy.” You groaned at him as he cockily smiled at you. He looked at you challengingly, “Easy there, sweet little bunny.”

As Yeontan left the room without sparing a gaze, you closed the door behind him. You didn’t need your son to see what you were going to do to his daddy. Similarly, Taehyung turned off his phone completely and threw it between the big pillows. 

Taehyung spreaded his leg where he was sitting on the floor, dropped his head back and fucking winked at you with a fuck boy smile on his face. “Come and get it.” Oh, how smug he was. 

You frustratedly crawl over to him, Taehyung groaned. “Yeah, crawl to me, you little horny slut.” You gasped. Your boyfriend never played soft when you were in the mood. You knew he was going to milk this. A few days ago, when you came home from a baby shower, you let him know that you were neck-deep in baby fever. Taehyung had let out a devilish laugh at your serious tone when you asked him for his load at four am. He was making fun of you and banned you from going to baby showers. But the capitalist baby party was not the only thing to be blamed. Before that, Taehyung was abroad for so long that it had been messing with your head. You missed him like never before. Then, you stayed over at Seokjin’s wife’s place to help her around with a toddler. Then, three of your friends from HYBE announced their pregnancy. As a result, you were suffering from a severe baby fever and Taehyung’s dick was the only solution. 

You didn’t even bother to make out with him or take his shirt off at this point. You came closer to him, gave him a sloppy peck and took his cock out of his sweatpants. After so many rounds of sex, Taehyung couldn’t get hard anymore. He was thoroughly emptied and spent. When he offered to take some pills for his performance, you veto-ed saying that it lowers the quality of his sperm. 

“Have mercy upon us, madame.” He shakily whispered when you grabbed his semi-hard dick. You cried into his neck, “I want you...” Your sloppy wet kisses started to decorate his neck. Taehyung wrapped his arm around your waist and indulged in the warming pleasure. Soon his body would burst into flames. “I want it so bad, Taetae. Please give it to me, please.” You begged him with your usual needy voice that always gets him to the point. When his body moved approvingly, you kissed all over his face. “I love you, love you sooo so much.”

“I love you more.” He grabbed your ass cheeks. You rubbed his nape, “I want you on me.” 

“Straight to the subject, huh? Where is the foreplay we loved so much?” He asked while laying you back on the carpet and taking his favourite spot between your legs.

You completely ignored his comment. “I read in a magazine that missionary is the best position for conceiving.” You cling to him when Taehyung tried to give you breathing space. 

“You little dirty girl, what have you been reading?” He lowered his sweatpants to his thighs and pulled your panties to the side. “Fucking drenched! Look at this.” Taehyung tsked as his fingers loosened the elasticity of your panties. He rubbed his cock while he made you lay there fucking soaked.  “Ugh, put it in.” You groaned; your needy voice was Taehyung’s personal viagra. 

You felt yourself gushing with juice as Taehyung made himself ready for you with  strong concentration. Meanwhile, you kept whining about how good his dick is. 

Not to make you whine anymore, Taehyung plunged his dick straight into you. Then, his filthy mouth opened. “Look at you filthy girl, begging me to fuck you all the time. Why can’t you get enough, huh? Why are you so dick-hungry, baby? His beautiful necklaces tickled your face while fucking you with the utmost precision from the beginning.

“Yh– your d-ddick-k is s-soo good...” You screamed out.

“Is it?” Taehyung darkly chuckled at your confession and at how your hands grabbed his arms.

“It is so good that you want to get pregnant from it, don’t you? You just want to carry my babies, love. Why are you so eager, baby?” Taehyung kissed your lips harshly when your cunt squeezed him too hard.

“My, my- my biologic- clock-” You tried to mumble some words but Taehyung greeted you with harder thrusts. 

“Your biological clock?” Taehyung scoffed. “You are only 25 years old. You are still young and yet you beg me to cum in you, don’t you? You just love being my little cum dump. Ahh, my perfect girlfriend… I will give you what you want, baby. I will give you my cum and get you fucking pregnant.” 

“You are so greedy too. How many times have we had sex this week baby? It is too many to count right? You are gonna make my dick fall off.” He groaned, slowing his thrust down. Instead, he brought his thumb to your clit to toy with it.

“Normally you would return back to your normal phase but this baby fever is going for too long. I might just be tempted to give you one for real.” He said in a filthy voice with a permanent grin on his face. “Mhmm, make you so plump for me. Then everyone would know I fucked you so hard, baby. Knocked you out…” 

You claw at his shoulders, slurred his name, and bite your lips all while he dedicated himself to your mind-blowing orgasm.

“Or all you want is my attention. You are so greedy with me, baby. You still didn’t learn to share.” You shook your head vigorously. “Y-you arr-rre mine. O–nly.” 

Taehyung gave a rewarding thrust, “Yeah, I am. I am your little sex toy, huh? That’s what it seems like.” Taehyung was reaching his limit with you. His voice became hoarse and spit fell out of his mouth with the words.

“You fuck me day and night, and still don’t get enough. Fuck-ing fuck. How lucky I got, baby. I have the prettiest baby girl to fuck any goddamn day.” You hardly gulped when Taehyung’s hand caressed your face. 

“Please, baby, cum in me, p-pleasee! Please! Please, cum in me.” You squeaked when Taehyung’s hand grabbed at your shoulder to fuck you even better.

“You fucking cum whore…” He groaned; his lip was ruined from all the biting. “You need to cum first, baby. My little fleshlight. My pretty toy… Come on, ruin my dick. Dirty it!” 

With your relaxed sigh followed by your inner walls squeezing him, Taehyung joined you with his radiant orgasm. He pulled halfway and came all over your pussy. When you felt the immense emptiness in you. You groaned, “In me, in me…” You mewled.

When your hands tried to push his cum in, Taehyung held your wrist above your head. 

“There is more where it came from. Get your slutty ass up and wait for me in our bed…” 

———

masterlist | Tae-time | Spoiled | inexperienced |

[shinyspanishgem]

Give me a fic where Bruce is depressed over his last breakup (God knows which one) and Catwoman tries to uplift him by...setting him up on blind dates.

And of course most of the dates are his nemesis, he has a type after all.

They have hints that Cat somehow managed to set them up with Batman, even though he has a different voice modifier on and a wall with a small hole separates them, mostly the fact that Cat made a couple of bat related jokes.

Harley noticed immediately and laughed her ass off as a very robotic voice was scandalized about her cheating on Ivy for the date (she came as a joke though), and she simply gave him dating tips, it ended as a relationship trauma dump for both of them.

Selina inserts herself into the second date, Bruce asks her wtf she's doing, and she responds with "oh, Bane ditched, so I'm filling in-" and Batman loses it, because what do you mean you tried to bring in Bane Selina stop laughing, he broke my back and not like that-

Twoface doesn't realize it's Batman, but Harvey does realize it's Bruce after they talk about values, he's delighted to be talking to his ex friend, and really so is Bruce, they set a second date (Bruce is happy they got to talk after being no contact for a long while and promises to visit him in Arkham more often- Harvey is looking for wedding rings)

Killer Croc is ridiculously alright as a date, he brings flowers which is a bonus, and Bruce can see through a small hole that he has a bowtie on. They end up settling on talking about animal facts (and Bruce has been dying to share Damian's). Catwoman tells them they should adopt Manbat and have an animal themed family, (Bruce rolls his eyes BC well, Batfamily, but Waylon seems enthusiastic about it. They set a second date, because why not, and Batman explains that Manbat is a full grown man so not adopting material)

He really wanted to hate the Riddler date, especially after how smug the other was about getting a date with Batman, but unfortunately, it was rather pleasant. Filled with riddles of course, most were of a romantic nature, but as they went on, they got corny, then cornier, and by the end Bruce found them amusing, and kinda cute. To the point where Ed gets a chuckle out of him, the riddler falls from his chair in shock, but makes it his life mission to hear it again.

They don't set a second date, but every time they fight after that day the Riddler interprets them as dates, Batman gets a big ol' judging Robin stare when the prize to one of the riddles the next week is a bouque of flowers and a "xx-xxx-xxx call me?" Note.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part two to the fwb series. Angst, mention of Eddie going down on Reader, payback. Eddie is still an ass. 18+ minors go away.

Part one

🖤

Eddie knew you'd be back. You always came back to him, so for the first week or so he didn't take your threat seriously.

Chrissy was back so he'd be fine. He didn't need you, not one bit.

Then it was two weeks that passed, soon turning to three weeks and there was a sliver of doubt inside him that you meant what you said this time.

He's growing restless, but no way is he making the first move. Why should he? You walked out on him, he made his feelings clear on your relationship many times so he didn't know why you didn't listen.

It wasn't his fault. So he was going to ignore this feeling of unrest, wasn't going to go begging for you to come back.

Chrissy being home isn't all it's cracked up to be either. He doesn't know why, he's just sick of the fights between them, growing tired of how hard it is for them to make this relationship work.

He didn't realise how much you took away the tension he felt all them time, tension over him and Chrissy and their deteriorating relationship.

But he was still stubborn that he didn't need you, him and Chrissy would get through this... Wouldn't they?

🖤

When he sees you out and about with Robin it's like a blow to his chest. He doesn't expect it, hasn't seen your in over a month.

Dustin is grinning at you, rushing to give you a hug which you return. Traitor. Eddie thinks annoyed as Dustin gushes to you.

You're super friendly. Well... at least you are to Dustin. In fact you barely acknowledge Eddie one it, nothing more than a cursory nod in his direction.

To say he's miffed is an understatement.

You however don't particularly care, you do however want Eddie to feel exactly how you've felt the last several months. You have a plan and you're anxious to get it underway...

🖤

When there's a knock on his door later that night Eddie is surprised to see it's you, considering your attitude earlier.

He knew you would be back, it's arrogance yes but he knows you, knows you would still want him.

You're in a dress that shows off your curves, every inch of you looks fucking incredible. He's missed your body, your amazing tits.

He feels himself grow hard immediately, doesn't even question when you walk forward and kiss him. Doesn't think you're here for any other reason than you couldn't be without him.

So yeah, he's a little bit smug and he leads you inside.

...

Your moans fill the air in Eddie's trailer as he goes down on you, taking his sweet time as you mewled in pleasure.

You were so wet for him, so responsive to his tongue and fingers, your hand gripping his hair as you come. Legs shaking, a blissful look on your face as you enjoy the orgasm that sweeps over you.

Then you surprise Eddie, you get up and fic your dress. Ignore Eddie's questioning look.

"Where are you going?'' you cock your head as you look at him, your smile sweet but with a cold edge.

"Oh Ed's, I'm doing what you do. Take my pleasure then leave" you say as you put your coat on.

"But... he splutters and you smirk, reapply your lipstick and blow him a kiss.

"You really think I'd just come crawling back to you huh? That you can fuck me around for months and I'd be okay with that" his mind blanks as you go to leave, he scrambles up before you can go.

"What the fuck? You fucking used me" he snaps and you stare cooly at him, unbothered.

"Sucks doesn't it?" you leave without a second glance back at him. Leave Eddie stunned. He was so sure you were back for good.

He was so fucking wrong.

❤️

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

I really don't think there's enough fics involving butt stuff with The Ghoul. He defo strikes me as the type who fingers your asshole while fucking you from behind just to watch you squirm. It's like a dominance thing for him when you've been disobedient, but you'll never admit how much you love being his submissive little slut. Are readers and writers just not into it? Or have I just been looking in the wrong places?

To comment: from what I've seen in the years I've been consuming and writing erotic fan content, stuff that involves anal does, in fact, seem to be weirdly polarizing (depending entirely on the writer and the audience you're publishing to, of course). I'm not entirely sure whether that's due to writers' own personal taste, audience preference, stigma...a combination of factors? It's definitely a phenomenon I've noticed. I also wonder if there isn't just a contingent of folks who have no experience with anal and therefore no interest in it.

Personally, I try to incorporate lots of different tastes and "moves" into my work, and I think the people that subscribe to this blog have come to expect that. Butt stuff is nowhere near the most potentially scarring thing I've exposed y'all to, and will continue to not be. :)

However, at the same time, when I feature actual anal sex in any of my stuff, I try to be at least somewhat tactful and depict is as a realistic sex act, which can be kind of a task sometimes when you're trying to be both erotic and not completely impossible. Poorly written anal scenes both aren't hot and kinda ruin the vibe of the entire work, in my opinion. I think there's a difference between "suspension of reality for sexual fantasy" and "spreading bad sex ed information through fiction". There's certainly a place for pain play/painal type stuff, but there's also a place for the complete opposite. It's a bit intimidating for me when I write it sometimes; maybe some others feel the same, so they don't write it as often compared to other things? Complete conjecture.

To answer your actual ask:

You're absolutely right. That motherfucker absolutely loves making you squirm by giving you pleasure in ways that gross you out. He sees a sliver of his old self in you, himself when he was new to this ghastly world, when he clung desperately to anything that would give him a sense of normalcy. In this, there's a sick thrill for him; he gets to be the one to show you how things really work, his sheltered little vaultie. The world out here is even meaner and more disgusting than you could ever imagine.

He'll prove it.

You aren't inexperienced, but pretty much all of the experience you do have is vanilla, very straightforward sex. Exploration on this topic isn't exactly at the forefront of your mind, either, what with how much of an adjustment period you're having to go through after leaving home for the first time in your life. The stress of it all is what initially drives you into his arms, seeking any form of real comfort you can find from the only companion you have.

The sex is a good stress reliever when he isn't springing things on you. He is rather good for such a hot-and-cold old prick, and he clearly knows it by his demeanor; the way he preens over your crumpled form after he makes you cum so hard you forget how to speak is infuriating. You like fucking him, but you can't let him know just how much. He'd be genuinely insufferable if he found out.

Whether it's your reserved reactions to his obvious smugness, or something else internal, you're unsure, but he quickly begins to push your buttons for bigger and bigger returns. Most of the tricks he pulls you enjoy the feeling of, but the way he watches you to gauge your reaction makes it feel like he's winning, somehow, and it doesn't sit right with you. Doubling down your efforts, you try your hardest to be unshakable.

Unfortunately, the first time he slides his tongue down to tease at your asshole while he's eating you out makes you fold completely.

"That's disgusting!" you huff, wriggling beneath him. Telling him to stop doesn't follow like you want it to; the words get caught in your throat as he pushes the tip of the wriggling muscle into you, his other hand playing softly with your clit as your aching pussy throbs.

"Had my tongue much worse places, believe me." he replies, his eyes burning up at you from between your legs. It's so embarrassing.

However, the next time he's helping you out, before you even realize it, your hips are moving in a pronounced arc, trying your best to will him to slide his tongue further down without having to suffer the indignity of asking for it, of him knowing he's gotten this over on you. It feels amazing and you refuse to beg. Fortunately, he doesn't make you...this time.

When he's finished with you, he doesn't immediately pull away, both of you lying together in a spent puddle of limbs for a breathless moment.

"It's still gross, you know." you say, flat and halfhearted in exhaustion.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." he grunts back, eyes rolling as he pulls himself into an upright sitting position. "I didn't see you whining when you were tryin' to crush my head with your thighs, princess."

"I can't help it! It tickles when you do that!" you argue, indignant and searing hot in the face.

"Oh yeah, kid. I bet it tickles real good. That why you came so hard?" he smirks, leaning back so he can right his clothing, his eyes never leaving yours. You pull yourself up and storm off to the other side of the room to redress, annoyed.

And yes, probably his favorite overall move is to sneak one of his fingers or his thumb into your ass while he fucks you from behind; the shock in your posture, in your voice, along with the tight, hot feeling of your little hole (holes) around him...it's probably for the best that he can't see your face, no matter how badly he wishes he could. He knows he'd cum instantly.

As for you, the feeling is infuriatingly electrifying, right on the line between pleasure and discomfort. His long, nimble digit isn't even all the way inside you, only sunk to just above the second knuckle, but he's quickly working it further and further in, the rest of his hand curling to cup the roundness of your cheek as he supports your hips. The stretch isn't too intrusive, but his skin is so rough in texture that it makes you squirm as he presses on, spit and your other body fluids the only lubrication you're given.

"Fuck, be careful!" you hiss. His only response is a harsh swat to your bare ass with his unoccupied hand, which draws a yelp from your parched throat as he yanks you back even more firmly by the leverage he now has. Your hands scramble for purchase across the sandy desert floor, unable to hold yourself up properly as he hammers away at you with an almost possessed vigor. Quickly, your head falls further down with the force of his movements, sending you sliding forward a few inches.

He doesn't like that.

"Don't fuckin' run from me." he growls, the hand that isn't spearing you wrapping quickly around your shoulder to yank you back again. His hips snap into yours viciously, the pace increasing as he loses his grip on whatever remaining self-control he has. Your battered cunt clenches hard around him at the feeling, at his words, and soon you're both howling out your release as he digs his nails into your thighs, rutting you so hard you fully face-plant into the ground. When it's over, he at least has the courtesy to make sure you didn't bump your head too hard. He does not, however, apologize for the massive bruise on your ass from where he struck you more than once. Typical.

Eventually, you allow him enough control to restrain you, which you know is almost certainly a mistake. However, by now you're addicted to the feeling he gives you when he takes over, when he pushes your boundaries and uses you to sate whatever passion burns inside him. Besides, he's protected and saved you enough times by now to have earned your trust, even if you know that he'll sometimes use it against you for devious reasons.

The rope he always carries doesn't hurt against your skin like you'd feared it would, but he's also quite delicate in how he secures your arms and legs, each limb immobilized and leaving you on your back, completely at his mercy. He spends forever teasing you, worshiping every part of you with his mouth and hands until you're begging, begging for release, begging for him to stretch you.

"It's alright. I'll take care of you." he promises, the tone he uses with you now so much softer than when you met. You feel relief at his words, ready to feel your aching cunt wrap around him, but he doesn't move to expose himself. Instead, he produces a small bottle of what you quickly discover is some sort of neutral oil, which he applies liberally. The feeling of the cool, thin substance running down your folds makes you shiver in the best way, but you're tense when his teasing fingers move from your clit, prodding at your taut ass.

Slowly, he works his middle finger inside you, the sensation more pleasant now that you've become accustomed to it. After a minute or two, he's moving it back and forth freely, adding another dribble of oil before setting the bottle aside, placing his free fingers on your clit. The way he rubs at you as he fucks you with his other hand makes your toes curl, and you get lost in the sensation until you feel his index finger start to prod at you, as well.

"You trust me?" he asks. Your eyes dropping closed, you nod silently.

He's incredibly gentle as he works the second finger in alongside the first, stretching you further than ever before and making your mouth fall open in a silent groan. He watches your face, your body language, closely, trying his best to stay calm and steady as he begins to move his hand once more, the other never stilling on your clit.

The sensation is incredibly overwhelming, a fullness you've never felt before, especially when he eventually adds a third finger. Your body is lit up with sensation and twitching eagerly the entire time, both wanting to pull off of his hand and to plunge yourself down further. When he leans down and seals his lips around your clit, you scream out an orgasm that leaves you trembling against your restraints, which he actually lets you out of before fucking you so hard you literally cannot stand immediately afterwards.

"You're so mean to me, you know. I don't want to like this stuff." you sigh, mostly joking.

"Don't worry, I'll have you begging for my cock in your ass soon." he promises, that wicked glint back in his eye that makes you nervous.

You hide your burning face in his throat as he chuckles at you, the sound of him lighting a cigarette snapping through the air, his other arm wrapped around your waist as you lean against him. Biting your tongue, you hold back the urge to snarkily respond to him.

You know he's right. It's only a matter of time.