#i need to draw her wearing his hat

[neonteeth]

[ID: Digital drawing of two elven people; one is a white man with tanned skin and short, dark hair and the other is a black woman with dark skin and dark braided hair with golden cuffs and beads at the ends. The woman also has Mythal's vallaslin in white that extends to her throat and ears. The man is kissing the woman's throat while she tilts her head back and laughs, holding the side of his head with one hand. End ID.]

do u think they know that i'm obsessed w them.

[allpromarlo]

random castordei thought i js had: what if mydei does die (and get revived obviously) from castorice’s touch at the beginning, but gradually builds up an immunity to it

like their first encounters would be a little prickly because the curse does work on him, but mydei already notices that coming back to life after dying by castorice’s hand is much more painless than on other occasions. they meet up more often, and each time his body takes less time to regenerate, until one day, he doesn’t die at all—he just feels himself go completely limp in her arms, muscles relaxed for the first time in years. and it feels weird, because he’s usually incapable of letting go of all the tension in his body like that, but castorice just has that effect on him. so now, his main reason for seeing her is needing to relax his muscles and clear his mind, which helps him sleep better and because he’s in love with her

[acearadiamegido]

@homestuckss pinch hit for @topfsecret !!

Reluctant face of the Alternian revolution Karkat is NOT quite used to having an entire security detail yet, and isn't sure why they're all dressed like sci fi adventure movie characters??

to which I would say, if you're gonna be planning an underground revolution against a spacefaring despot why WOULDN'T you dress for the occasion. c'mon.

[reliquiaenfr]

alrighty my progens! Venin, left, is my custom; Denara is my random.

never been scattered or exalted, they've been in the first two slots of my lair for nearly eleven years now!

one breed change each, denni was ungened for the longest time bc i couldn't get her chocolate tert to play nice, venin's been through about four secondaries bc i couldn't find one i liked for green

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[eiilese]

what if the strawhats had different roles on the ship⁉️ i swapped everyone’s roles except for luffy because i can’t imagine him being anything but the captain

these are loose redesigns since their canon designs don’t really read as their roles all that much to begin with. some extra doodles and ideas for this in the cut !!

nami, vice captain: i took a lot of inspiration from her beta design!! canon nami already bosses everyone around so she fits right into the role. she wields an extendable staff (usopp still makes it for her); she lost her arm over the time-skip like how zoro lost his eye. i LOVE drawing cargo pants and boots, so she ended up with a sorta bottom-heavy design. frankly it’s probably not her style but i like how she looks

zoro, the cook: my foolproof logic is zoro uses swords = good with knives. he does not use katanas to cut produce however, just normal knives. i was trying to go for “sweaty ramen guy” with the towel around his neck. the majority of the shit he cooks would probably be drowned in alcohol. he also wears his bandana the majority of the time now!! it completes the ramen guy look

sanji, the sniper: i also took inspiration from his beta design for this!!! he has guns!! and perfect aim of course. i was going for more of a mafioso look so germa 66 would be like, a mafia organization on top of all the other villain shit they already do. he has two guns but i didn’t draw a holster bc that’s annoying🤞 he lights his cigarettes with his guns. how would that even work? don’t ask me

usopp, the navigator: his artistic talent lends itself to creating perfect maps! he also still tinkers, making nami’s staff as well as having a specialty for compasses. he uses a slingshot still (no perfect aim we gotta nerf him) and shoots weather-related projectiles. his goggles serve as binoculars, they can zoom to several different distances. i drew him in his zou outfit purely bc it’s my favorite one

chopper, the helmsman: he would predominately use heavy point while maneuvering the wheel. i changed his hat up to look more like a sailor’s cap, with an anchor symbol instead of an X. to be honest i don’t have much else bc helmsman doesn’t bring much to my mind :(

franky, the musician: ROCK N ROLL BABY YEEAHHH come on his stage presence is unmatched. he’s still a cyborg, he has instruments all over his body like apoo does but they were installed manually. his personality changes depending on what genre he’s playing but rock n roll is his default B) (ex. classical calls for a refined gentleman)

robin, the shipwright: her devil fruit gives her as many helpful hands as she needs! she developed nami’s arm (definitely installed some random shit she did Not ask for). she has a robot mecha that she’s able to pilot all by herself using clones. i changed her orange sunglasses to goggle eyewear

brook, the doctor: the irony of being nursed back to health by a literal skeleton 💀the irony of being the doctor of the rumbar pirates yet being the only survivor, saving no one from the poison 💀 i went for a plague doctor look! IM VERY HAPPY WITH HOW HE TURNED OUT i was really tempted to give him the plague mask too, but i feel that would’ve changed his appearance too much compared to the others

jinbei, the archaeologist: the shape of this man demands a little pair of round glasses on his face. he’s an intellectual i tell you!!! plus still a fishman karate master. the history of joyboy and fishman island being so intertwined is how he developed an interest in history

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and��� more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[its3nvy]

"Wear the hat, ride the cowboy" Billy the Kid

Summary: After drawing the wrong kind of attention at the saloon, Billy comes to your rescue. Having to pretend to be his for the night, which leads to a ‘wear the hat, ride the cowboy’ situation ;) 

Tags/warnings: mdni (18+), porn with no plot, angst, size kink, riding cock, overstimulation, fingering, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, rough sex, dirty talk, slight knife kink

Note : This is my first time ever writing smut and I haven't edited it a lot so this should be fun. (Tell me if it's good or not pls)

tags: f!reader, smut

word count: 3.7k

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Curiosity led you to the local saloon one evening, where Billy often engaged in poker games. The air inside was thick with the smoky residue of cigars, and the occasional clinking of glasses underscored the distant melody of a forlorn piano. As you pushed through the creaking doors, your presence hung in the air, drawing the gaze of rough patrons whose eyes bore into you with a kind of familiarity you had never known. Unaccustomed to the bold gazes and suggestive comments that swirled around you like a threatening storm, you sought refuge at the bar. A man behind it was taking someone’s order.

You looked around, your eyes finally found Billy's familiar frame, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke, engaged in a high-stakes poker game.

“Hello, darlin’,” a drunken man stumbled toward you.

“Hello, sir,” you gave him a small smile, trying to avoid his intense stare.

He leaned against the bar to keep his balance. “Come on, darling, don’t be such a prude. Talk to me.” His hand reached up, attempting to caress your face.

From afar, you saw Billy, his eyes—usually mischievous and full of life—met yours with a fleeting recognition. Without uttering a word, he rose from his chair, his cowboy boots echoing a heavy cadence on the worn wooden floor.

The drunken man's intrusive advances persisted, his slurred words creating an uncomfortable tension. "Don’t play hard to get, honey. I can show you a good time," he insisted, his hand becoming more insistent. Ignoring the drunkard, you turned back to the bar, hoping for intervention. The man persisted, his persistence turning aggressive. As his hand encroached upon your personal space, a shadow fell over you. 

Billy's presence loomed, his gaze colder than the steel of his revolver. Without a word, he grabbed the man's hand, his grip firm and unyielding. “Leave her alone," Billy's voice cut through the clamor of the saloon, his words echoing with a subtle menace.

The tension escalated, a palpable undercurrent surging through the room. The patrons, sensing the imminent storm, shifted uneasily. Billy's eyes held yours, a silent reassurance amid the brewing chaos. The drunk man, now confronted by the notorious gunslinger, stumbled backward, a mixture of recognition and fear contorting his expression. With a final warning glare from Billy, he slinked away into the crowd.

Billy turned towards you, his eyes softening as if to assure you that the storm had passed. 

"What in the hell are ya doin’ here?", he murmured, his tone both gruff and concerned as he reached you, seizing your hand and guiding you to the quiet side of the room. "I needed to go out, Billy," you replied, your voice carrying a note of defiance and desperation.

He hissed, a trace of irritation etching lines across his rugged features. "You can’t. You gotta go home. These people here are dangerous," he warned.

"And you don’t think me leaving alone would be dangerous?" you shot back, your gaze a defiant challenge to the protective facade he wore like impenetrable armor.

"Shit," he conceded, his irritation mingling with a begrudging acceptance of your undeniable truth. "Alright, I’m finishing up my round, and then we can go," Billy relented, his tone an admission of defeat. "But you play along with me, ok? If they don’t think you're claimed, they'll see you as fair game," he said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that cut through the smoky haze, demanding an unspoken oath.

“Ok,” you huffed out.

He pulled you towards his table with a rough yet oddly comforting grip, a silent acknowledgment that, for a fleeting moment, you were to be sheltered from the men surrounding you as long as you stayed with him. "Wait," he murmured, his hand lingering on yours. With a swift motion, he removed his hat, worn and weathered from a life on the precipice.

You extended your hand to stop him. "Billy, you can’t," you insisted, your voice barely more than a whisper, laden with the implications of his gesture. “You know what this means.”

"That’s the point," he declared, his crooked grin returning like a bittersweet promise of protection. As he placed his hat on your head, it became a proclamation, an unspoken claim made before the watchful eyes of everyone present, and a promise of a heated night that lingered in the air like an unspoken secret.

"Now, c’mere," he commanded, pulling you towards him as he settled into his chair, drawing you onto his lap. You bit on your lips, a mixture of anticipation and fear, the heat rising to your cheeks as the proximity between you tightened like a coiled spring. This was the first time Billy had been so close, and the magnetic pull of his presence ignited an unfamiliar fire within you.

He looked up at you as you bit your lips, his gaze a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tension that hung thick in the air.

As he resumed his poker game, you felt his breath against your neck. "Pass me the whiskey, doll," he asked.

You leaned against the table, inadvertently pulling your hips tighter into his pelvis, sensing his hardness between you. His hands reached out against your hips, gripping you and keeping you still. "Careful," he warned against the shell of your ear, his breath raising goosebumps along your neck, a sensation that heightened the electrifying energy between you.

As you handed him the glass, he took a swig, and then, with a deliberate slowness, leaned down against the side of your neck, planting a lingering kiss. "Thank you, doll," his gravelly voice murmured, the aroma of whiskey lingering in the air.

Billy's fingers grazed lightly along your waist, sending a cascade of sensations through your body. His gaze met yours once more, a silent invitation lingering in his eyes. It was then that you became acutely aware of the speculative glances from the patrons, their curiosity fueled by the undeniable connection unfolding before them.

The weight of Billy's hat on your head felt like both a shield and a beacon, marking you as his amidst the prying eyes of the saloon.

The night passed on and as the final hand of poker concluded, Billy rose from his seat, still holding you close. "Wrapping it up for the night, boys. See ya tomorrow," he declared, his voice a mix of weariness and determination.

He grabbed your hand, guiding you out with a certain urgency. The saloon doors swung open, thrusting you back into the harsh glow of moonlight. As you stopped in front of his horse, he turned around and said, "What the hell were you thinking, coming here alone? You know how they treat women here."

His words cut through the night air, a mixture of concern and frustration etched on his rugged features. The distant sounds of revelry from the saloon formed a dissonant backdrop to the charged atmosphere between you.

You met his gaze, a swirl of emotions reflecting in his eyes. "I just wanted to have one free night, Billy. Just one," you replied, your voice carrying a note of desperation. Billy's jaw clenched, a silent acknowledgment of the dangers lurking in the shadows. "This ain't the place for that, especially not for someone like you," he muttered, his grip on your hand tightening as if to emphasize the point.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, revealing the hardened resolve etched into his expression. "I can't have you wandering into places like this, doll," he continued, a trace of vulnerability underlying his gruff tone. "It's too damn dangerous."

Billy sighed, a heavy exhale that seemed to release the tension in the air. "Let's get you home," he said, his voice softened. With a final glance back at the saloon, you moved towards his horse. As you approached, he placed his hands on your hips, lifting you onto the horse with a gentle yet firm touch. You instinctively grabbed his forearm for support, your eyes locking in a shared moment of intimacy. 

The ride home was a silent journey through the cool night air, the rhythmic hooves of the horse creating a steady cadence. You sat in front of Billy, the warmth of his body enveloping you, his strong arms encircling your waist as you traversed the dimly lit trails. 

As the horse navigated the uneven terrain, Billy's embrace tightened slightly, offering both stability and reassurance. His chin rested on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your neck, and in that intimate proximity, the weight of your unspoken desires lingered like an invisible thread weaving through the darkness.

Arriving at your doorstep, Billy helped you dismount, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes met, a complex tapestry of emotions woven between you. He spoke, his words a whisper carried away by the night breeze, "Be more careful, doll. This world ain't kind, especially to those with a heart as tender as yours." He placed his hand against your cheek, caressing it lovingly.

"Billy," you responded, the ache in your voice carrying a mixture of gratitude and longing. He placed a loving kiss on your forehead, his touch a hushed plea for silence. "Go to sleep, doll. I'll come by tomorrow morning," he whispered, giving you a kiss on the forehead, turning away.

"Billy, wait," an urgency surged within you, desperate to find a reason for him to stay. You took off your hat, intending to return it to him, a feeble attempt to anchor him in the moment. “Keep it. I prefer it on you,” he remarked, a bittersweet acknowledgment that stirred emotions too complex to unravel.

Locked in a gaze that spoke volumes, you inched toward him, a silent plea lingering in the air. As your fingers tightened around the hat, a palpable tension filled the space between you. His intense blue eyes held yours, revealing a tumult of unspoken struggles and desires. Your gaze shifted to his lips—slightly chapped yet irresistibly inviting. 

Closing the distance, you reached him, and, without hesitation, pressed your lips against his. The kiss was a desperate plea, an attempt to convey the emotions that words couldn't capture.

Billy's initial surprise melted into a shared passion, and for a moment, the world around you faded. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as if trying to etch the moment into his memory. As the intensity deepened, you let go of the hat, your hands finding their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. He tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin. He pulled away slightly, breath mingling with yours, lips lingering, an anguished pause in the silent night.

"Fuck, doll," he groaned, your foreheads leaning against one another, his hands gripping the fabric on your waist. You looked up into his eyes, witnessing the inner battle reflected in his gaze as he grappled with the decision to restrain himself or not.

You approached your lips to his cheek, giving him a slight peck, when you heard him whisper, "Fuck it." His lips crashed to yours, hungry, hot, and demanding, stealing your breath in a heated rush. His hand came up, cupping your jaw, angling your head to deepen the kiss as he slicked his tongue inside your mouth.

“Come, let’s go inside, yeah?” He asked. You nodded at him, as he gave you a quick kiss, ushering you inside, “good girl.” And in an instant, he’s moving toward you, wrapping his arms around your body and pressing you to his chest. You press your lips to his and moan at the taste of Whiskey. His tongue slides over yours in slow strokes that make your cheeks warm, but it’s when his teeth nip at your bottom lip that a whine escapes. 

His rough, calloused hands drop to the cusp of your neck, gripping your hair just tight enough to make you hiss. You arch into his touch as he starts to explore your body, mapping out every dip and curve. 

“Billy- Please… do something.” He moans a response into your neck as his lips slip down to leave love bites along the column of your throat. 

Eager to feel you, Billy tried to pull at the strings of your corset, but to no avail. It was too complicated to remove in the dark, and with the emotions aptly blinding him, Billy had no patience to try.

In the dark, you heard a flick of a knife, and you felt a cold tip of the blade against your skin before Billy’s voice comforted you, “Be a good girl and don’t move, ok?”

A rip ran through the air as Billy sliced your corset in half from the back. You stayed perfectly still, trusting him completely to cut the clothing off of you without harming you at all. The moment Billy had cut your corset, he dropped it to the floor and pulled your top off with it.

He immediately lets his hands drop to your breasts, nipples already pebbling from the cool air. He pinches and pulls at them for only a moment before he’s trailing kisses down your stomach.

Bilily stops just above your hip bones, “May I?” he asks, blue eyes peering up at you. “Yes. Billy, please.” You beg him, voice thick with desperation. He chuckles and then rubs his hand over your throbbing clit. He slides one, then two thick fingers into your dripping pussy. A whimper bubbles from your swollen lips as he pulls back to spit on your heat. His fingers curl, digits stretching and scissoring inside you. Your head feels like it’s spinning, arousal leaking from your cunt and down Billy’s fingers. 

Your hips are unable to escape his assault on your g-spot when he pins you down, and you let out a moan you hardly recognize as your own. “Shit, you’re so wet.” His teeth catch his bottom lip as he smiles down at your fucked-out form. 

Billy’s hand never slows, even as he grinds his palm into your poor clit. You cum not long after, waves of pleasure crashing over and drowning you in euphoria. Your body is trembling as you come back to Earth and Billy is there, watching you from between your thighs. He places a kiss on your sensitive clit before he stands back up, towering over you. 

“Please. Fuck me, Billy.” You say through heavy breaths. He feels his head spin at the sound of your voice. 

“Whatever you want, doll.” 

Billy lays you across the couch and crawls over you, leaning back to release his aching cock from the confines of his pants. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of him, pre-cum drips from his flushed, red tip.

He fists his cock at the sight of you below him, lips parted and breasts heaving. Billy leans his body over yours, trapping you between him and the cushions below you. You can feel the muscle covering his torso press against your tummy. He ruts his cock through your pussy, the head catching on your clit deliciously. You both moan at the feeling and link your fingers together. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. I’m gonna make you all mine”, Billy coos down at you, searching your face for any hesitance. You nod at him, earning you a keen smile and a quick kiss. “It’s gonna hurt, doll, I’m sorry.” Squeezing his hand, you hold your breath when he lines himself up with your entrance.

You gasp when his tip slips into you, already feeling like he’s split you in two. Salty tears start to well in your lash line at the burn of Billy’s cock stretching you out for the first time. He’s much bigger than you anticipated and you dig your nails into his skin. 

“I know, I know. Just breathe.” He tries his best to comfort you, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your cunt around him. His heart stings at the sight of you crying for reasons other than pleasure, but he can’t help it when his hips buck, pushing himself another inch deeper.

Billy knows he should feel guilty for liking the way you screw your eyes shut, the way your cunt flutters around him even though he’d worked you open already. He’s not even halfway inside you and your legs are trembling around his waist while he holds himself back from pushing in balls-deep. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in his chest at the effect he has on your body. 

Billy’s hand leaves yours and drops to your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb. Your mouth opens into an “O” shape and your sloppy cunt grants him another inch.  He can feel the velvet of your walls drawing him deeper, euphoria building in your veins. With every circle drawn, Billy pushes in further and further until he’s finally buried to the hilt. He stills for a moment, letting your cock-drunk mind play catchup with your body. “I’m gonna move, is that ok, doll?”

He pulls out, making you whine at the empty sensation, then, he’s driving his hips forward again. You loop your arms around his neck as he attacks your insides. Any words you have die on your tongue as Billy sets a rough, passionate pace. His tan skin, covered in old and new scars, feels slick against yours as his cock splits your mind in half. You can feel Billy everywhere, you can taste him, touch him, smell him, see him. He’s completely overwhelmed your senses and given you nothing to think about other than him.

The air around you is humid and thick, the scent of sex swimming through it. Billy slips in and out of you with ease, the clear strings of your slick and his pre-cum coat your pussy lips like a gloss. You let your gaze fall on him, watching how his brows furrow with concentration while he molds your insides into the shape of him.

Billy lifts your hips in the air to get an angle that allows him to hit even deeper, pumping his cock into you so hard that the air is forced from your lungs. There’s no one else you could want, no one else who could ever make you feel like this. 

“Shit Billy. I’m so close.” You moan, a familiar warmth starting to coil in your tummy. He nods and slots his lips against yours for one final kiss. His tongue explores your mouth as his dick strikes your g-spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. You cum hard as every nerve in your body is set aflame. His hot, sticky cum floods your walls and leaks from around his cock. 

Silence lies thick in the air aside from your heavy breathing and the soft kisses you share. Billy leans back to peer down at where you’re connected and shakes his head at you. 

He picks you up and places you over his hips, leaning you back. “Can’t waste this, doll.” He tuts at you, gathering the cum leaking from your abused pussy on his tip and pushing it back in. Throwing an arm behind his head, a fucked-out grin crosses his features as you sink down on his cock, letting him rub against your most sensitive spots. A strangled moan sounds in the back of your throat as he slowly pushes back into the deepest parts of your cunt.

His tongue darts out to lick the sweat off of his cupid’s bow, large hands moving to slide down your hips to grab at the fat of your ass. He guides you up and down on him as you babble and cry.

“I’ve got you, doll.” His words send a shiver down your spine and you brace yourself on his broad shoulders. Your cunt flutters around him, “Fuck Billy’-” you cry out.

Billy groans at the sight of a white ring around his shaft, made from a mixture of his and your cum. “So tight… taking me so fuckin’ well.” He bucks his hips, tip grazing your g-spot just right, just enough to make your eyes roll up into your head. “C’mon, doll.”

He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, then captures your lips with his. He swallows every moan and hiccup as he pounds into you, only slowing when you clench impossibly tighter around him. Stars are dancing in your vision and pleasure is burning in your veins. You hear him swear again, he lets his head fall back onto the cushions and plants his boots flat on the floor. You nearly scream as he fucks back up into you. He’s growling something in your ear, but his words sound so far away. 

“Cum on my cock, doll. C’mon, do it. Do it for me.” Billy babbles in your ear as he loses his rhythm, now just slamming his hips into yours with all the force he could muster. Your arms are clinging to his neck and he has you trapped against him. White, hot pleasure hits you like a ton of bricks as you squirm on Billy’s lap. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he pumps his hot, sticky cum into your womb. 

He lays back on the couch, letting you rest against his chest.  With a tender touch, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your hair. His lips lingered for a moment. As he pulled back, his fingers began to stroke your hair slowly, each caress a testament to the unspoken passion that simmered between you.

“From now on, that hat stays on you, doll. Let everyone in town see you belong to me."

send me billy thoughts or requests pleaseee :)

[hotmentransformed]

New Year's Kiss

Elliot stood awkwardly near the bathroom, feeling as out of place as always at events like this. This New Year's party was everything that he hated: loud music, flashy lights that pulsed with every eardrum-shattering bass drop, and a crowd of people who seemed to all know one another. The bar was furnished with exposed brick walls and ceilings strung with glittering lights. Partygoers laughed and drank toasting to a great year and to the great year to come. The space was buzzing, a vignette of colorful outfits, party hats, and the unmistakable stench of alcohol.

Elliot pulled his green shirt tighter around himself, hoping to shrink into the background and disappear to anywhere but here.

He’d always been a skinny guy—narrow shoulders, wiry arms, and legs that made pants shopping a nightmare. His blond hair, thin and perpetually messy, fell into his eyes, which were a muted gray. He was completely invisible. Perfectly unremarkable. Crowds made him anxious, and parties like this were just reminders of everything he wasn’t—charismatic, stylish, or fun.

As the music pulsated, he gazed into the crowd, feigning knowledge of the pop song by bobbing around like a chicken. Around him, people danced and laughed and sang, the countdown to midnight drawing closer. He could hear short snippets of other people's conversations—plans for the new year, flirtatious banter, and the occasional drunken holler.

“Why did I come here?” he groaned to himself, scanning for the exit. He had been invited by a coworker who promised him it would be fun, but he had disappeared within five minutes of their arrival. Typical.

Coming to this New Year's party was a huge mistake. He didn’t belong here. There were too many people, too much noise, and an overwhelming vibe that he couldn’t match. He glanced at the door. Maybe if he slipped out quietly, no one would notice, not that anyone even noticed that he was here now.

Before he could make a break for it, the countdown began, and the crowd’s energy surged to a fever pitch. The numbers ticked down as Elliot shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the exit. He would leave right after the count was over; everyone would be distracted by the festivities.

Three… two… one!

Before Elliot had a chance to react, a large hand grabbed his arm and quickly spun him around. Through the dim lighting, his eyes managed to focus on a handsome man with a wide grin and a mischievous glint in his bright eyes. His curly hair tufted out from under his hat, and his t-shirt’s sleeves were cut so deep, that his toned chest and abs peeked out. Without hesitation, the man leaned in and kissed him—a bold, celebratory kiss, filled with lust.

Elliot’s mind went blank. His instincts screamed in objection. He shoved the man away, his face burning with humiliation and anger. A New Year's Kiss? Why couldn’t it have been a hot girl? Why did it have to be him? Elliot spat out, cleansing his mouth of the man’s saliva. The man only smirked, unfazed, and winked before disappearing into the crowd.

His train of thought was broken by a strange warmth dancing across his arms. The unfamiliar sensation was not necessarily unpleasant, but it was certainly unnerving. He tugged lightly at the sleeves of his shirt, trying to ease the sensation. Now, the party was feeling even more stifling and stuffy. He tugged at his neckline, trying to cool off. He needed to get out of here. He slowly stumbled towards the exit.

Before he could fully process what was happening, a bubbly voice called out in his direction, “Hey, you!”

Elliot turned to see a hot girl wearing a tight bralette beaming at him. She sauntered closer, her eyes running over him with shameless intrigue.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she said, resting a hand on her slim waist. Her gaze dropped briefly to his arms. “Wow, you’re really built.”

Elliot blinked, startled. Was she talking about him? His arms felt tighter in the shirt, and his sleeves were snug against his biceps, but he wasn’t built. Was he? “I, uh… thanks,” he mumbled, glancing at the exit. 

The woman grinned and slithered closer, her manicured hand rubbing circles softly along his back. “Do you work out? Because, wow…”

Elliot’s cheeks burned. Normally, he would’ve been thrilled by this kind of attention from a girl, but instead, he felt… nothing. No spark of attraction, no thrill at her touch. He only felt uncomfortable.

“I should, uh, get some air,” he said, sidestepping her. Elliot turned and pushed into the crowd, the strange warmth growing more intense.

The shirt was unbearably tight. seemingly shrinking with each step he took, the seams pulling more and more across his chest and shoulders. It clung to him like a second skin. He tugged at the neckline, but it did little to alleviate the discomfort, only shifting the tightness across his broadening torso. His pants, too, felt increasingly restrictive. The waistband dug into his hips, almost as if it was going to burst from his body.

His breath came in shallow bursts as the sensation intensified, the tightness only growing worse. Sweat pooled at his brow, dripping down his forehead and into his eyes, making his vision blur. He wiped it away absentmindedly, but it kept coming—his skin slick and damp with perspiration.

He tried rubbing at his shoulders, hoping to shift the fabric, but it stuck to his skin, refusing to budge. His hands moved to rub his scalp to calm him down. His hands ran through his dark mass of hair. His fingers sank deeper into the dampness of his thick sweaty locks.

His face itched with the heat, and he could feel the sweat beading along his hairline. He could see clearly once again as the sweat no longer dripped into his eyes: dark, thick, bushy eyebrows caught the droplets. He gulped, bobbing his large Adam's apple, the air in his lungs tight and labored.

Elliot could barely hear the crowd around him as he pushed slowly through. His sole focus was on how restrictive his clothes felt around his body. He needed to get his shirt off.

He ducked into a corner and clawed at the sleeves, peeling it from his arms and off of his body. The fabric resisted before coming free, leaving him only in the tight white tank top he’d worn underneath.

Elliot froze, staring down at himself with deep brown eyes.

His chest was massive, his pecs straining against the tank top. Thick, rounded shoulders and bulging biceps filled out his upper body, veins snaking down his forearms. His once-flat torso was now carved with a defined six-pack that pressed against the tight cotton. His pants were stretched tightly across his massive thighs, which were firm with strength and power. His massive bulge jutted forward, positioned between his tree trunk legs. A thick carpet of dark hair covered his chest and trailed downward, adding to the rugged look.

He ran a now-massive hand over his chest. The sensation of the firmness of his muscles, his huge body, his monster cock. They all felt foreign yet oddly natural.

People ogled him as he moved through the party again, their gazes lingering admiringly. Elliot didn't notice. The strange warmth had faded, replaced by a swagger that guided him through the crowd.

He spotted the man who had kissed him earlier, leaning casually against the bar, laughing and conversing with a small group of friends. The sight of him—his lean figure, sharp features, and playful smile—sent a fresh surge of heat through Elliot’s body. But this time, it wasn’t the anger and disgust that had taken hold of him before. It was something primal. His pants grew tighter as his cock hardened at the thought of the man’s touch.

Guided solely by his passion and without further deliberation, Elliot barreled through the crowd, his presence booming. When the man turned, his eyes widened in recognition, quickly followed by a gleam of admiration. The adoration and lust in his gaze were unmistakable.

Elliot didn’t waste another second: He leaned in, his hand cupping the man’s jaw tenderly and assertively. His lips met the man’s in a deep, passionate kiss. The man’s arms immediately wrapped around Elliot’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer, his body melting into the solid hunk of a man.

Their lips parted, and Elliot gazed longingly at his boyfriend. His timbre now alluring and husky voice, he let the words roll off of his tongue:

New year, new me!

[skiesuconn]

Scream First, Flirt Later | ONE-SHOT

pairing: paige n azzi notes from author: hey! it took me a while to get satisfied with how it would go, but i'm really happy with how it turned out. i'm working on the laundry mat mix-up idea i had, but it's going to take a bit of time. i'd love if anyone sent me some prompts; i already have a few requests, but it’s okay. you can also expect chapter 3 of ''wdftl'' soon. happy reading. wc: 6k

The cold wind whipped against Azzi’s face as she stood at the entrance of the corn maze, shivering just enough to make her wish she'd put on something heavier. She tugged at her cream beige hoodie, pulling it tighter around her body, wishing she could find some warmth in the chill of the evening. Her white cream cargos swished with each step she took, and the sound of her Uggs crunching against the gravel was oddly comforting, grounding her in a moment that felt so different from the controlled routine she was used to.

Azzi tucked a curl behind her ear, feeling the weight of it against her cheek. Her hair was wild and chaotic, and she knew the moment she walked into the maze, all those untamed curls would probably draw a few too many glances. Her natural brown curls, the ones she tried to tame and hide under beanies and hats, always seemed to have a life of their own, and she hated the way they looked like they were trying to rebel. But tonight, they stayed out. Tonight, she’d let them roam free, just like her mind.

Madeline was bouncing around in her thick scarf, giggling with Rory, who was adjusting her glasses for the third time. Azzi caught the end of their conversation, the sound of their laughter mixing with the cold air.

“You’re going to love it,” Madeline said, grinning at Azzi, her oversized glasses slipping down her nose. “A night away from all your studying? You deserve this.”

“I think you both have more confidence in me than I do,” Azzi said with a dry smile, shaking her head. “But fine, I'll give it a try. This whole thing does seem kind of fun.”

Rory nodded solemnly, her plaid coat swaying as she adjusted her scarf. “Trust me, we need this. A bit of chaos to shake things up. You know, like real life.”

Azzi laughed softly, but her eyes scanned the maze again. The event organizers were there, wearing creepy costumes to set the spooky vibe for the maze, and they were handing out pamphlets to each group. One of the organizers, dressed like a grim reaper, waved them over, the cold moonlight reflecting off his white, skeletal face.

“Welcome to the maze!” he said in a voice too deep and ominous for Azzi’s liking. “You will find clues along the way, some hidden, some very much in plain sight. Beware of the monsters though—they’re tricky. Oh, and we’ve had a few… surprises before. Stay alert.”

Azzi’s stomach tightened. For a moment, she considered turning back to the warmth of Madeline's apartment. But she didn’t.

“Okay, okay, we got it,” Madeline chirped, her eyes sparkling. “We’re going to find those clues, I’m telling you. Come on, Azzi, let’s go! I think there’s a clue to the left.”

Azzi nodded and gave Madeline a small smile, walking with them into the maze. The three of them wandered through the twisting pathways, their voices mixing with the rustling of the dry corn stalks. Azzi’s eyes flitted over the terrain, but she couldn’t seem to relax. This wasn’t her world, not really. She liked control. She liked order. She liked knowing what came next.

But something about the maze, with its towering corn and winding paths, made her feel like she was on the edge of something… new. And that thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Eventually, Madeline and Rory disappeared around a corner, leaving Azzi standing in the soft, shifting light. The wind tugged at her beanie, and she brushed her curls behind her ear again, but her mind was elsewhere—distracted by the eerie quiet. Then, she saw it: the scarecrow, standing tall in a patch of moonlight.

The scarecrow’s presence made her heart skip a beat. It was too lifelike, its eyes too real in a way that felt unnatural. She took a few steps forward, curious, but her feet were hesitant, as though something was urging her to keep away. The paper stuck to its chest seemed like an invitation—and her mind, always overthinking, couldn’t help but reach for it.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of the paper, and that’s when the scarecrow moved.

Azzi gasped, stumbling backward, the wind picking up as the scarecrow jerked, its head snapping toward her in a way that felt far too human.

But before she could react, something strong and solid gripped her waist. The warmth of the body that pulled her back against it sent a jolt through Azzi’s chest.

“Whoa, hey, I’ve got you.” The voice was low and teasing, and Azzi immediately felt the strength of the arms around her. She was pulled against the chest of someone tall and broad, and for a second, she just froze.

When she looked up, her heart did an uncomfortable flip.

The woman grinning down at her was tall—so much taller than Azzi—and she carried herself with an athletic confidence that was hard to ignore. Paige’s blue eyes twinkled in the dim light, her lips curved in a cocky grin. She was wearing a tight flannel shirt, rolled-up sleeves revealing toned forearms. Her arms, muscular and strong, held Azzi steady, and it took everything in Azzi not to notice how solid her body felt.

"Got a little scared there?" Paige teased, her smirk only widening. She let go of Azzi slowly, just enough for Azzi to regain her balance but not enough to feel like she had any space.

Azzi blinked, disoriented, her pulse quickening. "I… I wasn’t expecting that." Her voice came out shakier than she'd intended.

Paige chuckled, giving her a half-shrug. “Yeah, that’s kind of the point of a scarecrow, right? Thought I might as well do a little bit of scaring.”

Azzi stared at her a second longer than she should have, her mind scrambling for a response. Her gaze flickered over Paige’s strong arms, the way her muscles shifted beneath the flannel, the faint hint of a tattoo peeking from under her sleeve. Confidence radiated from her in waves.

Paige tilted her head, as if she could read Azzi’s thoughts. “You alright?” she asked, her voice softening just a touch.

Azzi blinked, momentarily lost in the way Paige looked at her. “Yeah,” she stammered, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Just... startled. That’s all.”

Paige chuckled, but this time, it was quieter, more self-aware. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. I’ve scared people before, but you—" She waggled her eyebrows. "You really got me thinking I went too far.”

Azzi’s heart skipped. “I’m sure you have some wild stories,” she said, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” Paige grinned, leaning in just a little. “Like the time I made this guy scream so loud, he dropped his entire drink.” She lowered her voice dramatically. “Not my fault he didn’t see the creepy skeleton behind him.”

Azzi snorted despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I’m sure you’re so proud.”

“Hey,” Paige raised an eyebrow, “I’m a professional. It’s a gift.”

They stood there a beat longer, the maze spinning around them, but Azzi couldn’t help noticing how alive Paige seemed. It was like she didn’t care what anyone thought—she was just here, and she was going to have fun. Azzi wasn’t sure what that did to her chest, but the pull was undeniable.

“So, what happens now?” Azzi asked, suddenly more aware of how tightly she was clutching her paper.

Paige smirked. “Well, for starters, you don’t need that paper anymore. Trust me,” she said, her grin widening. “I can show you the way out.”

Azzi hesitated, her fingers still tight around the paper before she finally let it drop.

The cold air bit at Azzi’s cheeks, but she barely noticed, still replaying the way Paige had smirked at her like she had all the answers to the universe. They walked toward the exit, the dim lighting of the maze casting long shadows that flickered with their movement. The warmth of Paige’s presence next to her made Azzi forget the chill in the air. Or maybe it was the way Paige carried herself—like she wasn’t just walking, but sauntering. Confident. Azzi couldn’t help but steal glances at her.

Paige was talking, her voice playful. “You should’ve seen this guy. Six foot five? Built like a linebacker. I pop out from behind the corn, full scarecrow stance—arms stiff like this.” She demonstrated, making Azzi giggle. “I let out this awful groan, like—” Paige dropped into a deep, eerie growl that made Azzi jump, before she burst into laughter. “Dude screams. Not just a little yelp, like he’s in a horror movie. Drops his phone, turns around, and just bolts. Leaves his girlfriend behind.”

Azzi gasped, covering her mouth. “No way. What did she do?”

“She straight-up dumped him on the spot.” Paige’s grin turned wicked. “Told him if he couldn’t handle a haunted corn maze, he couldn’t handle her.”

Azzi shook her head, grinning. “I mean… valid.”

Paige chuckled. “Then there was this guy who tried to fight me. Swung his arms like he was battling a demon. Had to break character and go, ‘Dude, I work here.’”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Wait, do you ever feel bad scaring people like that?”

Paige tilted her head as though pondering the question. “Nah. That’s what they’re here for. The only people I don’t scare are kids. I love those little guys.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You? A six-foot-tall menace in flannel? You like kids?”

Paige smirked. “What? You don’t think I look like a ‘likes kids’ type?”

“Not even a little bit,” Azzi admitted, watching Paige carefully. “I figured you’d say you scare them for fun.”

Paige placed a dramatic hand over her heart. “You wound me, woman.”

Azzi ignored the flutter in her chest. “So what do you do instead?”

Paige shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Make sure they’re having fun. High-fives for the ones who make it through. If they’re scared, I just wave 'em past.”

Azzi didn’t mean to stare, but it was... kind of adorable. A tall, cocky scare actor with a soft spot for kids? That contrast was unexpectedly endearing. Paige caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi said too quickly, biting back a smile. “It’s just... cute.”

“Oh, so now I’m cute?” Paige shot back, leaning in just enough to make Azzi’s breath hitch. “Wasn’t so cute when you were clinging to me like I was your last hope for survival, huh?”

Azzi shoved her lightly, heart racing. “Shut up.”

They reached the exit, and Paige slowed her steps. “Alright, here’s the deal. I need to change out of this.” She gestured to the scarecrow getup. “If I walk around like this, someone’s gonna rat me out. And I’m probably not supposed to be escorting guests through the maze.”

Azzi smirked, her dark eyes glinting with playful amusement. “You think?”

Paige grinned, completely at ease. “I need about five minutes. Meet me by the coffee van?”

Azzi nodded, a faint smirk still lingering. “Five minutes.”

Paige jogged off toward a small booth near the staff area, peeling off the scarecrow jacket as she went. The jacket dragged behind her, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to look cool—she was just trying to get out of the costume. All she could think about was the way Azzi’s smile made her chest feel tight, a kind of tightness that made her wonder just how long this connection was going to haunt her.

She changed quickly, swapping the scarecrow outfit for something that felt more... her. Ocean-blue jeans that fit perfectly, hugging her thighs and tapering down to her ankles. A dark coat with deep pockets, filled with everything she needed—snacks, her phone, maybe even a rogue basketball for later. The beanie she grabbed from a random table completed the look. Paige didn’t care that it was messy. It only added to her charm.

She glanced at her reflection in a car window before heading back outside. Not bad. Maybe even... kind of good?

Azzi was right where she said she’d be, standing by the coffee van, hands tucked into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie. She looked effortlessly warm despite the cold, as if she hadn’t just spent hours in a scarecrow costume herself. Paige felt that familiar tug in her chest again. Maybe it was just the night air... Or maybe it was something more.

Azzi looked up as Paige approached, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile. “Took you long enough.”

Paige’s eyebrows shot up in mock offense. “Excuse me?” she said, giving Azzi an exaggerated look of offense. “Had to make sure I wasn’t smelling like hay.”

Azzi wrinkled her nose, the slightest hint of amusement dancing across her features. “Good call. I’m not into hay, personally.”

Paige smirked and closed the gap between them, unable to resist teasing Azzi further. “By the way,” she said casually, “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Azzi blinked, her smile faltering for a split second. “Oh. It’s Azzi.”

Paige furrowed her brows. “Wait, spell that for me.”

Azzi’s lips curled into a quiet laugh. “A-Z-Z-I.”

Paige squinted dramatically, like she was deciphering a hidden code. “Damn, that’s tricky. Sounds like an old head name.”

Azzi gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest. “Excuse me?”

Paige just shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips. “I’m just saying. That’s an old-school name. Bet you were out here settling the frontier or something.”

Azzi nudged her playfully, but the smile on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. Paige staggered a little in the cold. “Shut up. You just can’t spell.”

“Listen,” Paige said, laughing, “that might also be true, but I still think you’re an old head.”

Azzi threw her hands up, trying not to laugh. “Bet. I’m officially washed. You figured me out.”

The exchange left Paige with a grin she couldn’t shake. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something so easy about being around Azzi. Something so natural. Even the way she laughed felt comfortable, like a sound Paige could get used to hearing every day.

The warm steam from their mugs curled around them, mingling with the crisp night air. The scent of autumn—damp leaves, the earthiness of the season, and a trace of pumpkin spice—lingered, settling in the spaces between them. They stood near a lamppost, its soft glow illuminating their faces, casting a quiet, intimate light over them. Paige caught Azzi’s gaze and held it just a moment longer than necessary, her heartbeat quickening. Azzi’s deep, doe-like brown eyes were magnetic, and there was something in the way they looked at her that made Paige feel like she was falling into something more than she’d bargained for—something too easy to lose herself in.

Azzi broke the silence first, her voice warm with a quiet amusement. “Okay, that was actually perfect. I’m not usually a hot chocolate person, but this... this was surprisingly good.”

Paige raised her mug, her fingers curling around the warmth of it. “Told you,” she said, her voice low but confident. “I’m practically a hot chocolate connoisseur. It’s one of my hidden talents.”

Azzi smirked, clearly amused. “Hidden talents? You’re telling me you’re also a hot chocolate expert?”

Paige let out a soft laugh, a flicker of mischief dancing across her features. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of seriousness that made Azzi’s lips twitch into a smile. “I take it very seriously. Ready to be impressed?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but intrigued. “I’m not so sure. You’ve got a lot to prove.”

The air between them shifted, just slightly, as their easy banter deepened into something more. The playful teasing hung in the space between them, but the undercurrent of something unspoken—the quiet tug in their chest—was undeniable. Paige took another sip, her eyes briefly meeting Azzi’s, her chest tightening in that familiar way. They didn’t need to speak for the moment to stretch just a little longer than expected.

Then, just as the atmosphere grew heavier, a voice from the coffee van cut through the tension, a touch too casual, like something from a romcom.

The barista, a scruffy guy with a beanie perched too confidently on his head, leaned out of the window, scanning them both with an amused grin. “So,” he said, his voice dripping with teasing curiosity. “Are you two, like... a couple or something?”

Paige choked on her drink, sputtering out a laugh as she quickly wiped her mouth. “What? No,” she said, a little too quickly, her voice stumbling over the words. “We’re just... two people with a mutual appreciation for hot chocolate.”

Azzi glanced at her, the flush creeping up her neck. Her voice was quieter, almost to herself, as she mumbled, “Yeah, definitely not a couple.”

The barista raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but gave them an exaggerated wink. “Sure, sure. I’ll leave you two... lovebirds to it.”

Azzi’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and Paige couldn’t hold back her smile any longer, the teasing edge of it laced with something else—something a little softer. “Guess we’re a couple now?” she said, her voice low, amused but carrying that thread of warmth she couldn’t quite ignore.

Azzi smacked her lightly, her face still flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else. “Shut up,” she muttered, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips was telling. She hid behind her mug, still not quite able to cover up the warmth that had taken over her expression. “You’re impossible.”

Paige smiled softly, watching Azzi with a fondness that caught her off guard. There was something undeniably endearing about her—the way she tried to hide the softness in her laugh, the way she lit up over something as simple as a hot chocolate. It was the kind of sweetness that felt rare, and Paige found herself drawn to it more than she cared to admit.

A couple? Paige wasn’t sure about that. But whatever this was between them, it was something that had been quietly occupying her thoughts lately. --

Paige stood, extending her hand with a playful, dramatic flourish. “Let’s go. I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

Azzi hesitated for a beat before standing and following Paige toward the small pumpkin patch set up nearby. The distant crackling of a fire pit added an intimate warmth to the cool night air.

They settled onto a bench, pumpkins scattered between them. Paige handed Azzi a carving knife, her grin a mixture of confidence and something else—something a little more flirtatious.

“I’ll warn you now,” Paige said, settling beside Azzi with a casual ease. “I’m basically a professional at this.”

Azzi chuckled, her voice laced with teasing doubt. “Oh really? I’m sure you are.”

Paige’s hands moved with practiced precision, the knife cutting through the pumpkin effortlessly. Azzi tried to follow her lead, but her grip felt awkward, the knife hesitant. It wasn’t going as smoothly as she’d hoped.

“I swear, I’m the worst at this,” Azzi muttered, frowning as she worked at the pumpkin’s face.

Paige leaned closer, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

The proximity was startling, and Azzi’s pulse picked up when she felt the heat of Paige’s body just behind her. Paige’s hand brushed against hers as she took the knife, the touch brief but electric. Azzi swallowed, her focus momentarily faltering as the space between them seemed to shrink.

Paige’s body leaned in closer, their sides brushing as Paige’s steady hand guided the knife with a practiced ease. Azzi’s breath caught as the warmth of Paige’s body pressed against her back, the sensation far too intimate for a pumpkin carving session.

For a split second, everything around them seemed to fade. The sounds of the night, the crackling fire, even the cold air, all became distant. All Azzi could focus on was the pressure of Paige’s body behind hers, the way her breath seemed to slow and draw in sync with Paige’s.

Azzi’s hand slipped, brushing the inside of Paige’s thigh, and she froze. A wave of warmth rushed to her face as she quickly pulled back, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry.”

Paige’s response was soft, almost amused. “It’s fine, Azzi. You don’t need to apologize.”

Azzi’s cheeks darkened. “I wasn’t—ugh, I didn’t mean to—”

Paige smirked, her voice smooth and teasing. “Accidental hand placement is an art form, really.”

Azzi let out a nervous laugh, but her heartbeat was still racing. She tried to focus on the pumpkin, but it was impossible to ignore how close Paige was—how her warmth lingered just behind her, settling into Azzi’s bones.

Paige’s voice shifted, lowering, taking on an almost intimate quality. “Alright, let’s fix this,” she said, taking the knife from Azzi’s hand. “You’ve got to trust the knife,” she added with a wink, her breath warm against Azzi’s ear. “And trust me.”

Azzi leaned back slightly, doing her best to ignore the heat from Paige’s body radiating into hers. But the subtle brush of Paige’s breath against the back of her neck had her pulse surging again. She could hear the steady rhythm of Paige’s breathing, close and intimate, sending shivers through her spine.

“See?” Paige finally pulled back, holding up the pumpkin with a proud grin. “The secret to pumpkin carving? You’ve got to let go and have a little fun with it.”

Azzi blinked, staring at the finished carving. “That’s… actually impressive.” She couldn’t help but smirk. “I might start calling you the pumpkin whisperer.”

Paige took a dramatic bow before plopping the pumpkin on her head like a crown. “Behold, the Pumpkin Queen,” she declared with exaggerated grandeur, striking a playful pose.

Azzi snorted, unable to stifle her laughter. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”

Paige shot her a cheeky grin. “Starting a trend. You’ll thank me later. I’m basically setting fashion history.”

Azzi doubled over, clutching her stomach as laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. “You’re ridiculous,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “But also? I can’t stop laughing.”

Paige removed the pumpkin and gave it a playful spin in her hands. “You’re welcome. It’s all part of my charm.”

Azzi wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. “Honestly? You just made this night a hundred times better.”

Paige’s playful smirk softened into something more genuine, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a quiet intensity. “That’s the goal.” --

They stepped out of the maze together, the city lights flickering in the distance, mingling with the faint hum of passing cars. The cold air nipped at Azzi’s cheeks, but the warmth in her chest lingered. Maybe it was from laughing too hard, or maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the girl beside her.

Paige stretched her arms behind her head, tilting her face up toward the sky. “You know, I really outdid myself this year,” she mused, flashing Azzi a sideways smirk. “Scared a solid ten people into screaming. Three ran. One even tripped and fell into the corn.”

Azzi scoffed, but a smile tugged at her lips. “And you’re proud of that?”

Paige chuckled, nodding. “Oh, absolutely.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly between them as they walked through the city, neon lights reflecting in the puddles on the pavement. Azzi found herself completely caught up in Paige’s stories—each one more outrageous than the last. There was a warmth to Paige’s voice, a way she animated her words, her hands cutting through the air with each ridiculous tale. Azzi barely noticed when their shoulders brushed or when Paige’s fingers accidentally skimmed the back of her hand.

Azzi caught herself when Paige leaned in a little too close, her voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper as she continued her story. “And then, this one dude, biggest guy I’ve ever seen, looked me dead in the eyes and—”

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige’s hand brushed lightly over her arm. It was a brief touch, but it sent a jolt through her chest, a weird mix of electricity and something else she couldn’t quite place. Paige had a way of taking up space—of just being there—that made Azzi suddenly hyper-aware of every little movement, every brush of skin, as if something was shifting between them that neither of them had planned for.

By the time they reached Azzi’s apartment, the night was winding down, but there was an energy between them that still buzzed. The soft glow from the porch light cast a warm halo around them, and Azzi found herself lingering in the doorway, wishing she could keep this feeling going just a little longer.

“That was... fun,” Azzi said, shifting on her feet, suddenly unsure of herself. She gave a soft laugh. “Not what I expected, but in a good way.”

Paige tilted her head, studying her with that grin of hers, half-smirk and half something else—something softer. “Yeah? Glad I could keep you entertained.”

Azzi’s fingers nervously tugged at the hem of her hoodie, her heart racing in her chest. She glanced up at Paige briefly, then quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing. “And… thanks. For walking me home. You didn’t have to.”

Paige’s lips curved into a soft, teasing smile, her eyes still glimmering with amusement. “You insisted,” she teased, her voice warm and low. “Said you wanted to get here safely.”

Azzi’s shy smile tugged at her lips, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her hoodie, fingers twisting the material as her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. “I did.”

Paige took a deliberate step closer, closing the distance between them, her presence overwhelming. Azzi’s breath hitched as she felt the magnetic pull of Paige’s nearness. Her body responded instinctively, drawn in by the heat radiating from Paige. The warmth of Paige’s breath caressed Azzi’s skin, and the air between them became charged, thick with unspoken desire.

"So," Paige’s voice was low, husky, with an undercurrent of something more intense. “If I asked if I could kiss you right now, what would you say?”

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat, the question settling into her chest like a weight, both thrilling and terrifying. Her eyes flicked between Paige’s lips and her eyes, the unspoken emotions swirling between them. Without thinking, she closed the gap, her body instinctively gravitating toward Paige. The world around them faded into the background as Azzi’s heart pounded, the pulse of it syncing with the rapid rhythm of her breaths.

Paige didn’t hesitate. She leaned in, and when their lips met, it was like everything snapped into place.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was fierce, hungry, as if they had both been waiting for this moment far too long. Azzi’s hands flew to the thick lapels of Paige’s coat, pulling her closer, desperate to feel more of her. The coat slipped off Paige’s shoulders, discarded carelessly onto the floor as the kiss deepened. Paige’s strong hands moved over Azzi’s body, every touch sending a wave of heat crashing through her.

Azzi’s chest pressed against Paige’s as she felt her hands trail down, exploring the curves of her waist and hips. Her breath became shallow as Paige’s hands cupped her ass, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Azzi gasped, her body weightless in Paige’s hold, the sensation of being held like that sending a jolt of electricity through her. She instinctively wrapped her legs around Paige’s waist, clinging to her as they moved. Every inch of Paige’s body felt solid, strong, and warm beneath her hands.

The heat between them was unbearable, each moment pulling them closer to the edge. Azzi’s hands roamed over Paige’s chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, unable to steady herself as her body reacted to every touch.

They stumbled forward, the pressure of their bodies pressing against one another as Paige backed them toward the apartment. Azzi could feel the metal railing near the stairs, but before Paige could react, her back collided with it. The impact made Azzi burst into laughter, breathless and giddy, the tension momentarily breaking as they stood there, still tangled in each other.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her voice breathy with laughter. “Oh my God, you’re a mess,” she teased, her hands resting on Paige’s chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Shut up,” she murmured, leaning in again, this time kissing Azzi harder, more urgently. Azzi’s body responded immediately, her chest pressing into Paige’s, her hands sliding down to grasp the waistband of Paige’s jeans.

Azzi’s fingers brushed over the fabric, teasing the edges, and Paige groaned against her lips, her hands pulling Azzi closer, almost desperately. Azzi’s body hummed with anticipation, her chest heaving as she pressed herself into Paige, every touch sending waves of electricity through her.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Azzi pulled away, eyes catching something in Paige’s hair. She reached up, fingers gently grazing through the soft strands, her lips curving into a playful smile when she noticed the small piece of pumpkin still tangled in Paige’s hair from earlier.

Azzi’s laugh bubbled up, warm and teasing. “You’ve got a little something,” she murmured, her fingers delicately brushing the pumpkin out of Paige’s hair.

Paige blinked, looking confused for a moment before realizing what Azzi meant. A sheepish grin spread across her face. “Seriously?” she muttered, shaking her head, though there was something endearing about the way she was still so caught up in the moment. “Guess that’s what happens when you carve pumpkins and kiss me all in one day.”

Azzi giggled, the sound light and carefree, before her hands slid up Paige’s chest once again, teasing and lingering. “Guess so,” she said, voice heavy with desire. Her lips met Paige’s once more, but this kiss was deeper, more frantic. Azzi was overwhelmed, every inch of her burning with need as she pulled Paige closer, not caring about anything else.

The heat between them intensified, their kisses becoming more desperate as they fumbled for the apartment door. Azzi’s fingers trembled as she reached for her keys, every inch of her skin hyperaware of the closeness, the desire surging through her. She managed to unlock the door, but Paige’s hands gripped her waist, pulling her back into another kiss before she could step inside. The intensity of it made Azzi dizzy, but she wanted it. Needed it.

Azzi pulled away just enough to breathe, her hands still gripping Paige’s shirt. “Wait,” she gasped, voice thick with lust. She quickly kicked the door shut with her foot, closing off the world outside as she pressed herself into Paige’s embrace.

Paige smirked, hands sliding down to Azzi’s hips, keeping her close. “Good,” she murmured, her lips brushing against Azzi’s neck, the heat of her breath sending Azzi’s body into overdrive. “Because I’m not done with you either.”

Azzi laughed softly between gasps, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair as she pulled her closer, unable to get enough. “You’re insane, you know that?”

Paige just shrugged, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, voice thick with desire. “But you love it.” --

Paige’s lips were on Azzi’s again, breathless and desperate, but then she pulled back just slightly, her forehead resting against Azzi’s. They both stood there, bodies tangled, hearts racing in sync, as if they were suspended in time. Azzi’s hands were still tangled in Paige’s hair, the pulse of their kiss still echoing through her chest.

Azzi breathed out a shaky laugh, her lips curving into a smile despite the heat that still burned between them. “You’re right,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “you really are insane.”

Paige smirked, her hands still at Azzi’s hips, holding her close but with a gentler touch now. “And you love every second of it,” she teased, her voice low and assured.

Azzi didn’t respond immediately, just looked at Paige with that same intensity in her eyes, a little smile tugging at her lips. She wasn’t sure how they had gotten here, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She closed the gap between them again, but this time, the kiss was softer, quieter, as if they were savoring the moment rather than rushing forward. Paige’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in tighter, and Azzi melted into her, allowing herself to feel the heat, the connection, the undeniable pull that had been there all along.

As they paused for a moment, their breaths mingling, Azzi’s fingers gently trailed down Paige’s arm, lightly grazing over the surface of her skin. Her gaze dropped to Paige’s hand, and she slowly reached out, her fingers brushing over the cool metal of the ring Paige wore.

She played with it absentmindedly, twisting it gently around Paige’s finger, her touch soft and playful. Paige's breath hitched slightly at the feeling of Azzi’s delicate fingers against her skin, but she didn’t move, letting Azzi explore at her own pace.

Azzi’s fingers brushed lightly over the back of Paige’s hand, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she flicked her eyes up to meet Paige’s. “You know,” she started, voice low and laced with mischief, “this ring’s kind of cute. But I think it might be getting in the way.” She let her fingers trail over Paige's hand, giving the ring another little twist, before her touch wandered down to her wrist, brushing the fabric of her sleeve.

Her voice dropped into a whisper, playful and suggestive, “Maybe we should just take this off too...” Azzi’s gaze flickered briefly to Paige’s lips, a slow, teasing grin spreading across her face.

Paige froze for just a second, her mind racing at Azzi’s words, before her hands moved instinctively, squeezing Azzi’s ass, pulling her closer into the kiss as if on cue. The move was bold, firm, but undeniably tender—sending a rush of heat through both of them. Paige’s thumb brushed the curve of Azzi’s cheek, moving a loose curl out of her face as if it was the most delicate thing in the world. Her touch was soft and intentional, the care in her fingers making Azzi’s heart race.

Azzi melted into the touch, her body practically vibrating with need, her breath hitching as she felt Paige’s hands on her, so strong yet gentle. The brief moment of tenderness only made the tension between them even more electric. The weight of Paige’s hands on her ass, pressing her into her warmth, sent a jolt of heat through her. She was sure Paige could feel her pulse beneath her fingers, racing as fast as her heart.

They pulled back for a second, breathing heavily, but the room around them felt like it was closing in, the air thick with the anticipation of what would come next.

Azzi’s voice was low, teasing, but with an edge of uncertainty. “I think we’ve both got some things we’re ready to take off…” Her fingers brushed the hem of Paige’s shirt, almost daring her to do the same, to take the next step.

Paige’s grin widened, but there was something wild in her eyes now—something they hadn’t let themselves get lost in before. “I like the way you think,” she murmured, her lips brushing Azzi’s once more, more urgent this time, more needy.

Azzi tried to guide them deeper throughout the apartment, but in the haze of desire, her hand fumbled for the door handle. She found it, but before she could open it, Paige held her back, her grip tightening on Azzi’s waist, pulling her into another kiss.

Azzi sighed into the kiss, half-laughing against Paige’s lips. “Seriously, we’re gonna get lost in here again,” she muttered, a teasing note to her voice.

Paige paused, her lips still hovering just above Azzi’s. She shushed her softly with a mischievous smirk. “Just stop talking for a while,” Paige whispered, her voice husky.

Azzi blinked, her heart pounding as she processed the command. She didn’t know what to make of it, but the intensity of Paige’s touch and the fire in her eyes left no room for hesitation. Azzi simply nodded, surrendering to the pull between them.

Paige brushed the curls away from Azzi’s face, her touch gentle but deliberate, as if the act itself was an intimate declaration. Her hands lingered for a moment, tracing the soft curve of Azzi’s cheek. With her thumb, Paige delicately tucked the stray locks of hair behind Azzi’s ear, the motion so tender, so careful, that it sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

Azzi’s breath hitched as she felt the warmth of Paige’s touch, but her lips parted in a soft smile, still burning with desire, and with a voice barely above a whisper, she murmured, “I think... we’re both ready for more, right?”

Paige’s grin widened, but there was a dark, teasing edge to it. She leaned in close again, pressing her body against Azzi’s, the heat between them radiating. “You’re damn right,” she murmured, lips brushing over Azzi’s ear. “But this time, I’m not letting you get lost again.”

Azzi's hands slipped down, her fingers brushing over the waistband of Paige’s jeans, her eyes gleaming with mischief. But just as Paige’s hand moved to grip her waist, ready to push them both forward, Azzi’s voice dropped again, low and dangerous, “Unless... you’re ready for me to take control.”

The air between them thickened, electric and charged, and just as Paige went to respond, everything froze. The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and Azzi’s eyes flicked to the door.

The moment was broken.

[spookierdeer]

OL EUA YUGQ G XGOYOT OT MXGVK PAOIK, OZ ZAXTY OTZU G MXGVK. NGVVE NGRRUCKKT! 🎃⚠️

(costume talk and yapping under the cut)

starting from back to the front:

stan and ford are handing out candy this year, stan dressed in his vampire costume and planning to scare kids and ford is wearing a mabel (turtleneck!) pumpkin sweater, about as festive as he's willing to dress up this year. ford was originally planning to hole himself up in his lab and work on data analysis or whatever nerd shit he has going on but stan invites him to help scare the hell out of kids. ford declines initially, better things to do, but after checking to see how stan's doing (badly), ford decides to help by bursting out of the bushes with a glowing laser gun, face cloaked in shadow. it's more fun than he expects or admits and he eventually fully joins stan.

soos and melody are trick or treating in a couple costume, soos as zelda and melody as link. melody wanted to cosplay link for awhile and you cannot convince me soos wouldn't jump at the chance to dress up as a badass anime elf princess who can fire lasers.

mabel, pacifica, and waddles are dressed as utena, anthy, and chu chu respectively. i have a headcanon that post working at the diner and slowly getting used to normal kid things, pacifica discovers anime. specifically shojo princess anime. she finds utena and loses her mind over it in private, with mabel eventually breaking down her walls and getting her to admit to the sin of liking anime. mabel gets pacifica to show her her favorites and mabel immediately insists they need to cosplay as utena and anthy for halloween, pacifica is a princess after all! (said in jest, but baby gay panic ensues on pacifica's end. mabel is pretty oblivious to her plight and doesn't realize why being pacifica's knight makes her feel so giddy until later on.)

dipper sees pacifica joining mabel as an excuse to flake out on trick or treating without being a total jerk, especially since they'll be joined by candy and grenda later. i know he's working on not trying to grow up too fast by the end of the series, but kids and teens are full of anxiety and doubts and i figure he would be pretty awkward about a lot of things still, even after learning otherwise. wirt doesn't want to dress up since the previous halloween ended with him in the unknown then waking up in the hospital, but greg still wants to go trick or treating. dipper tags along to help babysit greg despite it not really being necessary, wirt's just glad to have someone to chat with while he takes greg, especially someone who doesn't leap to finding him strange. greg is going as a ghost elephant and wirt assumes it's just the weird kid tradition of layering costumes over the years, but greg's logic is that he "died" as an elephant last year so now the elephant is a ghost. if wirt heard this he would probably end up freaked out, but kids are often more aware of things than expected. dipper is wearing wendy's hat since she traded with him at the end of the series.

putting wirt and greg in there could feel a little random, but these are my two favorite shows to watch during autumn and i associate them with each other. plus, it's otgw's ten year anniversary and it's so perfectly halloween, i think it makes enough sense to put them together. idk i love joy and whimsy, i am cringe and i am free.

i initally wanted to include other characters, candy, grenda, and wendy for sure but i was also considering coraline, wybie, and norman. felt way too complicated so maybe i'll draw something with those characters some other time.

[finelinevogue]

notes on love

summary - harry attends the football and you attend the baftas

pairing - fiance!harry x famous!reader

word count - ~1.5k

*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*

It was the first time Harry had made a public appearance in months.

Sans a hat on his head.

After braving a shave to solidify a new chapter in his life, Harry had decided that enough was enough and he just wanted to be seen again. Gain some new publicity.

“I can’t do this.” Harry’s voice rang through your phone.

Your phone was currently propped up on the vanity in front of you, whilst your stylist gracefully worked around you to get your hair and makeup done.

“H, baby. You’re going to a football match where over half the population there will be white bald men. You’ll blend right in.”

You took a sip of your apple juice in its carton as you suppressed a laugh. Harry rolled his eyes at you, taking the joke like the good sport he is.

“I actually have more hair than them. I’m not bald anymore.”

“See! Embrace the new hair, H. You look really good.”

Harry smiled at you then, his eyes which had previously been darting between watching you and looking out the moving car window were now permanently on you.

“Not as beautiful as you, though, love.”

“Don’t even have my makeup on yet.”

“Never needed it.”

You blew him a camera kiss for those words alone.

“Where are you now?” You reached for a slice of pineapple from the bowl of fruit you’d ordered from room service.

“About five minutes away I think. Are you still in the hotel?”

“Yeah. Don’t need to be ready until 5.”

You were getting ready for the BAFTAS, which Harry had hoped to be there with you for but you’d decided to take your nan as your date instead since she wanted to spend as much time with you as possible.

Harry was more than happy to let Nana, as he liked to call her, be your date to the BAFTAS. Plus, it meant that he could go see the football.

“You’re going to look so pretty.”

Harry had helped your pick out your dress, which was a sophisticated black to contrast the red carpet you’d be walking down. The dress itself was beautifully cut and shaped you in all the right places, making you look elegant and regal.

“I’m nervous.” You picked up your phone so the conversation felt a little more intimate, even though it was still over face-time.

“Why, love?”

“Don’t normally do stuff like this without you.” You pouted.

Harry wished he could kiss that pout away, “And yet the times that you do, you always end up winning! It’s like they never want you to win when i’m there.”

It was a running joke that Harry was your ‘bad luck charm’.

You didn’t believe that though. It’s just that other actors performed better and won, over you, because of it. If anything, you always won because you got to go home and drink hot tea and eat popcorn with your Harry.

“I’ll miss you.” Your face was so close to the camera that Harry could probably see up your nose.

“I miss you. Send me photos when you’re getting ready. I wanna see you before anyone else.”

“Okay.” You smiled. It was routine at this point to always show each other’s public outfits before anyone else.

“Have you got your ring?”

You held up your left hand and wiggled your ring finger in front of the camera. You blushed thinking about the moment that you got given the piece of delicate jewellery, with Harry on one knee.

“Always.”

“You going to wear it on the carpet?”

“Of course. Not going to draw attention to it though. I’ll let people discover it for themselves.”

Harry laughed at the thought. You two were practically the biggest, most A-List, celebrity couple around at the moment and so when people watch sight of you with the ring there’s no doubt it’s all people will talk about for weeks.

Someone told Harry they’d arrived at the venue, then.

“I have to go, honey, but text me updates please. Wanna see you get ready through photos, okay?”

“Okay.” You promised. “Text me to let me know you’re safely home later, please.”

Even though he was going back to his Manchester home, you still liked to know that he was safe and sound. Especially since you were in London and weren’t going to get to be with him tonight.

“Will do. I love you.” Harry kissed his fingers and then dotted them over the camera.

You returned the gesture, “I love you. Bye, bye, bye!”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

You were just finishing getting ready and scrolling through Twitter.

Harry was trending worldwide for showcasing his new hair. His growing hair. No one had seen him like this since the end of Tour last year.

You pouted because you missed him a lot.

People were absolutely loving it. As always, a lot of people were losing their shit over Harry content. You were too, because you missed him.

“Oh, he looks so good!” Your stylist, Jamie, gasped behind you.

Jamie was currently fixing your hair and you had to say they had done an impressive job.

“I know.” You smiled to yourself.

“He looks like a sexy CEO.”

You laughed out loud at that, “When he puts on his glasses he does.” You agreed.

“Harry wears glasses?” Jamie gasped.

“Yeah, hang on..”

You started to go through your camera roll. It was only a few days ago that he had gotten new glasses, because he’d managed to lose his old ones. Typical.

You stopped on a photo of Harry sat in bed with the duvet up on his chest, a book in his lap and his glasses on. He didn’t realise you had taken the photo of him, but it was now one of your favourites.

“Oh damn…” Jamie gasped. “If your marriage ever goes south, tell him I’ll be available.”

You laughed again, shaking your head in dismissal but also approval.

You went back to Twitter to see if any of the Harrie accounts you follow have tweeted anything. You make yourself laugh as you look through their feral comments.

And just because you like to cause a riot on the internet you liked an insane tweet.

harriesmiles: the way that this photo makes me want to cling onto harry like a koala bear and never let go

It wasn’t long before you were trending with Harry.

Then the face-time call comes through from him.

“Am I done?” You asked Jamie quickly.

He nods, knowing you routine with Harry, and allows you to slip into the bathroom next to the bedroom.

You answered the call shortly after locking the bathroom door.

“Hellooo.” You said in a weird voice, feeling hyper from the Twitter craze.

“Hi, babe.” Harry was obviously outside and trying to watch where he was going, more than looking at you.

“Has the match finished?”

“Yeah.” And you honestly didn’t care enough about football to ask how it went. “Are you ready?”

Harry’s eyes flicked down to his screen momentarily, smirking when he catches sight of your glammed out makeup.

One thing Harry loved more than anything was you in a red-lip, so of course you had to make sure you had one for him - despite the fact he couldn’t kiss it off you tonight.

“What?” You giggled, watching him trying to suppress his smirk in public.

“You’re so annoying. I’m trying to act all cool and mysterious here and you’re making me smile like an idiot.”

You dipped your head and smiled, accentuating the blush that was already powdered onto your cheeks.

“H, honey, you’re walking through the streets of Manchester. No one cares about how you act. They’re probably all drunk anyways.”

“True, true.”

“Did you have a pint?” You propped your phone on the counter.

“Uh, yeah.” He said whilst trying to cross a road.

“Love, do you want to call me back when you’re at less risk of being hit by a car?” You sarcastically asked.

“No!” He yelped. “No. Needs to be now.”

You gave him a confused look but carried on regardless.

You shuffled back in the bathroom, giving him a full angle.

You watched in anticipation as Harry looked at you through his tiny screen, wishing it were ten times bigger.

“Wow.” Was all he said and you giggled like a girl having a high-school crush. “I love you so much.”

“So you like?” You swished your dress from side to side.

“Mhm. Wishing I wasn’t so far from you now.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll have all the kisses for you then.”

“Tomorrow it is, then.” Harry smirked to himself, kissing the camera.

Little did you know that tomorrow was coming a lot sooner. In fact, Harry had been running for the earliest train out of Manchester and down to London for the duration of the phone call. Because Harry was always going to show up for you.

[ghosts-and-glory]

I needed to draw the Bishops both for fun and for my own reference. Unfortunately I finished this like two weeks ago and have completely changed the way I draw Shamura since so just don’t look at it.

Rambles and individual Bishops under the cut.

Speed thoughts on all Bishops. Leshy is my favourite, he really is the youngest sibling AND the bishop of chaos. If you draw Heket skinny I don’t trust you (or give her boobs she’s a frog you dweeb learn biology.) Kallamar being a little bitch made me love him even if he kicked my ass (also his crown makes him look like he’s wearing a party hat.) Shamura is me, tired oldest siblings rise up.

Also why do they drop bones… Heket is fine, she has em. Leshy is a plant??? Or a worm?? And Kallamar and Shamura are also invertebrates. This keeps me up at night.

[eiightysixbaby]

sweet cream

steve harrington x fem!reader

cw: oral f receiving, use of pet names

“Steve,” you sigh, letting your head fall back and rest against the wall behind you.

A head of honey brown hair is nestled between your parted thighs, your legs spread wide with your feet propped on broad shoulders.

Steve rests on his knees before you, your bare ass pressed to the wood top of the computer desk. Your shorts and underwear lay in a heap on the floor of the cramped room, Steve having discarded them the second he'd gotten you alone.

It was innocent enough, you dropping by to see him at work. It was awfully hot out, and he was always happy to sneak you some free ice cream. It's just that today you strolled in wearing your tiniest shorts, high-waisted and tight enough to hug the curves of your ass in the most tempting way. And your tight little tube top had your tits on perfect display, leaving your boyfriend unable to keep his eyes or his hands off of you.

He ended up bribing Robin with free rides anywhere she needed for a week, just for twenty minutes in the back storage closet alone with you.

And god bless her for allowing it, really, because the way his tongue laps at your cunt has you reeling. Your fingers tangle in his soft locks, making him moan when you pull at them, his strong hands gripping the meat of your thighs.

He pauses for a moment, stealing a glance up at you. His face is flushed, his eyes big and wide, in awe of you. His pretty pink lips are parted just slightly, his hair askew.

“So fucking pretty, baby. She’s so fucking pretty,” he says, pressing kisses to your clit before letting his tongue lave over you once more. “Taste so damn sweet.”

He flattens the wet muscle against your folds, eagerly lapping up all of the arousal that leaks from you. He looks stupidly beautiful, the bright blue of his work uniform complimenting his sun-tanned skin.

You inhale sharply when he pulls your clit between his lips and sucks, releasing it after a moment to flick his tongue back and forth over it.

“Oh, god,” you moan, high-pitched and breathy.

“Feel good?” he asks, hot breath fanning over your pussy, sending a chill throughout you.

“Yes, Steve. Fuckdontstop—”

An airy, smug laugh leaves him at your pleas, satisfied with himself.

Every swipe of his tongue has you teetering closer and closer to the edge, his mouth making a complete mess of you. You can feel his saliva dripping down to your ass as he desperately licks at you, slurping and kissing and sucking.

“Come on, honey. Know you can cum for me, c’mon,” he rasps, maintaining a steady pace on your sensitive bud.

“Shit shit shit,” you cry, eyes pinched shut and brows furrowing as your orgasm washes over you. Your cunt tightens around nothing, walls spasming as his relentless mouth teases your clit until you feel numb.

He draws back, his lips and chin drenched with your honey. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe his face clean before you’re tugging him close to kiss you. He smiles against your mouth, letting his tongue tangle with yours. The taste of yourself on him sends new waves of want straight to your core, wishing you had more time—

There’s a banging on the door, and both of you turn towards it.

“Okay, lovebirds, whatever you’re doing in there I reeeally need you to wrap it up!” Robin’s frantic voice calls. “There’s a line out the door and I cannot sling ice cream that quickly! I’m serious, Harrington, right now or it’s gonna be free rides for a month!”

You can’t help but blush, Steve’s head hung as he laughs. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and finally your lips before he’s standing up and pulling you with him. You retrieve his hat from the desk, fixing his hair before putting it on him. The blue stitched letters that spell out AHOY making you giggle to yourself.

“When I get off work,” he murmurs, holding your waist and pulling you against him, “I’m coming straight to your house.” His nose brushes your temple. “If I’m gross and sweaty and covered in ice cream you’ll just have to deal with it, cause I can’t wait to be inside you,” he says with a smirk, his lips against your cheek.

You smile, palms pressing flat against his chest. “Fine with me,” you press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be waiting, sailor.”

[moonchildstyles]

rosemary for halloween?👀

wordcount: 4k+

—————

Harry frowned at his reflection. 

While he loved (Y/N) more than anything, and would do anything for her, he wondered if he finally found limitations to that philosophy. 

Because dressing up like a sailor just to match with her for a Halloween party was beginning to look like the line he needed to draw in the sand. The ascot was bad enough, he doubted the hat that was looming on the bed behind him was going to make this outfit any better. 

The familiar sound of perfume being sprayed from the bathroom told Harry he didn't have much time left to fiddle with his costume before (Y/N) would appear to fawn over him and make him change his mind. In an impulse move, he attempted to tug off the ascot around his neck and hide it away in a pocket she could see. 

All hope was lost just as (Y/N) emerged from the bathroom in a plume of sparkles and sea salt. Her hair was styled full of pearls and glimmering sea glass clips, matching the shifting blue and purple iridescent glitter spread across her eyelids. There weren't many places on her body that weren't imbued with a sparkling sheen, giving the effect of shimmering mermaid skin. Her top was little more than a decorated bralette cinched in a thick band around her ribs, emulating a pair of scallop shells studded with pearls and shards of sea glass. Her high waisted bottoms were a tight fit around her hips and thighs before fanning out after her knees, mimicking that of a mermaid's tail. The material was a swirl of pearly threads, shifting with pinks and purples, teals and bioluminescent greens. Her bag for the night—the purchase that inspired the costume—was a golden seashell. 

Harry, distracted by the sight of the swathes of skin she had on display—a strip of her soft stomach, the slope of her neck and sparkling décolletage, her pretty, manicured hands—didn't catch the way her entire face lit up when she saw him. 

"You look so cute, honey!" she bubbled, rushing towards him with her hands reaching out towards his collar. 

(Y/N) preened over him, a bright smile on her glossy lips. The ascot he attempted to rip off was smoothed down, his shirt straightened, and the epaulettes on his shoulders patted down. 

He wanted so badly to keep up the attitude he gained while looking in the mirror, but not a shred of it remained when she smiled at him like that. 

"Y'like it?" he murmured, his own lips creeping into a short curl. 

"I love it!" She beamed up at him with her hands going stationary on the planes of his chest. "I know you weren't sure about it, but I'm so happy we match. Thank you." 

Moving on instinct, he lent down and pressed his lips to hers, uncaring about the glitter that would no doubt transfer to his own skin. 

"'M happy we match too," he smiled against her skin, the tip of his nose knocking against her own, "I don't think anyone's going to be looking at me, anyway. Not when 'm standing next to you." 

Her grin turned giddy, only widening when Harry encouraged her to twirl before him. "Do you like it?! I think I put on too much body glitter, but I can't go back now." 

He shook his head. "'S perfect. Look like a real mermaid. Y'would have lured me right to the sea, no doubt." 

She keened under his attention, canting her head with a flutter of her lashes. "I couldn't do that, though—I wouldn't want to hurt you." 

"I'd learn how to breathe underwater, then," he answered simply. He would find any solution if it meant he could be with her. 

Her answering laugh was enough to have him eager to wear any and every silly costume she wanted. This reaction was always going to be worth wearing an ascot and sailor's cap. 

"You're sweet, H," she crooned, surging to her tiptoes to share another kiss. He chased after her when she pulled away, drawing one more kiss from her before she made a step away towards her closet. "Are you ready to go?" 

Harry answered with a nod, hoping she didn't notice the hat missing from the top of his head. 

"Perfect!" she chirped, "I need to put my shoes on, and then we can go!" 

Just short of breathing a sigh of relief, Harry figured himself to be in the clear by the time she slinked into her closet. 

Until, of course, she called out to him. "Oh, and don't forget your hat!" 

He wanted so badly to frown, to groan and tell her he didn't want to wear the hat. But none of that came out. Only a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

There was a time in his life that he never thought he would have anyone that would want to spend these kinds of nights with him, let alone in a planned out matching outfit. Even if it felt a bit silly, there wasn't a single bone in his body that was going to say no to something like this.

"I won't, peach." 

—————

Despite the sweat beginning to slick his palm, Harry didn't pull his hand out from (Y/N)'s. 

While he was growing more used to the idea of large and loud crowds of people—especially crowds that knew him and made a point to say hello when he walked by—but there was still much more progress to be made in that department. Sabrina's Halloween party was one of his bigger trials, that was for sure. (Y/N) was his only anchor, her hold on his hand being the only thing that kept him from running through an obsessive cycle of spying all exits and attempting to scan each face around him for anyone suspicious. 

Though, tonight, it was a bit hard to see from scanning the room, if only to get a view of all of the costumes and decorations around them. Sabrina's annual halloween party was something Harry had only recently learned about, but (Y/N)'s excited descriptions made the space as familiar to him as his own. As she promised, faux cobwebs were stretched across walls and stuffed in corners. Streamers and metallic fringe hung from doorways, the visages of classic horror tropes were scattered on the walls, including decals of blood spatters that Harry made a point not to look at for too long. Everything was orange and purple, black all throughout. Music played throughout the space, though it was decidedly softer than most of his experiences when it came to house parties. 

Harry saw many familiar faces among the party goers, though more often than not they were disguised in costumes and altering makeup. There were plenty of Barbies, and angels, a few fairies and sexy iterations of mundane professions all throughout, being broken up by even more silly costumes. Video game and movie characters stuck out in iconic silhouettes. Many couples and friends were in matching costumes like the one he was in (though there weren't any other mermaids and sailors as far as he could see). More than a few lent into the season with spooky costumes, fake blood and weapons at their sides. Those were not Harry's favorite. 

Especially not when he felt a little flush when he saw the liberal use of blood on some costumes.

There was no way Harry was going to be peeling himself away from (Y/N)'s side. Even if he was beginning to feel a little like a potted plant while he listened to her converse with her friends. 

"But, you don't mind, right, H?" 

Blinking back to earth, Harry saw (Y/N) looking up at him with an affectionate smile and a familiar face from his days of sitting in at the bakery looking at him expectantly. His mouth fell into a gape as he attempted to find the answer to a question he wasn't listening to. 

"Um," he started, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, "Sorry, what?" 

(Y/N) didn't look all that surprised to realize he hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. "You like the costumes, right?" 

"Oh, yeah." He automatically nodded, looking at (Y/N)'s friend. "They were her idea."

A laugh bubbled from the woman, a joke Harry hadn't heard before now coming into play. (Y/N)'s hand pulsed around his own, her smile bright as she gazed up at him. 

"Next year, I'll have to see if he'll be the mermaid," (Y/N) laughed, her nose scrunching while her friend joined in. 

In the back of his mind, Harry was sure he should have tuned back in when the chattering started up once more, but he just couldn't. Was there ever going to be a time when he wasn't completely enamored, just short of being brought to his knees, when she muttered something so innocent like plans for the future? Was that ever not going to steal his breath? The idea of having a future and stability and someone for the rest of his life? 

(At least, he hoped (Y/N) would be with him for the rest of his life. He'd just have to scrounge up the courage to ask her one day).

Soon enough, (Y/N)'s friend bid a short goodbye, promising to see them around the party, before they were left to meander around. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom to look at my makeup, if you want to come," she said, looking up at him with a soft smile, "Unless you want to go get a drink or something." 

He didn't have to think before he was shaking his head. "I'll go with you." 

(Y/N) turned with that pretty smile on her face as she led him through the partygoers, taking a seemingly familiar route towards the restroom. Sabrina and others spotted (Y/N) as they passed, saying hello with glassy eyes and praising her costume in slurred comments. Every slowed step while she engaged in the short conversation, she never left him out, immediately pointing out that they went together. 

Harry was sure a flush was beginning to creep up his neck by the time the third person stopped them.

Lucky for them, by the time they successfully reached the restroom, it was empty. Slipping inside, Harry shut the door behind them. It was a small bathroom, leaving little room between them while (Y/N) turned towards the mirror. 

In the quiet of the restroom, Harry felt his lungs finally expand to capacity. It wasn't hard being at (Y/N)'s side while she was a social butterfly, but it was exhausting trying to remind himself everything was okay when there were so many people around them. He'd learn one day; his body would catch up one day. That's what (Y/N) told him, anyway. 

"You doing okay?" she asked, catching his eye in the mirror while she scraped a rogue glitter away from the corner of her eye. 

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding his head. "Jus'... a lot still, I think." 

"I know. We don't have to stay too much longer, though. I just want to hang out with Sabrina a little bit, and then we'll be free." 

"'S okay," he shook his head, his fingers a knot behind his back, "We don't have to leave until y'want. I'll be fine." 

Abandoning the reflection, (Y/N) turned towards Harry with a cant to her head. Her features were made of soft lines and affectionate eyes. "It's no fun if you're not having a good time, H." 

"I am, I am," he insisted, even if the deep breath he took in wasn't all that convincing. "Halloween is fun." 

At this, she couldn't help but to let out a bubbling laugh. "Is it?" she teased, crossing the short space between them to wrap his middle in her arms. His body moved on instinct, draping his arms around her shoulders. "If you have to say it like that, I have a feeling it's not really true." 

He could feel his expression loosening as he gazed down at her. If this were another life, and he were a sailor out on the sea, it would only take a glimpse of her between the waves to have him swimming out into the unknown. Though that was what he figured his real life was like anyway; she was the lighthouse that guided him to a new shore, away from everything he knew before. Now, here he was, at someone's home on Halloween night in a sailor's costume. And he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. 

"I jus' like being with you, peach," he admitted, "If you're happy, so am I." 

"You're gonna make me cry," she laughed, eyes shimmering like her eyeshadow, "I really do want to go home soon, though. This outfit isn't as comfortable as I want it to be." 

A pinch appeared between his brows. He knew the corset-like fit of her top was what she wanted, but he'd worried about how well she was going to be able to breathe. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands beginning to frantically trace around her form. 

"I'm okay, honey," she assured, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the point of his chin, "I think I'm just ready for some pajamas." 

He could work with that. He could make sure they were safe and comfortable at home soon; if he was fast enough, he might even be able to throw her pj's into the dryer while she takes off her makeup, leaving them warm for her once she was ready. 

"'M ready whenever y'are, peach." 

This time, when she raised to the tips of her toes, she met his lips with her own. It was a short kiss, hidden away from the rest of the world, but still more than enough to draw his heart into pounding against his ribs. 

This kiss was urging him to take back his earlier words. He should have told her he wanted to head home immediately. 

—————

"Oh my god, did you put these in the dryer?" 

Harry couldn't contain the smile stretching across his face when he heard (Y/N)'s shout from her bedroom. He didn't respond when he heard feet padding across the floor, coming right towards where he was tucked into the cushions of her sofa. 

Still with her mermaid hair and makeup on, she now had on a light purple crewneck and teal blue sweats. She wanted to stay within the spirit of her costume for when children would inevitably knock on the door for candy, but Harry could see she was much more comfortable in her new clothes. 

"Harry," she crooned, looking to him with softened features. Warm, pumpkin lighting filled her home, candlelight flickering over the glitter pasted to her skin. 

"(Y/N)," he said, parroting her affectionate tone. 

"You're so sweet, honey. Thank you." She crawled atop his lap as she spoke, fitting her knees on either side of his hips. 

He moved instinctively, his hands landing on her waist while she looped her own around his neck. Looking up at her, Harry let a smile bloom over his lips, a warmth bubbling under his skin. 

"Do y'feel better?" he asked, running his hands over the curve of her waist, "More comfortable?" 

"Much," she affirmed, pursing her lips to dot a kiss on the bridge of his nose. The sparkle in her eyes rivaled that of the flecks sticking to her skin when she pulled away. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. It was more hectic than I thought, but it means a lot that you came anyway." 

Harry's smile turned shy at her praise. It was still a very hard thing to hear these kinds of sentiments directed to him. The honey of (Y/N)'s voice made it just a touch easier to take, at least. 

"I know 'm not very fun at these things, so thank you for staying with me." Shifting to bar his arms around her middle, Harry pulled her into a hug as he perched his cheek on her shoulder, nose skimming the column of her neck. 

(Y/N) slid her fingers into the curling locks on the back of his head, threading through the waves in comforting trails. "It'll get easier, H. You're already doing so much better than you think." 

A flickering silence settled over the room. "Thank you," he murmured into her neck, "I want to keep getting better. With you."

In that moment, Harry was brought back to a motel room. He was sitting on a much stiffer, mustier sofa with darker thoughts clouding his brain. But he still had (Y/N) in his arms, reassuring him that he could—and would—get better. That she was right there with him, would be right there as long as he needed her. 

He held her tighter at the memory. 

She didn't make any move to pull away, letting Harry get his fill of her before eventually peeling away to gaze up at her. 

"You're still alright with me spending the night?" Despite posing the question, he didn't think he would have an easy time getting out of this spot even if she said no.

"Of course—who else is going to protect me on Halloween night?" 

She spoke with a teasing smile, canting her head with a slight pout puffing her lips. This was one of those moments he had to remind himself that he wasn't occupying his previous life—this was nothing more than a joke, something flirty that (Y/N) said to draw an affectionate reaction out of him. There was nothing real, nothing coming to get her in the middle of the night. 

A short smile touched the corners of his mouth. "I think I can manage that, peach." 

She must have sensed the brief hesitation, causing her to push a soft kiss to the curled corner of his mouth. 

"If you start some popcorn, I’ll pick a movie for us?" she offered. 

He responded with a quiet nod, pulsing his hands on her waist before she climbed off of him. He left her on the couch as he started towards her kitchen, the ghost of her warmth clinging to his front. Keeping an ear out, he rooted through her cabinets in search of a packet of popcorn—a snack she seemingly always had on hand, though he hadn't caught her indulging in the kernels more than once in the last months. 

A ring of the doorbell succeeded by muffled giggles had Harry's muscles bunching for a split second. It's Halloween, he reminded himself. Of course there were going to be people at the door, and (Y/N) wasn't going to hesitate with swinging it open. 

Old habits die hard, even the ones that were already in the process of being buried. 

Hurriedly shoving the packet into the microwave with numbers punched into the pad, Harry moved across the kitchen. Peeking around the threshold, he had a clear view of (Y/N) with a large bowl in one hand as she answered the door. 

The giggling grew louder as she pulled open the door. From the angle she was standing before the threshold, he had a view of her smiling profile as she took in the little critters at her stoop. The children, flanked by parents standing a few feet away, all smiled brightly up at the mermaid before them. 

"Trick or treat!" 

"Wow, look at you guys!" (Y/N) cheered, balancing the candy bowl on her hip, "You look amazing! Such cute costumes!" 

"I'm not cute, I'm a zombie," one of the children contradicted, a lisp in his voice. 

(Y/N)'s smile only grew wider, before she fell into a shocked character. "Woah, you are really scary. I don't have any brains, will candy do?" 

Harry was vaguely aware of the way the children cheered for her, the giggles and smiles filling the doorway as she handed out bundles of candy, but he only had eyes on the mermaid. 

He doubted she even knew just how fearless she was. More than once, he'd heard her describe herself as shy, boring even. Never doing anything new, sticking to her routine. She had no idea what kind of effort Harry would have had to exert to do this simple task she did so easily. 

She had no idea just how special she was in the most mundane ways. He would never run out of things to admire about her. He was sure. 

Waving goodbye to the children and their parents, (Y/N) shut and locked the door behind her. It was then that she caught eyes right on her. 

"They were cute, don't you think?" she chattered, unwitting of the fact that he could barely recount any of the details of any of the trick-or-treaters or their costumes. 

"Yeah," he agreed anyway, a dreamy haze smoked around his voice, "Really cute." 

Before she could offer a response, the microwave beeped. The fragrance of buttery popcorn scented through her home, drawing him away from the entryway. He made quick work of emptying the packet into a pastel pink bowl, rushing to head back to her side out on the sofa. 

Curled up, legs under her bottom with a pumpkin-printed throw blanket across her lap, (Y/N) flicked through her chosen streaming service on her television. It wasn't until he was seated at her side, his peach lifting up the edge of the blanket to allow him to slide in next to her, that he saw what she was looking for.

True to the season, he was looking through a section of Halloween movies. Though, not quite the kind he was sure was playing in many other houses in the neighborhood. 

"I know it's not really scary, but I was thinking Scooby-Doo might be fun to watch tonight," she muttered, looking through the various classic movies available for streaming. One Harry remembered watching as a child caught his eye.

Definitely a better option than the home invasion or slasher films he never really found the appeal of.

He moved to overlap her legs over his thighs, spreading her warmth across the side of his body. "That sounds better than anything scary." 

Moving to pick through the popcorn bowl settled on his lap, Harry saw from the corner of his eye the way (Y/N) turned her attention to him. 

Her eyes were impossibly soft, tracing over the planes of his face. She canted her head as she looked at him, just enough so that the light caught the glitter on her face. He wasn't sure what she saw when she looked at him like that, but whatever it was enough to draw her closer to his side. 

"H—" 

Before she could finish whatever it was that she was going to share, the doorbell rang. She hesitated before removing the blanket from her lap. 

"I'll be right back," she murmured, "You pick. 

A soft kiss was pressed to his cheek, just where his dimple devoted his skin. 

Remote in hand, Harry absently scrolled through the title cards though he was listening instead to the giggling conversation happening at the door. 

The sound of her voice soundtracked the beats of his heart. He heard the way she bubbled to these children, playing along to whatever tricks they pulled for the treats in question. He could still feel the press of her lips against his cheek, the warmth a point of clarity as he sunk into the amber-tinted moment that was his own life. Never would he have thought he would ever find himself in a place like this.

"I'm already starting to run out of candy," (Y/N) exclaimed as she made her way back to the couch, "I'm probably giving out too much, but I feel bad if I don't give out, like, handfuls." 

(Y/N) slid back into her spot, as natural as breathing. Entirely fearless, always. 

"You're so sweet, peach," he breathed, much too heavy an answer for something so simple. 

Though it was entirely worth the smile she gifted him. 

Harry wasn't sure if he was ever going to be a huge fan of Halloween, but he could see why others enjoyed it. Especially if these breezy nights went on like this. 

—————

happy (late) halloween everyone! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own, please send them in!!

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyNine

prompt from @mugloversonly @after-the-end-times @spectrum-spectre

It’s a little odd having a birthday banner hanging across the Christmas Tree, but everyone was pretty determined that this is Eddie’s birthday, and that’s a totally different thing to Christmas Eve. So everyone is here; Joyce even baked a proper birthday cake, and now they’re doing the thing where they bring out the cake and everyone sings.

It feels bittersweet to Steve; Eddie’s first birthday. It was a year ago today that Steve pulled Eddie out of the pool. A year ago today Eddie came back to him. He remembers vividly struggling to get Eddie up the stairs. Cleaning all the filth off him. How he’d looked, with no hair at all, all skin and bones, wobbling his way down the stairs. The noise he’d made the first time he ever tried bacon; the startled look on his face the first time he’d ever hiccuped.

Eddie stays where he’s been put, sitting at the head of dining room table, proudly wearing a Birthday party hat. Eddie’s been to a couple of birthdays this year, mainly for the kids, so he knows what’s coming. He looks fucking delighted at the sight of the cake, but he still checks, “I can blow out the candles?”

“Yeap,” Steve tells him.

“Make a wish first!” Joyce calls.

“I wish-”

“Nooooooo!” probably half a dozen people yell, “keep it a secret or it won’t come true,” Robin adds. Eddie stares hard at the candles for a long second, and then he looks up, finding Steve. Steve can see the moment Eddie settles on his wish.

He’s still staring at Steve when he blows them out.

“So...things with Eddie are good then?”

It’s a little uncomfortable, but all the stuff that happened feels like it was a long time ago now. Nancy has definitely been making an effort to build a fresh friendship, and Steve can’t fault her for it, not really. Steve finds Eddie, he can see him through the doorway into the kitchen, making something with Robin and Chrissy, “yeah everything is...great. Like really great.”

“I was...a little surprised, you know?”

“Yeah that’s...understandable,” and it is. Eddie is literally a creature from The Upside Down; he didn’t even look remotely human to begin with, half of him was literally a fish. Plus Steve’s never really been interested in guys before, but he guesses there must have always been a little something there for him to take to it so easily. Granted the circumstances forced his hand a little, and he’s still had a couple of things to work through but...he feels pretty good about it. Besides, Eddie still isn’t even really human, so it probably doesn’t exactly count. Not with his lack of nipples and his downstairs situation anyway; you can’t exactly try to stick Eddie into a category...he’s Eddie, a unique and perfect thing all his own.

In the kitchen, Robin spills something, Chrissy shrieks and Eddie manically dashes for a cloth, cackling. The chaos of it makes Steve smile at them; everyone is at least a few drinks deep, Steve’s sure.

“You really care about him though?” She presses a little. Nancy’s never been able to just let it go, especially if she doesn’t understand it. She always needs to know, Steve’s pretty sure it’s not a nosiness thing; more an understanding thing.

“Yeah, yeah I love him,” Steve tells her unabashed, it is the truth, “he loves me too.”

“You’re sure it’s not just...I mean you did rescue him, plus, where would he even go if you weren't together-”

“Are you suggesting Eddie has some sort of-of-of Stockholm syndrome?” Steve can’t help but laugh, a little incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well no, I just. Think you should both be sure-”

“How are you and Jon then?” Steve cuts her off. He chooses to lean into the spirit of Christmas and assume that Nancy’s concerns all come from a good place. Even so, it’s not a good intention Steve has to tolerate if he doesn’t want to. He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.

Nancy draws breath, like she’s not done, but then clearly rethinks it and chooses her battle, Steve can see the moment when she decides not to pursue it, sipping her drink before she replies, “yeah, really good,” over her shoulder, Eddie, Chrissy, and Robs have their heads together, the conversation clearly turned serious.

“That’s good Nance,” Steve chooses to be the bigger man, “I’m just really glad you’re both happy,” he tells her pointedly. In the kitchen, Eddie’s turned to find Steve, watching him back. Steve can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but Robin’s clutching his arm, on her toes, speaking urgently to Eddie. She looks kind of panicked, which immediately worries Steve.

“Well, I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, I mean I’m glad, really glad it all worked out for you.”

Eddie has a look on his face that Steve’s pretty certain he’s never seen before. He can’t quite work out what it means other than...Eddie’s pissed. Like, really fucking angry. And he’s marching closer, shaking off both Robin and Chrissy in the process.

Steve has no clue what’s happening as Eddie approaches, pushing Steve away from Nancy to press him against the wall and then...kisses him. Steve has his eyes open, not sure what to make of Eddie’s rage, but he soon lets them slide closed. He melts against the wall. Eddie’s kissing him like he’s got something to prove. He’s almost bitey as he sucks at Steve’s lips, leaving little scrapes that don’t quite break the skin. The passion is surprising, but so fucking hot Steve leans into it fast, matching Eddie’s energy and he sucks on Eddie’s tongue, curling his fingers around Eddie’s hips to pull him closer, no longer wanting to stop to question Eddie’s motives.

Eddie pulls back, pink and flushed, an inch of space between them, panting for breath Eddie asks, “you and Nancy used to be together?”

“I-” Steve can’t help his gaze flicking side wards to Nancy, and then back to Eddie, Eddie’s eyes narrowing at the sight, something flashing in the depths, “yeah?” Steve confirms weakly.

Eddie presses closer, his claws pricking Steve’s skin through his clothes; Eddie’s never been possessive like this before, and Steve is...well they’ve had a lot of sex, and Eddie pressing himself against Steve like this, kissing him like that...Steve’s body is only reacting the way it always does, which is a little mortifying in a room full of people.

Eddie leans his face closer again, his hair brushing Steve’s forehead, his breath warm as he growls, “you had sex with her?”

“Eddie!” Steve splutters, but apparently even that is too much, Eddie has him by the wrist, not quite painful, but very harsh compared to Eddie’s usually gentle nature. Eddie turns, pulling Steve along and he...bares his teeth at Nancy, actually hissing at her on the way past.

“Eddie!” Steve starts again, shocked, this time a reprimand, “be nice!” That’s no way to behave, and Nancy is unnerved enough that she takes a big step back. Steve is dragged along behind Eddie, ending up locked into the downstairs bathroom together. Eddie pins him against the door with his body, kissing Steve soundly.

“Baby,” Steve starts, his words broken by kisses, “what’s gotten into you?”

Eddie just growls. It’s not a sound Steve’s ever heard before, and he can feel it, rumbling in Eddie’s body where their chests are pressed together, “need you.”

Eddie starts nipping at Steve’s throat, stinging kisses that makes Steve’s hips roll, looking for friction against Eddie’s thigh. His brain feels like it’s going a little mushy, Eddie’s being unusually forceful, and Steve’s vaguely aware that everyone is still out there and, probably, are now very aware that they’re shut in here together but...as Eddie’s questing fingers find the button on Steve’s jeans, he’s struggling to care about that stuff.

“We’ve got to be quiet,” Steve breathes out, a final token protest, giving in to what's about to happen. Eddie huffs dismissively, tugging down Steve’s jeans and underwear together, Steve angling his hips away from the door to help. Eddie abandons them there, bunched around Steve’s thighs, surging up for another possessive kiss. Eddie grabs Steve’s bare ass with both hands, his claws digging into the meat a little as he squeezes, pulling Steve against him.

“She not touch you again,” Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, words choppy, “promise.”

“I...I promise baby, of course,” Eddie stares into Steve’s face, their warm breaths mingling as Eddie inspects him from inches away, like he’s searching for any hint of a lie, “no one else ever again, I swear it.”

Eddie nods once, sharply, before spitting into his palm and grabbing Steve's now, very hard cock. He had no idea he’d be into this, but possessive, bossy Eddie is lighting him up in a way he didn’t know he’d like, his brain turning to mush a little as Eddie touches him. He feels too warm, flushed and sweaty already, the world narrowed down to Eddie’s touch on him, hard and fast, intent on getting him off.

“And you,” Steve’s mouth is insisting before his brain catches up, he needs it, needs to make Eddie feel good too. Eddie doesn’t stop jerking him, but he does slow it down, leaning back a tiny bit, giving Steve space to reach past the bend of Eddie’s own arm to get to the button on his jeans.

Steve sees the fabric move. He can see Eddie’s cock desperately wriggling for freedom beneath his zipper. Eddie’s told him before that it gets real uncomfortable real fast, and Steve tuts quietly, “baby.”

Eddie’s cock forces it's way free before Steve even has the zipper half down, already having found it’s way through the slit in Eddie’s boxers, it rushes into Steve’s fingers, greeting him eagerly and tangling itself firmly there. Eddie groans, shuffling close again. The head of Eddie’s cock opens, setting sucking kisses on every part of Steve’s hand and fingers it can reach. They arrange themselves as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, “fuck, baby, yeah.” Steve’s cock is leaking, making Eddie’s hand slick, but Eddie still stops to spit again, landing the glob on the exposed head of Steve’s cock. It’s red already, and Eddie squeezes, forcing Steve’s foreskin up to roll back up and partially cover the swollen head.

Steve’s guts are tight already, the muscles in his ass and legs tensing, he can’t stop the shift of his own hips as he works his thumb in circles across the head of Eddie’s own cock. Eddie jacks him again, slow and so firm, forcing a massive dribble of pre come out of the head of Steve’s cock. Steve groans again, “baby, I’m gonna’-”

“Wait,” Eddie uses his free hand to push Steve’s hand off himself, letting his cock to wriggle free between them. It stands tall, searching, the black petals rippling.

Eddie angles Steve’s cock out, pulling the head down and towards himself, and Steve instantly knows what Eddies planning, “oh fuck baby, yes, yes please.” They’ve never done this before, but just the idea of it makes Steve hips shift, his balls going tight, the orgasm bubbling at the base of his cock, “please, now,” Steve vaguely aware that he’s whining, loud and desperate.

People can hear; he doesn’t give a fuck. He wants this.

Eddie’s cock latches to the head of Steve’s, the black petals stark against the dark pink spongy head. The fit is perfect, the slit of Steve’s cock, the head, being suckled and gently rubbed by all those little bumps, the sucking pulse feels like a mouth, the texture incredible. Eddie drags his hand upward, forcing Steve’s skin up again, his foreskin sliding over top of the petals. Eddie makes a choked noise, his free hand scrabbling again at the meat of Steve’s ass. Steve desperately locks his knees to stop himself from falling. The pulsing, sucking, pulling sensation is relentless.

Eddie moves his hand again, dragging Steve's foreskin back down, revealing the filthy sight of those jet black petals cupping the head of Steve's cock, the body of Eddie's cock writhing. Steve’s head thumps back against the door, his hips wriggling now, unable to stop himself moving in tiny little thrusts, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve groans, “baby-”

Eddie leans up for a kiss. It’s messy, uncoordinated, both of them groaning and panting into each others mouths, and Steve cries out against Eddie’s lips as he comes. The pull is sharp, the stimulation on the head of his cock turning frantic as, just like with Steve’s spit on his cock, Steve’s come works to push Eddie into his own orgasm. Eddie accidentally catches Steve’s lip with his teeth, and the sting is delicious. His orgasm seems to go on forever, Eddie's cock suckling fiercely, and Eddie’s hand working him so perfectly.

Eventually, Eddie slumps forward onto Steve, Steve using his back to the door to keep them both up. “That was…” Steve starts, but doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t know how to describe what just happened. It was maybe the best orgasm of Steve’s life.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, muffled where his face is smushed into Steve’s shoulder. The head of Steve’s dick is suddenly cold, and he figures Eddie’s dick has gone back in. They stand there for a few minutes, Steve rubbing Eddie’s back, gathering themselves. Eddie clears his throat, lifting his head so he can look Steve in the eye, “I’m sorry.”

Steve frowns, brain still a little flooded with happy chemicals, “what?”

“For before. I just...I found out about you and Nancy and I got...I got so angry. It,” Eddie makes a motion between them, a churning of his insides that he can’t express, “I’ve never felt like that before it was...like I hated her. And I needed you and I don’t understand-”

“You were jealous, baby?”

“I...yeah, it was horrible. And stupid- I didn’t – there’s no-” Eddie huffs, struggling for the words.

“How you feel doesn’t always make sense. There’s no...rules, you know.” Steve frowns, remembering, “should probably say sorry to Nancy though, you like, hissed at her which, kind of funny but still.”

Eddie looks a cross between horrified and mortified, “I don’t even remember.”

“Wow,” Steve can’t help being smug, “got it bad for me, huh?”

Eddie limply slaps at Steve’s chest, sighing through his nose, “shut up.”

Steve hums, “uh huh. We should get cleaned up.”

“Probably.”

They peel themselves apart, Steve leaning to grab for some tissue off the roll as Eddie starts to pull his pants down a little, but as Steve investigates, his finds his cock dry, “huh, where did it go?” He wipes up a little, the skin tacky with spit and precome, but otherwise everything is clean and dry, “uh...is my come on you? I can’t, uhm, find it?” He tucks himself away, pulling everything up so he can help Eddie.

“I don’ t think so?” Eddie replies, touching himself, his slit, the crease of his thighs, when Steve goes to wipe at him with the tissue, since Eddie usually makes a lot of come, there’s nothing, “I’m clean,” Eddie tells him.

Steve frowns, “did you come?”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, “I definitely, definitely did. That was…”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “but you’re dry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie scissors his thighs together, something he normally does when he’s spreading all the jelly like come about, “nothing there.”

“This is weird, where'd it all go? And why haven’t you, you know?” Steve feels for himself, running two fingers gently along Eddie’s slit, pushing in to part him the tiniest bit, Eddie makes a breathy little noise as Steve pulls away, “you sure you came?”

“Steve,” Eddie replies flatly, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.

“Right right it’s just...weird, right?”

Eddie shrugs, “makes it easy?”

“Yeah...don’t look a gift horse in the mouth I guess, considering we now have to go out there and face everyone.”

Eddie grins, “I like that they know.”

“Of course you do,” Steve sighs, fixes his hair in the mirror, and opens the door.

It’s after midnight; Eddie’s birthday is officially over. All the kids have gone home with Hopper and Joyce, and before everyone else heads home, since it’s Christmas, they’re going to exchange gifts now.

Steve had been, mildly mortified after they came out of the bathroom, not really wanting to face Joyce's raised eyebrows or the girls giggling...Eddie however, has been strutting around like a proud peacock, so Steve hasn't been feeling too ashamed about the whole thing. He is however, glad of the distraction of the gifts.

All the gifts are stacked under the tree, and Steve has been voted to distribute. A lot of the labels have been made from cut up magazine letters so that the hand writing won’t be recognized; to Steve they vaguely look like ransom threats.

They go around the room, opening their gifts one at a time, trying to guess who got them. They mostly work it out. Steve isn’t that interested in his own; he’s more interested in what Eddie got. The box is actually kind of heavy, and it’s pretty big.

Eddie opens it happily, pulling out a record that Steve knows he’s wanted for ages. And then...a denim jacket with no sleeves that Steve knows he was eyeing at the thrift store. Steve watches with mounting suspicion as Eddie pulls out a book he's talked about. The box, now Steve’s thinking about it, is wrapped with very familiar wrapping paper.

“Eddie, you got loads, they definitely didn’t stay on budget. Who got Eddie? Steve, was it you?”

“No, no it wasn’t me,” Steve quietly chuckles to himself. He half listens as Robin goes around the room, and every single person denies getting Eddie.

“Whoever pulled your name must know you pretty well, huh Baby? They got you exactly what you wanted.”

“Yup,” Eddie grins happily.

“Steve, come on, it must have been you, it wasn’t any of us.”

Steve just shakes his head in denial before turning back to Eddie, “baby...it’s kind of against the rules to pull your own name.”

Eddie frowns, “no it isn’t,” the whole room erupts into laughter around them.

Steve tries to clear up some of the aftermath, but it’s nearly two in the morning and he can’t be fucked really. He collapses on the couch, finishing his now warm flat soda. He can hear Eddie pottering, “we should go to bed!” Steve calls. He’s not loud, not much above speaking volume really, but he knows Eddie will hear him.

“Can we do our gifts now?” Eddie asks from the doorway.

“Sure Baby, if you want to. We’re going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway,” they’re spending Christmas with the Hopper-Byers brigade, and Steve is kind of looking forward to it. Eddie’s second ever Christmas.

Steve heads off to his hiding place in one of the spare rooms to get Eddie’s gifts, Eddie does the same; Steve knows his are stashed out in the utility.

He’s been pretending not to know.

“Okay, me first,” Eddie says, sitting and pulling out what Steve knows is the record. Steve eyes the gift he has from Eddie; just the one, but it’s fairly big looking. Square. Steve has no idea what it could be.

Eddie likes the record; he absolutely loves the book of Metallica tabs and almost leaves to get his guitar right there and then, but Steve stops him, “tomorrow baby. We really need to sleep after this.”

Eddie laughs at himself and his own excitement, agreeing. When he opens his final gift, the guitar pick necklace, he puts it on immediately and swears he loves it so much he’s never going to take if off. Steve’s glad to hear it, even if it makes him feel, momentarily, a little weirdly possessive.

“Okay, this first,” Eddie pulls over the box, “Chrissy helped me,” he admits as Steve unwraps it, carefully pulling out the frame inside. It’s wrapped in soft packing paper, and Steve pulls that away to reveal his crown. It’s been artfully arranged behind the glass, all dried now, the tufts of grasses stand tall, still twined up with all the little flowers that Eddie had included. Clearly someone spent a very long time carefully setting it out, and it looks beautiful. Steve had carefully stored it away in a shoebox, so he hadn't even noticed it was gone. He’s...touched, by the memory of them in the woods around Hopper’s cabin. Eddie had told Steve he loved him for the first time not long after.

“Thank you...it’s so thoughtful. Thank you. I can hang this up and remember it forever, I love it.” Eddie smiles, slipping off the couch to kneel in front of Steve. Steve sets the frame down.

Eddie pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket, “I didn’t understand what it meant,” he starts slowly, “when you put this on me,” he lifts his left hand, rubbing at the ring with his thumb. “I didn’t know what being engaged was, or weddings or...any of it. I didn’t know, but you loved me anyway, and I’ve never taken it off,” Steve swallows thickly, he knows, he knows in his bones where this is going, but he lets Eddie speak. If Eddie’s saying so may words in one go, it means he’s really thought about, and Steve won’t interrupt him. “But I know now. I understand all of it, and I know I’m a guy, and...we can’t get married, but I...wanted to show you that I know. I know now, and I love you too.”

Eddie opens the box, it’s a simple silver band, thicker than Eddie’s but still, it matches. Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to speak, his eyes already feel wet, so he silently holds his hand out for Eddie to slide the ring on; it fits perfectly.

Steve feels like he’ll crack open if he tries to talk about what he feels right now, it’s too big, too much, “you measured my finger didn’t you. Before the mall? So sneaky.”

Eddie nods, his own eyes looking suspiciously misty, smiling and biting at his lip, clearly nervous, “do you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love it, thank you. I love you.”

Eddie smiles, sitting up for a kiss, “love you, too.”

Part FortyOne