#if you look at the pants you’re homophobic

[cartooncreature]

cw: scopophobia

it himb the silly goofy

w/o doodles and w/o color:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Stop flirting and start fighting

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[robilover]

Robin and Topaz taking care of an overworked fem!reader Headcanons !

pairing(s): robin, topaz x fem!reader (separate)

cw: purely sfw, mentions of topaz’s real name, massaging, a little makeout session (topaz), non-sexual bubble bath (topaz), men and homophobes dni.

a/n: I accidentally deleted the ask, I’m so sorry😭 I’ll do both for you! do take some rest, you deserve them and you need them. I hope this is to your liking. <3

Robin

robin is a very busy woman; being a famous intergalactic songstress and all, she also gets tired from all the tours and her very obsessive fans.

she’s used to going home late, to see you home first before her. however, there will be times wherein she’s the first to come home, your presence absent.

robin would be surprised to see you come home late. she will get very concerned. she would ask you how work was for you today, and when you respond with a tired sigh, she doesn’t ask any more questions, so as to not overwhelm you further.

she will offer to let her take care of you, wanting to carry you back to your shared bedroom. it doesn’t matter about your size, she’s strong enough to lift you in her arms. she doesn’t want you to exert any more effort in anything, just wanting you to rest.

robin will cuddle you close to her heart. <3

she will lull you to sleep, humming and singing softly into your ear until you fall asleep in her arms. she even gently massages your head, your arms — the parts where you think you feel sore at.

as soon as you’re asleep, she will let out a sigh as her face forms another frown. she’d then reach out to her phone that was on the nightstand. it must’ve been a hard day for you, wasn’t it? don’t worry, robin will take care of everything. she will make sure that you will be back to your energetic self.

the morning after that, when you slowly woke up, you’re surprised that robin was still with you. she was only in an oversized shirt and pyjama pants, her hair up in a messy bun as she had a cup of coffee in her hand. the faint noise of the television can be heard in the bedroom as you thought that robin was watching a movie or something.

you stirred, letting out a soft groan as you felt robin’s arm tightening a bit around you. she looked down at you with a smile.

“you’re awake,” she whispered. “good morning, sweetheart. slept well?” she leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

“mm, good morning, robin.. what time is it?” you greeted, nuzzling your face into her chest, resulting in a giggle from your girlfriend.

“it’s 8:30 in the morning, love.”

suddenly, you stopped moving. your sleepiness vanished in a split second.

“h-huh? I-I’m late for work!” you panicked as you tried to get up, only to be stopped by robin.

“no, you are resting today.” she said with a chuckle. “you are on a day off. I don’t want my girlfriend to tire herself again.” she added, placing her mug on the nightstand to maneuver you on top of her.

“you’re in for a weekend to get spoiled by yours truly. I had to call your boss that you’ll be staying home for a few days.” robin explained softly as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her hand gently making your head rest on her chest, her free hand gently caressing at the small of your back.

“what about you?” you asked, your cheek against her chest.

“don’t worry about me, honey. this weekend will be all about you.”

—

Topaz

just like robin, topaz is also a very busy woman; being one of the ten stonehearts, being the manager of the strategic investment department of the ipc, even being the leader of the special debts picket team. that’s a lot to shoulder.

as soon as she sees that stressed out look on your face as you were on your phone, she takes your phone and turns it off. numby would even place your phone to who knows where (just on a table) as topaz will pick you up in her arms, bridal style.

topaz will try to get that stressed expression off of your face as she tries to make some lighthearted jokes.

don’t stress yourself out! only she can be stressed, she’d chuckle. it will result in her getting a slap on the shoulder. she says that it’s to lighten up the mood. don’t be so grumpy~

she would carry you to the bedroom and tells you to stay there so she can prepare a bubble bath for the both of you. who were you to refuse? you love taking bubble baths with topaz! minus numby. it’s just for the both of you. sorry, numby. not tonight.

once in the bathtub, topaz will pull you close to her (naked) body and massage your head that it’d already make you sleepy. she’d also massage your shoulders, arms, hands, thighs — anywhere, really. as long as you ask her where to, she will do as you say.

topaz loves to press fleeting kisses along your neck as your body is pressed against hers. it makes her feel just as relaxed as you.

“there— ah, that’s the spot, topaz..” you sighed in content as topaz massaged your shoulders and back. she let out a soft chuckle.

“right here, baby?” she giggled while massaging you, even pressing a gentle kiss on your shoulder blade, making you smile.

“mhm,” you hummed with a chuckle, leaning your back against her front. after a while of massaging you, topaz wrapped her arms around your waist and rested her chin on your shoulder.

there was a comforting silence enveloping the both of you. topaz’s soft hums can be heard as she thought that it would at least soothe you. pressing another kiss onto your shoulder, she whispered.

“feeling relaxed yet?” she said against your skin.

“yes,” you replied. “it’s all because of you, jelena. thank you for this.” you added with a gentle smile, turning your head to press a kiss against her temple. topaz’s cheeks flushed at the kiss, feeling giddy; especially when you called her her real name.

“d’aww, it’s nothing, sweetheart! anything for my sweet girl.” she chuckled.

moments later, she pulled herself out of the bathtub to get a towel, then pulled you out of the bathtub as well. she wrapped the towel around herself and you with a giggle, gently leading you out of the bathroom and to your shared bedroom.

as soon as you were both dressed in your matching pyjamas, topaz picked you up in her arms and carried you to the bed, earning a giggle from you. she first sat down and placed you on her lap, her hands on your hips.

topaz pressed soft kisses against your lips before giving you a gentle yet passionate kiss. your arms around her neck as you both kissed.

both of you made out for a while until you pulled back to press your forehead against hers. with a breathless smile, you whispered against her lips.

“I love you, jelena.”

“I love you more, y/n.”

[sassytommykinard]

Reprieve

Hi again, it's me, I'm the problem, it's me. I really didn't intend to write anything tonight, but I have too many words in my head. This is another fic, this time super short and sweet, for @bucktommypositivityweek round two, day 4: supportive boyfriends. I hope you guys like it!

bucktommy - Words: 554 - Rating: T - Complete

Tommy thinks Evan looks hot like this, sweaty, hands taped and punching the pads Tommy's got attached to his hands as Evan hits right, left, right, left and rants. Too bad this rant is about a man who made Tommy's days at the 118 his most miserable days in the closet. "I don't know how much more I can handle," Evan pants out with one more hit before putting his hands on his hips and folding in on himself at the waist. “What was it today?” Tommy asks, not sure if he wants to know. Evan is silent for a moment then he stands to his full height and says, “He asked me if faeries like to fly on the top or the bottom.” Tommy thinks about that one. He knows what Gerrard is going for but- “That doesn’t even make sense.” Evan throws his hands up in frustration. “I know! Like, if you’re going to be homophobic, at least make it good!” “He’s probably running out of ideas at this point.” Evan blows out a breath. “I know you said you wanted to avoid telling me what to do here, but I’m going crazy.” Tommy moves forward to wrap his arms around Evan’s waist, pulling him in. Evan wraps his arms around him in turn and practically sags against Tommy, so much so that Tommy’s more or less holding him up. “I have avoided giving you advice about this because I’m just not sure I’m the right person to do it,” Tommy admits. “I dealt with him by staying closeted and being an asshole.” “You did that to survive,” Evan points out, not for the first time. “I know but I still don’t feel great about it.” “I know,” Evan says. “If you could do it differently, what would you do?” “What you’re already doing,” Tommy says instantly, then motions to Evan’s curly hair, which he stopped using straighteners on three days after Gerrard started. They’re adorable and currently ruffled from the practice but Tommy freaking loves running his fingers through them at any given time. “He hates those right?” Evan grins. “Oh yeah. But it’s still within regulations so he can’t do anything about it. So what, keep changing my appearance? Should I grow a mustache like Eddie?” They both say, at the same time, “Nah.” Tommy laughs a little. “No. I am saying you could just annoy the shit out of him. You could go at him with a clipboard? Find all the regulations he’s missed because there have to be like a hundred by now.” “He’s a hypocrite,” Evan says and Tommy shrugs, because yeah. Gerrard always picked and chose what to follow and what to ignore based on what suited him. “But yeah, that’s an idea. Weaponize my powers for evil. Excellent. Thank you. I know you haven’t wanted to tell me what to do about this, but you’ve been a godsend for just, like, keeping me from killing him.” “Can’t hold you like this if you’re in prison,” Tommy points out, hearing the fondness in his own voice. “True.” Tommy smiles and kisses his cheek. “Do you want to keep going? We haven’t eaten anything for dinner yet.” Evan gives him a squeeze. “Make out in the shower first?” Evan, naked and wet in the shower? “You’re on.”

tag list: @desert--moonchild, @sazzynatural, @multishippinghussy, @mmso-notlikethat, @tommy-kinard-buckley,

@sunnywithachanceofbi, @sleepywinchesters, @buck-up-buckley, @manifestingchaoticvibes, @corvid-cryptidd

@lbltpsmspenguin, @theotherbuckley

[allzelemonz]

Settle: Merle Dixon X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, language Warnings: Slurs (homophobic), Merle Dixon is his own warning, mention of Merle’s SS symbol, typical southern prejudice/homophobia, neck kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, cockwarming, hand job, cuddling, top Merle and bottom Reader Summary: After striking out with every woman in camp, Merle turns to you and ignores the gay aspect of sleeping with another man in favor of getting laid. A/N: Imagine my lack of surprise but utter disappointment in finding no male reader shit for Merle. Written out of spite. Enjoy.

After a third pill and a third strikeout, Merle is almost certain he’ll have to handle himself tonight. No woman in the whole damn camp wants any action, even with a touch of good ol’ Southern charm Merle attempted. Not a bite from anyone. So Merle stumbled through the cluster of tents, only half as high as he’d like to be and blue balls stiff between his legs. Just as he’s about to turn a corner towards his tent on the outskirts with his brother’s, he catches a pretty sight.

Not that Merle is gay. Of course not. But the man is asleep with his tent partly unzipped, shirt off and back arched like a damn whore. How could Merle not stare just a little. His eyes trail over your back, bare and just fuzzied by the drugs in his system that he may mistake things enough to ignore the dick between your legs.

So he kicks your foot, waking you up.

Your hand goes to your knife first, then you turn to see it’s not something dead behind you. “What, Merle?”

“Ya a queer?”

You squint at him, off put by the way he says it. “Why’re you asking?”

He shrugs. “Fella can’t be curious.”

“Not with that Nazi symbol on your bike you can’t.” You close your hand around your knife. “Go away.”

Merle chuckles, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Woah, woah, there… I was just askin’.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Fine. Yeah, I like men. I’m a queer. Are we done here?”

Merle bites at the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with the right words. “Ya let me fuck ya?”

“What?” You ask, sitting up to look at him properly.

Merle scoffs. “Ya heard me. Would ya?”

“Why would you-“

“Ladies ‘round here bein’ stingy.” Merle shrugs. “Hole’s a hole.”

“You’re joking.” You say in disbelief.

“Ain’t like I never fucked an ass before. It’s the same shit.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s really not.”

“Aw, come on, I’ll be quick.” Merle attempts a pout. “Ain’t no trouble.”

You sigh, shaking your head because you know it’s a dumb idea somewhere deep down. “Fine.”

Merle grins. “Atta boy.”

“Get on with it then.” You sigh, watching Merle step inside. “Zipper.”

Merle turns and zips the tent closed behind him, fumbling with it for longer than any regular person would. When he turns his hands go straight to his belt.

You watch his fingers move for a second. “You ever fucked another man before.”

Merle snorts. “Course not. I ain’t a queer.”

“It’s a little different, you know.”

“What?” Merle sneers. “I gotta play with yer pecker er somethin’?”

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. But you have to stick your fingers in for a while and stretch things out.”

“Yer just picky.”

“Maybe. Just do it, asshole, or I’m not gonna let you fuck anything.”

Merle pulls his belt free. “Fine. Pants off then, sweetheart.”

You huff, annoyed at Merle already, but it’s been far too long since you’ve had this chance. You pull your pants off, ignoring Merle’s eyes on your legs and turn around to lay on your stomach.

“Alright.” Merle grins, shuffling up behind you and nudging your legs apart. “What am I doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You turn your head back, half wanting to see the sight. “Put your fingers in your mouth.”

“Why?”

“Spit’s the only lube we have.” You mutter. “Just do it.”

Merle glares slightly, but does as he’s told and presses three fingers past his lips. He sucks on them, his other hand already going to your hip. It’s clear he’s never been the type to do this with any of the women he’s been with either. Without prompting, he drops the hand down and traces until he finds your rim.

“Ya ready for Merle’s magic fingers, boy?”

“Shut up.”

Merle chuckles, circling his finger around before slowly pushing inside. “Whew…” Merle exclaims. “Tight little thing, ain’t ya?”

You open your mouth to speak but Merle’s finger drags against your prostate and all you can manage is a groan as you bury your face down into your pillow.

He leans over you, his hand moving up to grip at the bare skin of your chest. “I find somethin’ good?”

You nod, mindlessly pushing back into him. “Fuck, Merle…”

He repeats the drag, his fingers moving quickly to fuck whatever sounds he can get out of you. You don’t expect much more, but he leans down and presses his lips to your neck. He trails sloppy kisses over your skin, his fingers fully thrusting into you at a quick pace.

“You want me?” Merle murmurs next to your ear. “Want Merle to fuck ya better than some fairy ever could, don’t ya?”

“Yeah…” You answer, spreading your legs as much as you can. “Why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Merle grins against your skin. “You just be a good boy. You’re good at that.”

He sits back up, removing his fingers and positioning himself properly behind you. His hands fix on your waist, pulling you back and propping you up on your widespread knees. You feel his tip press against you for just a second before he presses inside. There certainly isn’t enough lubrication or preparation, so the stretch of being entered hurts just enough to make a few whines form in your throat. Merle pushes all the same, stretching you open and filling you up with everything he has.

He groans as he bottoms out, running a hand over your spine. “You feel so damn good, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip slightly. “Might turn me gay…”

Before you can think much about that, Merle begins to piston his hips at a quick pace. Both of his hands grip tightly at your hips and the force of his thrusts presses you forward into your pillow, only held up at the waist for Merle to fuck into you properly. You let him, relaxing into the hold and letting him use you because the slide of his dick hitting your prostate feels better than anything else. Merle pushes you down to lay flat, leaning over you and rocking into you as his head dips against your shoulder. The sleeping bag below you rubs at your dick with every thrust Merle gives you.

“Knew I liked you.” Merle mutters, half to himself. “Better than any damn woman… shit, sweetheart.”

Merle’s hips stutter and he groans as he releases, burying himself as deep as he can into you. You take heavy breaths as Merle relaxes on top of you, trying to ignore the squirming feeling of not having finished. Then Merle’s hand snakes under you, pumping furiously fast and gripping hard until you mutter his name and your vision blurs for a moment as you spurt cum onto your sleeping bag.

His hand slows to a massaging tempo and you can hear him inhaling strongly. “Ya gotta let me do that again sometime, boy.” He murmurs. “God, yer making me inta a queer.”

“Happy to help.” You mutter, still catching your breath.

Merle chuckles, letting both arms encircle you as he fully lets himself relax on top of you. “So ya liked my dick in ya?”

You bury your head into your pillow, avoiding his annoying question.

Merle chuckles. “Lemme sleep here?”

“Whatever.”

“Can I fuck ya in the mornin’?”

“If you want.”

He grins, settling his lips right next to your ear. “Ya gonna help keep little Merle warm all night too?”

You groan as he pushes against you, his soft dick still filling you and linking the both of you together. “Just sleep, jackass.”

He chuckles again. “Whatever you say, queer.”

[dorkszn]

PLS PLS PLS MORE GALLAVICH X READER CAN WE GET THEM BEING PROTECTIVE OF READER

GUARD DOGS + gallavich

sfw under the cut, homophobia, violence, cursing, homophobic slurs, sorry it’s short

+ i have state testing coming up so sorry if I’m not very active!!

“Fuck off, Damien!” You shout, pushing at the hands gripping your shirt. The man ignores your order and throws you against the wall. You wince harshly as your head hits the bricks. As if there wasn’t enough of your blood dripping down your nose onto his skin. You swing at his arms and body, banging your fist against him.

“Just like any other faggot, not strong enough to do anything but take dick in your ass.” He laughs, he pulls you up to slam you into the wall again but a voice interrupts him.

“Let him go, Dame.” Mickey suddenly calls out. You both turn to look and find Mickey and Ian standing near the entrance of the alley. A bat stained with old blood sits in Ian’s hand. It goes with the clear gun print within Mickey’s jacket.

“Relax, I don’t want your bitch.” Damien scoffs with a smug grin.

“You got until 3 to get the hell out of here.” Ian threatens, gripping the bat harshly and bringing it to his shoulder.

“1,” Damien lets you go.

“2,” Damien shoves you against the wall and spits at you.

Bang! There’s no three. Just a loud bang. You frantically look up and see Damien in the crouch position on the ground then Mickey holding up the pistol, not aiming particularly at Damien.

“Okay! Okay! Fuck! Relax!” Damien barks out, stammering to find his footing while backing away. “Control your damn dogs!” He adds to you, shooting you a shaken-up glare. You watch as he stumbles down the alleyway before taking off down the road.

Ian sets down the bat and jogs over to you. “You alright?” He questions, scanning your body up and down while patting your arms and shoulders.

“Just a little bit of blood and probably CTE,” you half-snort, rubbing the back of your head. Ian covers your hand with his, softly holding you.

“The blood’s kinda hot,” Mickey comments with a smirk, tucking the gun back into his pants. You turn to him and grin.

“Dame was right, you guys are some fucking dogs.” You chuckle, wiping some blood from your nose with the back of your hand. Ian pulls you from the wall and puts an arm around your shoulder, the two guiding you back down the alleyway. You grab the bat as you walk by it.

“You love us,” Mickey scoffs, lighting a cigarette between his teeth.

“I never said I didn’t, sweetheart,” you hum, reaching for the stick. Mickey casts you a side glare.

“Don’t call me that shit,” He huffs, pulling the cigarette away from you. He loved it. But he wouldn’t tell you that. “You can’t fucking breathe, how you s’pose to smoke?”

“Ian’s done it,” you answer with a frown.

“Well you’re not me,” Ian interjects, ruffling your hair. Mickey passes the cig in front of you and to Ian, who takes a long drag from it before blowing the smoke in your face.

“Asshole,” you hiss, slightly shoving him to the side. Ian gives you a smug grin through the white puff. His freckles lifted with the corners of his lips. “So what are we doing about Dame?” You ask with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, we’ll deal with that fucker later. Right now, we’re getting you to V.” The redhead replies.

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hi! I hope your okay! I was just wondering if I could get an angst with happy ending m!readerxhotch. No worries if not! Thank you!!

Hiya, it's not romantic or anything, more of a familial bond between the two but I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: homophobic parents, getting kicked out because of homophobic parents

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, wiping your eyes quickly before looking up. “I, er, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Hotch immediately frowns, seeing his intern at his door, soaking wet, eyes rimmed red. He wordlessly moves out of the way, ushering the younger man in. He had about a million questions to ask. ‘A time and a place,’ He reminded himself gently. 

“How about you set your bag down, take your shoes off, and try and warm up in the shower?” He says, giving you a small smile. “I’ll find you some clothes to change into and I’ll put what you’re wearing in the wash.”

You looked at him before giving a small nod. “Y-yeah, thank you.”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to thank me,” Hotch gave a small smile. “When you’ve done that, we’ll talk, alright?” You nod. That seemed like a good plan. 

You take your shoes off, placing your bag on top - not wanting to get your boss’ floor too wet - and followed him upstairs. 

“Jack’s asleep right now, but he sleeps like a log,” Hotch’s lips curl upwards slightly, “Fresh towels are in the cupboard, help yourself. Use whatever you need to.” 

And with that, you gave an awkward nod and Hotch made his way to the guest bedroom. 

You showered quickly, using the first shampoo and conditioner (separate bottles, not 2in1) as well as the first bar of soap you saw. 

A quiet knock on the door drew you out of your thoughts, “(Y/N)? Can I come in? I’ve got some clothes,”

“Oh, er, yeah,” You answer. The door opens quietly, there’s a gentle sound.

“Alright, I’ll be downstairs, okay? I’ll put the kettle on.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

Thanking the heavens to feel warm with your skin no longer sticky, you stepped out, wrapping a towel around your waist. There was nothing worse than rain making your skin itch. You looked at the clothes Hotch had piled up for you, they were probably going to be a little big, but the pants had drawstrings, so it wasn’t exactly the end of the world. 

You made your way downstairs once dressed, feet padding softly against the carpet. When you enter, Hotch turns to you, two cups of tea in hand. “Perfect timing.” He places, the cups on the table. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He sits first, you follow suite.

“I’m sorry,” You say. “I, er, I didn’t know what else to do. Sorry for bothering you at home, in practically the middle of the night-“

“(Y/N), you’re absolutely fine,” Hotch gives a smile. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to be able to reach out… But, I do have a question, if that’s alright?”

Nodding, you quickly answer, “Yeah, I, er,  I thought you might have a question or two.”

“Okay, and obviously you don’t have to answer them, not if you don’t want to.” He pauses for a moment, “What happened?”

You take a moment, watching the light dance off the tea. “I… I’m not really all that sure.” You swallow. “My parents and I got into an argument.”

Hotch nods slowly. He knew you were still at college, living with your parents in order to save up money. “Okay…”

“I, er, sort of… might have been kicked out.” You say, cupping the hot beverage in your hands. “It’s sort of a bit hazy. I just know that they yelled, I yelled, and I think they told me to, and I quote: ‘get the fuck out and stay out’,”

Hotch frowns, eyes darting over your face as he took the information in. “If you don’t mind my asking, what brought this on?”

“I told them- well, I didn’t tell them, they found out – but that part’s not all that important right now. I’m rambling a little, sorry.” You pause, taking a small breath. “They found out I was gay.”

You watch as Hotch’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry that’s how they reacted. That’s not fair on you.” He pauses. “How are you feeling about it all?”

“Um, well, I was flustered, I guess?” You said.

“And now?”

“Done.” You gave a shrug, “I don’t think I can be bothered to care. It’s probably the sleep deprivation, lack of coffee, or even adrenaline, but I can’t- I can’t seem to get myself to care right now.”

You pause to scratch the back of your head, risking a sip of your tea and burning your tongue in the process, but you carry on. “Like, I know I should care. I really should. Because if they’re serious about it, then right now, I’m technically homeless.” You look back at Hotch. “But all I can think about is the report you wanted me to finish… It’s not finished, by the way.”

“(Y/N), right now, I don’t care about the report, okay? Don’t worry about the report. But here’s what we’re going to do, tomorrow morning, I’m going to drop Jack off at Jessica’s, and I’m going to drive you home.” Hotch says, “I’ll go in with you and we’ll pack up some things, okay? Essentials for a few days or things you don’t feel like you can live without.”

“Hotch, you don’t have to drive me-”

“(Y/N), don’t even bother trying to argue it.” You snap your jaw shut and give another nod. “Good. But, for now, try to relax, drink your tea, alright? The guest bedroom’s all made up for you.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,”

“No, Hotch. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

[thewriterg]

𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭

pairing(s); jj maybank x male!reader,

summary; from chasing gold, running from authority, and having having more near death experiences than you should at your age you and jj was as thick as thieves it was unfortunate that he couldn’t quite fully commit to you or his true current self —kinktober day; 25—

word count; 800+

warning(s); smut, kisses, hickeys, angst, homophobe luke maybank, hoping for the impossible, you both are 18 🤸🏾‍♀️, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @fdastory & @sarahmichellesgellar— I missed a day so two fics today because I’m quite literally getting over a concussion 💀 (GIFs do not determine race of r)

It was sacred to say the least, but that’s what it should’ve been. It’s what it was at the end of the day How could you be explain JJ Maybank to someone who’d never faced him before in less than three words it was simple; loyal, curious, and the love of your life

until he wasn’t

The blondes on top of you prepping kisses down your neck occasionally leaving a bruise that would darken by the morning time when the sun came up allowing the bloomed ladybugs and butterflies in your stomach time to rest from their continuous flying and fluttering, to give your lively heart a break from its abnormal accelerating while it beats against your ribs in your chest it’s gonna beat out, it’s gonna rip out your skin and jump into his hands while he will stares down at it and you wait to see if he’ll engulf it into him accept it as a part of him, or if he would drop it in disgust.

“You’re so pretty baby… such a pretty boy, my pretty boy” JJ whispers while you’re groaning at the phrase the sound of your pleasure going straight down to his cock that was buried into you the own head of your length red and angry looking leaking pre cum from your slit your warm walls are wrapped around him mixed cum rimmed around both of your stretched holes a reminder how you absolutely rocked his shit fucked him like you hated his guts until the very end until it was his turn to bring you back down to earth with his slow and deep thrust that edged the tip of your prostate

“F-fuck, don’t talk like that or I’m g’nna cum” You were panting out of breath like a dog in heat and the pale skinned boy could feel your erection lying flat against his stomach while he was atop of your figure when he felt the flat of your palms pressed against him fondling his ass in your hold mirroring your wolf like grin stomach dropping before picking up again until you begin to feel your chords chip off piece by piece indicating you were close and you could tell the blonde was too by his sudden needs to be vocal while his hip stuttered there rut into you causing you to move your fingers up the bottom half of his lower body those blue eyes that reflected the Ocean nowhere to be seen while he tucked his face in your neck hiding in your warmth needy voices that demanded your attention traveling right up to your ear drum while you took control of the blondes hips grinding him against yourself goosebumps the sizes of dimes appearing on your skin until you felt hot ropes shooting up into you and with a clenched of your hole your cum covered the blondes stomach

You both sat there panting making no mover to get up anytime soon you press a kiss to JJs grown out mane stray pieces of hair sticking to his sleek covered forehead while he didn’t same to you neck occasionally running his teeth over your pulse point making you shiver while his cock was plunged into you locking in his cum that had yet to spill from your depth basking in the peaceful comforting silence until you heard the front door swing open and JJ felt how you tensed under him and he moved barely an inch to lie his head on your chest it made you deflate just a little yet it was enough for him

“JJ!” The rough voice of his father carried through the house and he squeezed his eyes shut before yelling back a sound of acknowledgement the drunk mumbling about his footsteps rummaging around the house until they stopped abruptly probably when he crashed on the couch you try not to smile at him overcoming it by not hiding you going to kiss his pink plump lips but of course, a second spoke too soon.

“We can’t” He grumbled getting up from his position on top of you to sit beside you and you sat up suit your arms resting on your knees as you sight turned gaze fixed to him

“Why not?” It was a true, honest, question you had why couldn’t you kiss outside of having sex why could he tell Luke to go fuck himself on anything other he had negative to say or tried to put input on a decision in his life yet went hush puppy when it came to you it made you sick as you watched those piercing electric orbs stare into you

“I wish you were a girl”

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify

Took me like 3 years to fully commit and stop being a pussy to writing a male reader

[hp-hcs]

Hello.

I really like the way you wrote gay Mattheo. Could I request another fic from this "series"? Thanks in advance 😘

(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 7 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)

ENGLISH AIN’T ALWAYS ENGLISH (Chapter Three of Gay Awakening) — british! mattheo riddle x male! american! reader

basically the pair realize their cultural differences

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Here,” you grin, plonking down on the couch next to Mattheo and holding out a cut-out paper turkey shaped like a handprint. “I’m thankful for you this year.”

He took the paper with a baffled expression on his face. “…what?”

“I’m thankful for y- oh. Right. England. Sorry, American holiday, I forgot.”

Mattheo blinked. “You have a holiday where you give each other paper fowl?”

“No. Well, yes, but- y’know, it’s complicated.”

“I see,” he said slowly, in a way that suggested that he did not, in fact, see. “Is it like your… Freedom Day? America Day? Er… what’s it called again?”

“Independence Day. And not really. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Well, then what does this holiday celebrate?” Mattheo asked, somewhat amused as he shook the paper turkey to emphasize his point.

You hesitate. “Well…”

“It’s not good, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Ah. Why the turkey?”

“Americans make abhorrent amounts of food for Thanksgiving. Turkey is the main dish, usually.”

“Thanksgi- oh, is that why you said you’re thankful for me?” He looked quite pleased with himself for deducing that.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “It’s a pretty odd cultural event, I guess. We eat a shit ton, watch football, have to see our homophobic relatives; it really is a wonderful holiday.”

“Football? Like the… muggle sport? Where you can’t use your hands at all?”

“Oh, no. I’m talking American football; where they only use their hands. And like, tackle each other and shit.”

“…right. Anyways, back to the turkey day. When is it? Is it today?”

“Nah, it’s in a couple weeks. It’s the fourth Thursday of every November.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

~~~

“Y/N, could you hand me a rubber?”

Mattheo looked up at you after he didn’t hear a response. You were sitting there, dumbfounded, mouth hanging open slightly.

“…Y/N?”

“Jesus Christ, ‘theo, that’s one way to be forward.”

“…what?”

Your face was burning in embarrassment as you fumbled for words. “Please tell me that means something else in snobby Brit.”

“What, rubber?”

“Yes!”

“A… a rubber. You know, to remove errors?” He gave you a baffled look.

You paused. “…I mean you’re not wrong.”

“No, I’m not…?” He trailed off before shaking his head and laughing. “Oh, Salazar. Tell me what it means in American.”

“A rubber is a condom.”

“Oh!”

Mattheo looked startled, a pink flush rising in his cheeks. “A rubber- it erases, Y/N. Pencil lead.”

“Then why wouldn’t you just call it an eraser?!”

You’re both silent for a moment, with matching blushes, before you both crack up.

“Oh, god, you don’t wanna mix those up, huh?” You get out between laughs.

~~~

“Hey, ‘theo, you oughta read this A&E article. It’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious feels like an odd term to use, Y/N,” he says, looking puzzled.

“American,” you say reflexively, after months of these vernacular conflicts. “Stands for Arts & Entertainment.”

“Ah,” Mattheo nods, used to your immediate explanation. “Accident & Emergency.”

You both snicker.

~~~

“Oh, man. Looks like Enz and Nott went on a bender,” you snicker.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow wordlessly.

“Got absolutely shitcanned.”

“Gotcha.”

~~~

“What the hell is an aubergine?”

“A vegetable. Purple?”

“An eggplant?”

“Americans really suck at naming things.”

“Like you’re one to talk, Mr. Pants-Aren’t-Actually-Pants-In-British.”

“You’re still mad about that? Well, I’m still disappointed from when you made me ‘biscuits’.”

“Oh, shush.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

had a very awkward conversation today with a british friend and we had that eraser/rubber mixup ourselves 💀

thank you for requesting, you a real one homie <3

[thedvilsinthedetails]

Rosekiller band au microfic series part 5!!!!

link to first part

link to prev part

AHHH GUYS I FINALLY COMPLETED ITTTTT

Ok so. This one’s short

like real short

bc I was honestly gonna put pt 4 and 5 together originally (pt4 was like a little over 700 words and this one is a little over 300 and normally the microfics in this series are about 1200 words or so) but then I thought they kind of work better separate

so anyway here’s a lil ending for u, Evan’s POV is back and im so happy with how this series turned out

taglistttt: @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @depressedtheatrekiddo @picklerab23 @lady-stardust-incarnate @lulublack90 @always-reading @no-names-work @mossycow @weirdtinkerbellversion @nikholascrow @y0url0verb0y @idk-what-to-put-here-123

***

“…so yeah when we got to the venue we were told to avoid ‘untoward behaviour’ and…well we all know what that means so instead we kissed. Fuck the homophobic rules honestly.”

Barty did air quotes as he said ‘untoward behaviour’, twisting his face like he was tasting something bad. The comments were mainly positive, agreeing with them. As usual there were mean ones popping up at the bottom of the live, for once though Evan didn’t care. At all. His head was still fuzzy with the rush of the kiss. They’d kissed. He’d kissed Barty. It had been fucking electric and he was still buzzing. They’d fit together perfectly, even with the clunky guitar in the way. Now they were curled together on Evan’s bed in the hotel.

Barty ended the live and turned to Evan with a grin.

“You know Rosier you’re not even a half bad kisser.”

Evan laughed.

“Back for seconds already Bee? You just wanna kiss me that badly I guess.”

He leaned in dangerously close with a smirk.

He’d expected Barty to snap back, another joke or something. Instead Barty just stuttered.

“I-uh.”

Barty’s eyes were wide and so dilated that the brown edges had nearly disappeared, swallowed up the black.

“Barty?”

Evan reached a hand up, hovering it over Barty’s face questioningly.

“Evan.”

Barty replied in a breathy whisper. Evan kissed him, didn’t hesitate. Barty sighed into it immediately, crawling close and wrapping his arms around Evan’s back as he straddled him. Evan responded by cupping his face in his hands. 

They broke apart panting softly. Barty immediately buried his face in the crook of Evan’s neck, arms tightening into a fierce hug. He seemed uncharacteristically small. 

“Bee?”

“Can this…not be just once Ev? I don’t think I’d be able to go back and I- I don’t want to lose you but I don’t think I’d be able to ever go back to pretending I’m not like obsessed with you.”

“Barty. Hey, hey.”

Evan moved his head down and coaxed Barty out of the crook in his neck so he could look at him properly. 

“We’re never going back Bee. Ok? This- fuck I think this is it for me, you know?”

“Yeah?”

Evan nodded.

“I think you’re it for me too.”

And Evan kissed him again. 

***

AHHH THE ENDING WHAT DO WE THINKKK?

Also I have added it to ao3 and the link is here if you want it

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

This is my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race ✨

You’re Bleeding But You Want More

Fight during basketball practice to hate sex in the locker room fic

CW: fighting, some homophobic and sexist language, face slapping, degradation, barebacking, spit as lube

Read on AO3

“Plant your feet asshole,” Tommy hissed as he ran past Steve.

Groaning at his still rattling bones, Steve allowed himself a moment to linger on the court floor. He winced as he heard cheering from the other side of the court.

Billy had scored again.

“Harrington, get off your ass,” Coach barked, as everyone started setting up for the next play.

Sighing, Steve gingerly picked himself up off the court floor. He limped over to where he was supposed to be, sucking in a sharp breath at the throbbing pain in his back and elbows.

He tried to ignore Billy’s manic grin, his stupid tongue hanging out of his mouth, the way his sharp eyes followed Steve like a predator.

He was such a dick.

“Awww, poor little Harrington,” Billy drawled, smirking. “Can’t keep a girl or the ball.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve decided to take Nancy and Jonathan’s advice and ignore him. He couldn’t afford to get kicked out of practice again for trading barbs with someone as stupid as Billy Hargrove. They were both dangerously close to losing their starting positions if they kept it up according to Coach.

Steve didn’t need to give his dad another reason to call him a disappointment.

Steve’s team gained possession of the ball from the tip off and he found himself being immediately smothered by a warm weight against his back. Hot panting breath was hitting the back of his neck, making his skin crawl. Pushing back against the weight with his body, Steve knew it was Billy when the solid wall of muscle didn’t budge.

Losing his patience before Billy could even open his mouth, Steve threw back an elbow and delighted in the sharp exhale it earned him. He broke away and sprinted down the court, trying to get open for Tommy to pass him the ball.

Before Steve could call out to Tommy, he felt something solid bump into his shoulder and send him flying to the ground. He barely had time to throw out his hands and catch himself. Without even looking, he knew it was Billy.

Steve reached out a hand and wrapped it around the nearest ankle, tugging hard until he saw Billy crash to the floor next to him.

“You little bitch,” Billy hissed dangerously.

In the blink of an eye, Billy was scrambling on top of him and throwing a wild fist at Steve’s face. Steve’s ears rang as his the fist slammed into his cheek, knocking his head back against the court.

“Fuck you, Hargrove,” Steve spat.

He twisted his torso desperately until he’d rolled them over and was able to land a solid punch to Billy’s jaw. Billy growled up at him as Steve reared back to throw another hit.

“Why are you so fucking obsessed with me?” Steve asked through gritted teeth.

Steve grunted as strong fingers yanked his head away by his hair and he suddenly found himself beneath Billy again.

“You waste too much fucking space,” Billy snapped.

His stomach dropped as Billy cocked his fist back for another punch.

Before Billy could land what would’ve probably been a knockout blow, Steve found himself being pulled away. Feet kicking, he watched as Billy was hauled away in the opposite direction. Both of them were still spitting curses at each other.

“Enough!” Coach barked. “Are you idiots done?”

Steve huffed and shoved the teammates that had been holding him back away, straightening his clothes out. He eyed Billy warily as he did the same.

“Now,” Coach started, glaring at them both, face red. “This is the last time you 2 dumbasses interrupt my practice with your bullshit or I’m benching you for 3 games.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest but stayed silent at his coach’s icy stare.

“Now go clean up in the locker room, I don’t want you assholes back on this court until tomorrow and so help me God, you better leave that shit at the door.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy and Steve mumbled in unison, glaring at each other.

Coach blew his whistle and Steve found himself stomping off towards the locker room, side by side with Billy fucking Hargrove.

He grumbled as he felt Billy bump his shoulder.

“Fuck you, pretty boy,” Billy hissed under his breath.

“This is all your fault, douchebag,” Steve snapped back quietly so that Coach couldn’t hear.

“My fault?” Billy scoffed, elbowing Steve discretely when he dropped his shoulder and subtly rammed into Billy’s arm. “You’re the asshole that can’t play for shit.”

“You only score because you foul constantly,” Steve insisted, through his teeth, elbowing Billy back.

They scrambled as they reached the locker room door to see who could shove their way in first. Billy slapped Steve in the nuts causing him to hunch over and concede the win to Billy.

“I don’t foul, you’re just a little bitch,” Billy smirked triumphantly as he swaggered into the locker room ahead of Steve.

What a piece of shit.

Steve didn’t even think before he was shoving Billy into the lockers from behind. He barely had time to catch his breath before Billy was grabbing him by the shirt and spinning them so that Steve was pinned against the lockers.

Their punches were even wilder than on the court. Knuckles were glancing off of cheeks, but still somehow landing world-stoppingly hard before they were back at it again. Hands scrambled meanly against chests and faces as they tried to push the other away. Steve fought as hard as he could, but he couldn’t get his back off of the locker.

Billy had him completely pinned.

He knew it was over when rather than throw another punch, Billy wrapped his hand around Steve’s throat. Steve gasped for air, nails scratching ineffectively at Billy’s hand. Billy just smirked and leaned his body weight into the hold, their fronts brushing together. Steve couldn’t help the way he went limp and collapsed against Billy as the edges of his vision started to darken.

It was at that moment that Steve realized they were both hard.

He watched Billy’s bright blue eyes widen in shock, his grip around Steve’s throat loosening just enough that Steve could push him away. They stared each other down, only about a foot of space between them, their chests heaving with exertion.

Billy reached a hand out towards Steve and he quickly slapped it away.

What the actual fuck was going on here?

Steve felt like he was losing his mind. He was definitely going to snap and do something stupid if Billy touched him again.

He thought he might lose it if Billy didn’t though.

Billy reached a hand out lightning quick and slapped Steve. His cheek burned as he gasped in shock, eyes round as he stared at Billy in shock and Billy simply stared back at him, mouth open as he took Steve in. His burning blue eyes held a question and while Steve didn’t know what that question was, he found himself nodding.

His body thrummed with static electricity as Billy nodded back.

Steve yanked his shirt over his head, stepping out of his sneakers as he watched Billy yank his own shorts down. The moment Steve’s shorts and briefs hit the floor, he found himself being spun around until his forehead and hands were pressed to the lockers.

He panted open mouthed against the cool metal, groaning as Billy kicked his feet apart. Steve’s socks slid against the concrete floors as he scrambled to comply.

Moaning as sweat salty fingers were shoved into his mouth, Steve sucked on the intruding digits instinctively. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as Billy’s warm breath puffed out hot and wet against the nape of his neck.

“Knew you’d be a whore,” Billy sneered meanly, fingers locking bruisingly tight around Steve’s hip when he bit down on Billy’s fingers. “That’s all you get!”

Steve gasped as the fingers were yanked out of his mouth and he felt them nudging up against his rim. He whimpered, scrabbling against the locker as he tried to get away. Billy held him in place as he sank a finger inside of Steve, hissing at him to stay still.

“Hargrove,” Steve warned, his voice cutting out as a second finger wriggled its way inside of him, curling pleasantly.

Steve had never had anything up his ass in his life because to him, that seemed gay as hell. At that moment, he couldn’t remember why it was a bad thing to seem gay.

There was something about being full of Billy’s thick, callused fingers that felt so unbelievably good. Steve was wholly unprepared for just how good it felt when a third finger was shoved unceremoniously inside of him. He hid his groan in the crook of his arm as Billy curled his fingers inside of him pleasantly.

All too soon, Billy was yanking his fingers out and Steve heard a gross, wet spitting sound behind him. His ears burned as he realized the next wet noise was Billy slicking his dick up with his own spit.

Steve was about to get fucked.

He honestly didn’t feel as ashamed as he figured he should about it.

The loud, high, needy moan Steve let out as Billy started to push inside of him was absolutely obscene. He couldn’t bring himself to care because Billy was groaning into the back of his neck, just as wantonly.

Before Steve got a chance to catch his bearings, Billy was pulling his mouth away from the back of his neck and shoving in just a little further. They both hissed as Billy bottomed out. The brief pause as Billy’s hips connected with his ass had Steve feeling like time was frozen around him.

Suddenly Billy was pulling his hips back and snapping them back in rough and quick. Steve whined, his hands balling into fists as Billy fucked into him relentlessly. The fullness of Billy’s cock inside of him was insane and Steve was losing his mind as Billy thrust into him over and over.

If this was how it felt for girls, Steve didn’t understand why they weren’t all bigger sluts. His dick had never been so hard, he was already dripping precum, and he was practically vibrating out of his skin.

“Harder you pussy,” Steve demanded, nails clawing at the metal of the locker as Billy complied.

“Hard enough for you, slut?” Billy grunted, snapping his hips rough and quick.

Steve banged a fist against the locker as Billy’s maddening thrusts set his blood tingling with arousal. Every thrust was electric but brushed just shy of something. Steve didn’t know what it was but he knew he wanted it.

“Knew you had to be overcompensating for something,” Steve gasped as Billy’s next thrust came dangerously close to that something.

“Sure are mouthy for someone moaning like a lil bitch,” Billy panted, his fingers tightening around Steve’s hips.

“Then give it to me and shut me up,” Steve challenged, his forehead slipping down the locker with sweat, changing the angle of Billy’s thrusts slightly.

He let out an involuntary sob as the head of Billy’s dick suddenly brushed up against something inside of him that made him feel like he was being electrocuted.

“Oh God,” Steve whimpered, pressing his flushed sweaty cheek to the cold locker for relief.

Billy groaned behind him and picked up the pace even more, nailing that spot every few thrusts, but brushing along it with every single snap of his hips. It was like nothing Steve had ever felt before.

He couldn’t take it much longer. His skin felt itchy and tingly. Arousal was crackling loud and staticy in his belly with his rapidly approaching orgasm. Each time Billy sank in and nailed that spot, electricity jolted up his spine and fried his brain.

“Take it, you fucking slut,” Billy growled, his breath hot in Steve’s ear.

Steve threw back an elbow, nailing Billy in the ribs. He heard a grunt behind him before fingers were tangling with his own and shoving his hand against the locker above his head.

Moaning, Steve reached back to bury his hand in Billy’s curls and held his searing, sinful mouth against his neck. Billy groaned and bit into the sensitive skin causing Steve to hiss and screw up tight around him.

Billy let out a strained gasp, his hips stuttering as his fingers tightened around Steve’s hip.

“That all you got?” Steve snarked, rolling his hips back into Billy’s harsh thrusts.

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy grunted, releasing Steve’s hip to land a resounding smack against Steve’s ass.

Steve whimpered as Billy’s thrusts got even rougher. Billy panted into Steve’s neck, smacking Steve’s ass again.

Keening, Steve tried to bury his forehead into the unforgiving metal of the locker and squeezed his fingers around Billy’s. He was leaking all over his abs, probably dripping onto the floor at that point.

Steve didn’t give a fuck.

“No wonder you can’t get a second date,” Steve groaned into the locker, shivering at the static buzzing all over his skin. “Can’t fuck for shit.”

All too quickly, Steve found himself empty and cold as Billy pulled away from him. Whining, Steve reached back trying to find purchase in Billy’s curls again. He found himself suddenly spun around and shoved up against the lockers.

He gasped as Billy grabbed him by the back of the thighs and lifted. Steve scrambled to wrap his arms and legs around Billy to avoid getting dropped. His fear was short lived as Billy fucked back into him and nailed his prostate even harder than before.

Eyes rolling back in his head, Steve slammed his head back against the lockers with a shrill moan.

“This what you wanted, slut?” Billy demanded as he fucked into Steve hard and fast, shoving up against Steve’s prostate relentlessly.

He could practically feel Billy in his throat at this angle with how deep he was.

Steve must’ve been silent for too long because his cheek was suddenly stinging as Billy slapped him roughly.

“Yes,” Steve whined, clenching around Billy reflexively.

“Fuck,” Billy gasped, tightening his grip on Steve’s thigh and fucking into him impossibly harder.

Whimpering as Billy slapped him again, Steve felt his brain going fuzzy from how overwhelmingly good it all felt.

“Harder,” Steve breathed, his nails raking across Billy’s upper back.

Billy whined and smacked Steve’s cheek even harder. He let his fingers linger on Steve’s warm cheek, digging his fingers into the tender skin.

Steve’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow and groan at the same time. He turned his face just enough to suck Billy’s thumb into his mouth, groaning around the salty taste.

He only got a few harsh sucks in before Billy was pulling his jaw down and staring hungrily at Steve’s mouth.

“Stick your tongue out,” Billy ordered breathlessly, the rhythm of his hips never faltering.

Steve bit the tip of Billy’s thumb petulantly, groaning at the slap it earned him. He obediently opened his mouth on his own, letting his tongue fall past his bottom lip.

Lightning bolted violently up Steve’s spine and through his fingertips and toes as Billy spit into his mouth. With a gutteral sob, Steve came all over their stomachs and chests.

His hole fluttered wildly around Billy’s cock as he watched fiery blue eyes widen, locked in on Steve’s mouth as he swallowed Billy’s spit. Eyebrows furrowing and face turning red, Billy let out a concerning choking noise as he shuddered against Steve.

Steve gasped as he felt a peculiar warmth fill him, his body still tingling as he came down from his intense orgasm. Steve shivered as Billy buried his face in Steve’s neck and finally drew in a noisy breath.

It took Steve a moment to realize that the desperate little whines filling the locker room were coming from his own mouth. Punctuating each anguished gasp of air he tried to suck down.

Tightening his legs around Billy’s waist, Steve relaxed his fingers where they were still digging into Billy’s back. With a sigh, Billy pulled back to look at Steve, his eyes and mouth pinched with something that Steve couldn’t name.

Dopey with his very recent mind blowing orgasm, Steve leaned forward to try and kiss away the weird look on Billy’s face. His stomach whooshed unpleasantly as he found himself suddenly falling, his lips grazing Billy’s neck on the way down.

“Queer,” Billy grunted as he pulled away, leaving Steve to stumble as his feet suddenly hit the floor.

Steve burned with humiliation as he collapsed against the lockers. He watched Billy swagger over to the showers, wild scratches littering his upper back.

Fuck him.

Steve stomped over to the showers on weak legs and slapped on the shower head across from Billy. He turned around, putting his back to Billy so that he didn’t have to look at his stupid face.

He didn’t understand what the fuck had just happened. Steve vowed to shower quickly and get the hell out of there as fast as he could.

Maybe he could go home and drink himself into oblivion. Maybe it would help forget that he’d just had the best orgasm of his life with another dude. With another dude slapping him and calling him a slut.

Just as he started to shampoo his hair, he heard a sharp inhale behind him. Steve whipped around to see what had Billy making that noise.

When he turned, he saw Billy’s gaze dropped to his thighs. His thighs that had cum slowly dripping down them, now that he paid attention it.

Billy’s gaze was hot enough to have arousal tingling low in Steve’s belly again. He turned back around to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, trying to ignore the douche bag behind him. His face flushed as he reached behind himself to rinse out the rest of the cum.

Steve gasped as he felt his wrist suddenly locked in a bruising grip. He looked over his shoulder to see Billy looming behind him, fiery blue eyes intent on Steve’s ass.

“Fuck off,” Steve hissed, trying to yank his wrist out of Billy’s tight grasp.

“I’m gonna give you three seconds to get your hands on that wall with your ass out,” Billy informed him, his voice low and dangerous.

Steve stumbled forward as his wrist was released, hands planting against the shower wall. Before he could even think about what was happening, Billy was on his knees behind him, face buried in Steve’s ass.

Groaning, Steve rolled his hips back against Billy’s face as he felt a hot, wet tongue bury itself inside of him. He couldn’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed when he let out a wanton moan as his next words earned him a harsh smack agaisnt his ass.

“Who’s the queer now?”

Please look forward to the beyond spectacular work from the next contributor, @writer-in-theory.

[sister-lucifer]

Hey its me ur mutual lons give me your hottest stankiest take on the creepypasta fandom. In general.

i think people in this fandom hold way too tightly to the versions of the characters created in 2013 and don’t want anyone to try and create a new or different interpretation of them, so much so that they are willing to straight up be racist/ableist/homophobic just to preserve their specific idea of their precious shithead the killer or whatever

it’s 2023 now, it’s been ten years, things change. i know that when you were 10 all the creepypastas were skinny white anime boys, and you’re totally allowed to think of them they way if you want, but not everyone does

people are allowed to make characters who are POC, disabled, gay, trans, etc, because you as a cishet able bodied neurotypical white person do not experience erasure, please stop acting like you’re being victimized

Jane is Black, Toby is autistic, Brian uses mobility aids and EJ is bisexual. piss your pants and cry about it

i don’t give a shit if you hate woke blorbofication or whatever. i’m tired of looking out over a sea of flavorless teenage boys every time i consume creepypasta content.

also stop shitting on people who enjoy the creepypasta x marble hornets crossover and/or creepypasta mansion universes. it doesn’t make you cool or better than them you just look like a dickhole

[robilover]

you've seen robin with her hair up.

But have you seen it tied up?

She ties it up in a high ponytail that looks so sleek and beautiful at the same time, also exposing her tiny wings.

(it's not elegant or beautiful, it's straight up hot and spicy :0)

She only does it when she cooking or she does her choreography, all sweaty and hot...

-🐣 anon

oh. my. god...

YOU’RE KILLING MEEEFHEJRJKFKD NO BUT THAT’S SO HOT OH MY😍

pairing(s): robin x fem!reader

cw: a bit suggestive and somewhat cringe, read at your own risk! men and homophobes dni.

I’d imagine her cooking breakfast after ravaging you the night before (cliché, I know) and you’d somewhat be limping on your way to the kitchen once you smell that delicious aroma.

then, you’d find yourself wide-eyed at the sight of your girlfriend, robin, with her hair tied up in a high ponytail, her wings behind her ears were more exposed as she wore a plain white shirt. her lower wings were out, swaying at every movement she did. you could feel yourself blushing as you gasped, your hand slapping onto your mouth as you blushed madly at the sight.

she happened to hear you as she perked up and turned herself slightly. upon seeing your blushing form with your hand on your mouth, she giggled at how adorable you looked.

“oh, you’re awake. good morning, beautiful. did you sleep well?” she smiled, but her smile turned into a smirk as soon as she saw you limping towards her.

“yeah, I slept well.. how about you?” you asked as you hugged her from behind, resting your head on her shoulder as you watched her cook. she giggled as she leaned into your embrace, her upper wing wrapping behind your head.

“I slept like a baby, especially with you all tired in my arms.” she whispered into your ear and pressed a kiss onto your cheek. you couldn’t help but squeal into her shoulder.

AND ANDDDD YES WHEN SHE’S PRACTICING? I’D IMAGINE IT AS LIKE:

you were about to go to her studio to see her while bringing her lunch. as you walked in, you saw her all sweaty, with her hair tied up into a high ponytail, too! and, drenched in sweat while wearing a plain white shirt and jogging pants. you blushed at the sight of her wiping the sweat off of her neck and face using her face towel. she looked so charismatic, so beautiful, and so hot!

she noticed you as she saw you in the reflection of her practice room. she smiled, seeing you blush while bringing your little bag that had her lunch in it. she turned her body and walked towards you, her wings behind her ears swaying slightly.

“y/n! you’re here; with my lunch, too? even wearing my hoodie,” she chuckled, kissing you on the cheek as you nodded slowly. cute, she thought.

“y-yeah, I brought you lunch,” you said. she giggled as she pressed another kiss, but on your forehead.

“thank you, my love. why don’t you stay here for a while and watch me practice?” she suggested while wiping the sweat off of her face. you just stared at her, thinking: aeons, I still can’t believe that I’m dating her.

robin looked at you with a little confused expression. however, realizing why you were staring at her so much, she smirked. she decided to tease you.

“you’re drooling, baby.” she whispered into your ear, which made you snap back to reality.

“w-what?!” you panicked as you tried to wipe the said drool off. you then glared at her when you felt nothing, as she just giggled.

“you’re so cute.” robin whispered before wrapping her arms around your waist. she leaned in and whispered once more, against your lips. “how about I’ll give you a kiss as an apology, hm?” she purred, feeling your hands grip her shoulders.

“I’ll accept that. you’re lucky that I love you,” you pecked her lips, emitting a soft chuckle from the singer. “now give me that kiss; you’re making it difficult to focus because of how hot you look all sweaty with your hair tied up.” you demanded, your voice had a hint of neediness in it.

“aww, hehe, I guess I should tie my hair up more often to see you all.. flushed and needy for me.” robin teased before lifting you up in her arms, your legs wrapped around her waist as she crashed her lips against yours in a passionate kiss. <3

[suzy-queued]

A Gallavich tale, told 100 words at a time.

**This story is now complete!**

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

A man jumped into the back seat of Ian’s car.

“You a driver?” Dark hair, one small piece of luggage.

“Yeah, only if you’re registered on the app.”

“Screw the app. Take me to Nashville.”

Ian choked on his Gatorade. “That’s eight hours from here.”

“So?”

“You gotta plan these things out. Get matched with the right driver.”

“It’s not like I knew that my fucking boyfriend was gonna run off to fucking Yee-Haw Land to elope with my sworn enemy.”

Ian checked the rearview and saw pain behind those angry blue eyes. He switched his app status to OCCUPIED.

---

Ian took the entrance ramp onto I-90. They should arrive in Nashville around … oh, 3:37 AM.

“I have an emergency kit.” Ian nodded with his chin. “Under the seat. A few comforts in case you need ’em.”

The passenger shuffled through the insulated bag. “Boxed juice. Granola bars. Fucking gummy bears, man? This is childhood stuff. You got any Jack Daniels?”

Ian felt a spark of disobedience. “I’ve got a few joints in the glove box.” This was definitely off-book behavior, but it felt right. “They come with a price.”

“What’s that, Jeeves?”

“You’ve gotta tell me your whole story.”

---

The dark-haired passenger scoffed. “You don’t look like you’ve got the stomach to get caught up on my bullshit.”

“Try me.”

“Whatever. Fuckin’ sadist.” He settled into his seat. “You ain’t wearing a wire, right?”

“Not today.”

“All right, so, you ever heard of Berry Buds?”

“Those stuffed animals in the shape of fruit? Don’t people use those to smuggle coke?”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “You too delicate to hear about crime, pumpkin? There’s murder, too. Betrayal. And a pair of pink flamingos.”

“Wait, back up. You forgot the most important part. What’s your name?”

The passenger only smiled.

---

Man, this passenger could talk. Ian heard an hour’s worth of Milkovich family crimes.

Milkovich.

Ian didn’t know the guy’s first name. Only how passionate he was, the excitement in his voice.

“So Iggy launched the box of M-80s into the river, right, and this long-legged yahoo waltzes up.” Milkovich paused. “Wait, did you just yawn? If it’s such a chore to listen, I can fuckin’ stop.”

Ian made eye contact in the rearview mirror. “I was promised murder. A boyfriend.”

Milkovich slunk in his seat. “Keith.” All his passion faded to pain. “Yeah … guess I can talk about him.”

---

“Keith is …” Milkovich seeped with defeat and anger. “He’s the first person who saw me as more than a thug. We met at the liquor store. Been together seventeen months. I thought we were long-term, you know? Then he starts spending time at clubs. Digging into the scene. I don’t give a fuck if he does coke to let off steam. But he keeps getting it from the same guy. Real tall motherfucker. White-blond hair. Wears sweater vests.”

“Northside prick.”

“Oh, you know this guy?”

Ian had seen plenty of club action. He hardened in solidarity. “I know the type.”

---

“Anyways, that’s how I realized my piece-of-shit boyfriend is marrying fancy-pants Logan Covington, the motherfucker who snipes our business and has led the biggest anti-Milkovich smear campaign this side of Michigan.” The passenger let out a sigh. He slowed for the first time in an hour. “Shoulda known by that haircut. He came home looking like a walking Ken doll.”

“So, wait.” Ian sorted through the complicated story threads. “Are you going to kill your boyfriend?”

“No, man, keep up. I want to get him back.” He leaned forward, laying his hand on Ian’s shoulder. “And you’re gonna help me.”

---

Ian scoffed. “Don’t rope me into your drama.”

“Come on, man. We show up at the chapel, tell Keith I’m dating you now, let the jealousy unfold.”

Unbelievable. Ian shouldn’t even consider the offer. He had a ton to do this weekend. But Milkovich was obviously hurting.

Ian scratched his chin. “And I’d be on the clock the whole time?”

“What, you scared to do it? You a homophobe or something?”

“I’m gay.”

Milkovich stared, hard. He looked Ian up and down. “You never mentioned that.” He gave a coy smirk.

Ian felt a shot of electricity. “You never asked.”

---

The Silver Diner in Lafayette, Indiana bustled with activity.

Milkovich talked over the sizzling grill. “Still don’t know why we stopped here.”

“Can’t think on an empty stomach.” Ian flagged the waitress.

Jolene smiled, leaned into the booth. “Order’s coming right up, sugarpot.” She touched Ian’s arm as she left.

Milkovich frowned. “That shit happen to you a lot?”

“What?”

“Chicks waving their boobs in your face.”

“I don’t really notice.” But Milkovich noticed. Interesting.

“It’s good, actually. We can use it in our plan. People find you attractive.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t say me.”

---

Milkovich rolled a coin across the diner table. “You see that? Table's tilted by a degree-and-a-half. Cheap off-balance pedestal leg. I’d have used a trestle instead.”

Huh. This guy’s shoulders relaxed when he talked about normal stuff.

“The key with builds like this…” The guy was smart. Layered. Funny. And his eyes twinkled when he geeked out about construction, apparently.

Ian was finding new ways to be awed each minute.

“…at least shim the motherfucker because…”

Ian interrupted. “I’m in.”

“Huh?”

“Your plan? I guess can pretend to like you.”

Ian’s stomach swooped. Pretend might not be the right word.

---

“Seriously, you’ll do it?” Milkovich raised an eyebrow. “Okay, lay it on me. Tell me everything about you.”

Ian enjoyed sharing his details. “I’m one of six kids. Two sisters, three brothers. Wait, you’re not writing this down? You’re gonna memorize all this shit?”

The guy leaned forward, intense, piercing. He traced his finger around Ian’s wrist. “We’re chained now. I’ll remember everything about you.”

This was absurd, but the guy seemed dead serious.

Ian felt goosebumps. He took charge and matched the guy’s intensity. “Then tell me your first name.”

A quick tongue flick. The guy nodded. “It’s Mickey.”

---

Turns out, scheming and joking with Mickey was easier than breathing. Ian drummed on the table. “Okay, how’d we meet? I gave you a ride somewhere?”

“And then I rode you.” Mickey laughed. “Simple enough. How about second date?”

Ian’s inner romantic spun into action. “A rooftop picnic. You brought snacks and whiskey.”

“Hm. Doesn’t sound like me.”

“I brought a tire iron and gun because I didn’t trust you.”

Mickey smirked, like these lies were becoming reality in his head. “Wise man.”

Ian swelled. His weekend suddenly had purpose. He’d be the best fake boyfriend in the goddamn world.

---

They hit the john before they got back on the road. Pissed in outdated urinals, washed their hands.

Ian watched Mickey closely. Every turn, every strut, every smirk. That’s how he noticed that Mickey flinched when the hand dryer shot to life.

“Mickey Milkovich.” Ian laughed. “You can dump a mob boss in the Chicago River but you’re afraid of a little hot air?”

“It’s fucking startling.”

Mickey paused in the doorway. Tilted his head. Looked up at Ian. “Keith … he never noticed that about me.”

Ian elbowed him, defusing his sadness. “I’m going to learn all your secrets, boyfriend.”

---

Around midnight, the rhythm of repeating street lights on Interstate 65 lulled Ian toward sleep.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mickey looked damn relaxed, too. Seat leaned back. Legs stretched out. Talking in a low voice. “Let’s say I blew this.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Say I end up alone. Do I deserve that?”

Ian could certainly judge. He’d heard about Mickey’s crimes, his family, his dating history.

He wanted to hold Mickey’s hand. He wanted to find the right words to remedy this hurt.

“Mickey, you are the most –”

A bang. A crash. Ian’s face smashed into the airbag.

---

Ian took inventory. He was conscious. Neck pain. Bleeding nose.

He scrambled to unfasten his seatbelt. To wave away the airbag dust.

He pawed at Mickey’s leg, arm, chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m scraped up.” Mickey coughed. “What happened?”

“Someone clipped our bumper. We spun out. Hit the guardrail. I was out of control.”

“Why are you pulling on my eye?”

Ian lowered his hand. “Checking for a concussion.” He tried to steady his breath, calm his panic. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

Mickey set his injured hand on Ian’s, offering shaky reassurance. “Better than being worm food, man.”

---

The cops had come and gone. Reality settled in. Ian’s car was undriveable. They were stranded.

Mickey’s anxiety spiked. “How the hell am I getting to the wedding now?” He paced along the shoulder, pointing at Ian. “Who drives for a fucking living and doesn’t have roadside assistance?”

Ian spoke via speakerphone to a random tow company they’d Googled. “It’s a silver Camry. Near exit 130.”

Mickey yelled into the phone. “Just look for the goddamn ring of fire lighting up I-65.”

Ian prayed for strength. “Ignore him. There’s no fire.” Unless you counted the flames rising from Mickey’s nostrils.

---

Ian talked to Mickey in the crammed cab of the tow truck. “I told you I’d get you there. I’ll think of something.”

The mechanic pulled into a repair shop. “Car can stay here. Hank opens at 7:00 tomorrow.”

Mickey exploded. “It’s not open 24 hours?”

“This is Indianapolis, not L.A.”

“How are we supposed—"

Ian held up a hand to stop him. He could feel Mickey’s desperation, his impatience and heartbreak. “Is there a hotel nearby?”

The mechanic pointed across the street. To a run-down motel called King Richard’s Royal Inn.

Mickey glared. “Well, long live the fuckin’ king.”

---

Josie at the front desk didn’t even look at her computer. “I’m sorry. It’s race week. We don’t have room for more guests.”

Mickey glared at Ian. “Come on, Gingerbread. You’re taking me to the Motel 6.”

Josie snorted. “You’ll be lucky to find a campground in this town with a vacancy.”

“Guess I’m sleeping in your fucking lobby, then.”

As if Ian didn’t feel bad enough about this situation.

A chime sounded on the computer.

“Hey, now.” Josie smiled. “We’ve just had a cancellation.” She looked between them. “It’s a single. One full-sized bed.”

Mickey didn’t hesitate. “We’ll take it.”

---

“Door’s flimsy enough to kick open.” Ian unlocked the motel room.

Mickey groaned. “No TV. No closet. They better have hot water.”

“Jesus, the bed’s small.” Ian’s neck ached. This was officially hell.

“You gonna be all right, Red? We’ve got to get used to touching each other.”

Ian grabbed him and pulled him close, roughly. “Think we’ll be able to fool Keith?”

And, damn, Mickey’s face was right fucking there, looking tired. Cranky. Kissable. “We should do it bareback in the middle of the chapel just to piss him off.”

Oof.

Ian was not going to survive this night.

---

Mickey cracked the bathroom door as he showered, fogging up the motel room.

Ian sat on the bed, still for the first time tonight. He felt warmth. Pain. Adrenaline let-down.

Mickey’s silhouette moved behind the curtain. A hint. A tease. An invitation.

What if … Ian pulled the curtain back?

He could feel those sturdy shoulders, that smooth skin. Trace his tongue along the water droplets. Grab that thick … hair.

What if Mickey dropped his guy and took Ian on? Then what?

Would Mickey get tired of him?

Desire. Curiosity. Potential. Ian’s thoughts swirled like water.

… then the shower clicked off.

---

“Jesus!” Mickey pulled the curtain back. “Damn water turned to ice.” He jumped from the shower, lunging for a towel.

And of course Ian had been staring and saw everything. Mickey’s dripping body. The toned muscles in his legs. His stomach. A quick flash of his anatomy.

Ian turned away.

“Fucking freezing, man.” Mickey’s wet feet slapped on the floor. “This is on you, Gallagher.”

Ian peeked. The towel did nothing to hide the curve of Mickey’s ass.

God, Ian had to tamp down his infatuation. Maybe cockiness would work instead. “I hear skin-to-skin contact gets you warm the fastest.”

---

Mickey huffed at Ian’s joke. “You tryin’ to see me naked?”

“It’s for science. Research.”

Mickey shrugged and reached for the knot of his towel. The world moved in slow motion now, a tattooed hand tugging white cotton.

The fabric fell away, sliding down his leg. Dark hairs matted against skin. Body with the right balance of definition and softness.

Ian’s heart beat fast. He felt it getting stronger and stronger and stronger.

He glanced up and fell into Mickey’s eyes.

One touch could overcome the silence. One touch could reveal Ian’s crush.

Mickey smiled, all confidence. “Your turn, Loverboy.”

---

In this game of chicken, Mickey was winning.

Ian gulped. It was only fair, right? Mickey needed to see his body for their boyfriend charade to work.

Ian peeled off his jeans. His t-shirt, going slow and begging all his parts to stay chill.

Mickey never broke eye contact.

Ian slid his boxers down, breathless.

“Patriot tattoo. Boobs tattoo.” Mickey nodded. “Carpet matches the drapes. Uh-huh.”

How could Mickey stay so calm when he was tearing Ian’s nerves to pieces?

Mickey stepped within touching distance. “Only one more question, hot shot.”

“What’s that?”

“How good of an actor are you?”

---

Ian held his ground. “I’m a great actor.”

“Could you kiss me right now?” Mickey’s gaze raked down Ian’s body. “Kiss me and not get hard?” Mickey spoke oh-so-slowly. “We’re together, right? So we supposedly kiss all the time. Can you control yourself?”

A song burst through the tension. A silly cartoon voice repeating, You are my cute-cumber. You are my cute-cumber.

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Fuck, my phone.”

He scrambled, but the sound went silent before he got there.

Ian laughed. “Seriously? That’s the cheesiest alert.”

“You don’t understand.” Mickey looked up with pain in his eyes. “That’s Keith’s ringtone.”

---

Keith’s call shifted Mickey's vibe from flirty to flustered.

Ian slid on his boxers and jeans. Being naked suddenly seemed wrong.

“Why the fuck was he calling?” Mickey threw the towel over his lap. “He didn’t leave a voicemail. Is he having second thoughts about the wedding? Should I call back?”

Ian had no clue how to help. “Just take a minute. Breathe.”

“My brain’s turning to mush here, Gallagher. I’m exhausted. I’m confused. We haven’t eaten in hours. And now this? Tell me what the fuck to do.”

Ian didn’t think. He yanked Mickey’s head back and kissed him.

---

The kiss was overwhelming. Tinged with panic. Wonderful. Scary. Exciting. Over too soon.

Mickey touched his own lips. “That’s good. I … needed that.”

“This trip’ll be stressful enough without you freaking out. When the anxiety ratchets up in that head of yours, I’ll take care of you, all right?”

Mickey nodded. Took a second. Smirked. “Knew you couldn’t do it.”

“What?”

“Knew you couldn’t kiss me without getting hard.”

“You’re an asshole.”

But the intensity on Mickey’s face told Ian not to push. The bright blue eyes. The absolute relief at being taken care of.

Ian let the moment simmer.

---

Ian needed to be supportive. A bodyguard. A wingman, offering safety pins and pep talks.

He pulled two joints from his pocket. “You weren’t meant to face this weekend sober.”

“Fuck, man, you always know what I need.”

“Snagged ’em from my glove box after the crash.” Ian lit up and offered one to Mickey. “I know everything seems fuckin’ hopeless, like your life is wrecked. You ain’t wrong.”

“This supposed to make me feel better?”

“The point is, it’s okay to be who you are.”

“What’s that, big guy?”

Ian threaded their fingers together. “A loser, just like me.”

---

The wee hours passed in a purple haze of weed and exhaustion.

They didn’t sleep. They lay beside each other in that tiny bed, clothes on, joking and mumbling.

They bumped elbows, knocked knees, held hands.

Ian ached for more touch. For a kiss that meant more than comfort.

Mickey’s icy blue eyes held him at bay. I can’t face that yet. Please let me hover outside of reality a little longer.

In the orange glow of sunrise, Ian gathered his nerve. He asked the question he’d been pondering all night. “You still want to go to this wedding, Milkovich?”

---

Mickey sat too far away on the motel bed. “Why wouldn’t I go? Keith is my boyfriend. We live together.”

“How’s that gonna work out once the newlyweds get home?”

“I still want to go.”

This wasn’t right, goddammit. In the movies, a kiss leads to a romantic finale, not this stubborn insistence to stay on course.

Ian grasped at one last hope. “To win Keith back?”

Mickey inched closer. He held Ian’s chin. Broke into a smile. “To show him what a big mistake he made.”

This time, the kiss was only about the two of them. Fuckin’ finally.

--- * --- * --- * --- * ---

Hey. Is this thing on?

Gallagher’s been doing an okay job telling this story, but now it’s my turn. And none of that past-tense, passive bullshit. I’ll tell you everything the moment it happens, okay?

You’re gonna witness every mile, every pit stop, every tacky decision my ex makes for this wedding. His abysmal choice in groom. Some godawful silver balloon arch. Those lime-flavored vodka Jell-o squares he loves so much.

Damn, I can’t wait to see the scowl on Keith’s face when Ian and I start playing tonsil hockey on the dance floor.

We’re gonna fuck some shit up.

---

It’s seven AM. I’m camped outside Hank’s Body Shop drinking coffee-colored swill.

Ian’s beside me, giving me bedroom eyes, running his fingers up my arm. He’s tempting as fuck.

Hank unlocks the door and lets us in. “Knew you’d be waitin’.”

I spot Ian’s car, nod toward it. “What’s the damage?”

“Her bones are good, but you’re looking at three grand in parts and labor. I have an opening on October first.”

“October? That’s six weeks from now.”

Hank shrugs. “You can tow her somewhere else. No skin off my teeth.”

Ian eyes darken, and not in a sexy way.  

---

Look, I’ve learned a lot about Gallagher in the past day. If he says he’s gonna do something, he will.

We’re definitely getting to Nashville.

He’s got about eighty tabs up on his phone. “Ubering is ridiculously expensive. A rental car’ll surcharge me because I’m not twenty-five.”

“You’re not?”

“Not until next May.” Ian doesn’t even look up. “Greyhound leaves at 11:30. What time’s the wedding?”

“Six.”

“Guess we’re taking the bus.”

I fucking hate this idea. Ian can tell. He grabs me by the waist. “We can cuddle the whole way there.”

Okay, maybe I fucking love this idea.

---

We leave the car behind. Leave the body shop behind. Check out of the motel, leave it behind.

All I’ve been doing lately is letting things go. Releasing the goddamn trapeze wire and falling without a net.

My ex is the hardest fucking thing to let go.

Ian and I sit in the back seat of a cab, on our way to the bus station. He holds my hand, simply. “This is the first time I’ve seen your shoulders relax.”

He's a six-foot-high, freckly-armed godsend. It's easier to let go when a motherfucker like that is waiting to catch you.

---

The bus trip passes in a blur. I’m lost in a tangle of Gallagher limbs. He touches my forehead, cups my cheek, kisses me every minute on the minute.

After all the shit we’ve gone through, the ride feels too easy. Roadblocks are easy to rally against. But when the path is clear, doubt creeps in.

We pull into Nashville Station at four o’clock. It’s sunny. The air smells like Keith.

He’s probably putting on his tux and double-checking the flowers right now.

I’ve been obsessed. I haven’t taken a moment to breathe.

Fuck.

Am I doing the right thing?

---

I shove down my hesitation, because fuck Keith. If I want to crash his party, I’ll do it with a wrecking ball.

Ian and I step out of an Uber, bleary-eyed. The white chapel sits in a commercial strip, bathed in neon.

There’s two pink birds dressed in tuxedos mounted out front. I rip one from the grass. “Goddamn flamingos, man. That was supposed to be our thing.”

A man greets guests at the chapel steps. “Thank you for coming, thank you ah-very much.” Rhinestones. Bell bottoms. Sunglasses.

I can’t handle this shit. “He’s having fucking Elvis officiate his wedding?!”

---

I’m ready to find out what kinda froufrou shindig my ex is throwing. I’m gonna bust in his skull the second he vows himself to that prick Logan Covington.  

Only … I haven’t moved yet.

Ian sets his hand on my neck. He touches a muscle that calms my whole goddamn body. “Hey, there’s a pizza place around the block. You up for it?”

I blink. “Bustin’ this up isn’t going to help anything, is it?”

He shakes his head.

Fuck. That voice of reason finally takes hold. “Pizza it is, then.”

The moment we turn, I hear a voice. “Mickey?”

---

Keith’s tux is perfect. His hair is perfect. “What’re you doing here? H-how are you?”

“Me? I don’t have a care in the goddamn world.”

He’s got candles in one hand and hideous flowers in the other. He pauses, like there’s no fucking sense hiding what’s going on. “I’m dying to know what you’re thinking.”

Well, fuck, I am, too. Because I didn’t plan this far. This whole trip’s been fueled by spitfire and rage. Now here we stand, face-to-face, and I’m torn between revenge and the strong freckled hands of my Uber driver.

I open my mouth to speak.

---

I can’t find the right words. My mouth works on autopilot. I turn my head and lay the biggest goddamn kiss on Ian. His body tenses, then he melts into it like we’ve been doing this shit for years.

I forget that Keith’s there. Elvis fades away. The chords of the practicing organist fade away.

I pull back slowly, staring at Ian.

“Um, hello?” Keith waves.

“Ian and I are gonna grab some grub. Maybe check out that haunted Nashville tour. Have fun with whatever bullshit you’re doing today.”

I don’t care how petty I sound.

I’m finally fuckin’ free.

---

I hear Keith stammering behind me. I don’t care what he has to say or what a clusterfuck this’ll be after the dust settles and we return home.

Ian and I shuffle down the sidewalk arm-in-arm.

The pizza ain’t Chicago style, but it tastes amazing. The hotel Ian picks for us ain’t fancy, but the sheets are clean.

We kiss against the wall. He peels off my clothes.

25 hours. 475 miles. One motherfucking Elvis. One round of drowsy sex.

I’m comfortable tangled in Ian’s gangly arms.

We do the thing I’ve been dying to do for an eternity … sleep.

---

Ian hands our key to the hotel clerk. “My friend and I enjoyed our stay.”

I nudge Ian as we walk outside. “Why’d you call me that?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

I pinch my eyes. I need more.

Ian slinks against me. “You’re my… lover.” Now he’s getting it. “Wanna bite you. Wanna nibble on you the whole way home.”

Better, but I still need more. “When we get back, will you be my—”

“Yes.” For Ian, it’s as simple as that.

We got no car. No plan. We only have each other.

And that’s all I fuckin’ need.

---*---*---*---*---

ONE YEAR LATER

Ian threw a receipt onto the kitchen table. “Finally paid the last toll. Got all the Camry repairs done.”

Mickey smirked. “We never got to show off our fake dating skills on that trip.”

“There’s one last souvenir I gotta deal with.” Ian got down on one knee, holding a small black box. “You’re in this house – this home – all the time. Might as well make it official.”

“You sayin’ you wanna get hitched?”

“You up for it? No flamingoes, I promise.”

Mickey pulled him into a kiss. “Pretty wise choice, hopping in your car that day.”

[steviewashere]

Mirrors to the Soul

Rating: General CW: Past Parental Death, Grief/Mourning, Sick Parent, Stroke, Brief Homophobic Slur (Almost Forgot to Tag) Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Soft Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Reflections, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson, Dialogue Heavy

Two fics in one day? Why, yes, I am insane.

🫂—————🫂 The air was chilling tonight. Sweeping by and prickling on Eddie’s cheek. Sky was clear. Except for the stars. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many, not all at once, not during a time like this. His lungs burn gently, the crackling of his cigarette a lull within the buzz of nocturnal mosquitos.

There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to be. The trailer’s roof is cold against his back. And his mind is wandering. To everything he could imagine. Dustin’s recent try at a Hellfire campaign, Mike’s new guitar hobby and how he’s actually good, Lucas’s attempt at passing Eddie the ball (only for the ball to not be caught and instead hit him square in the chest), Robin’s date with Vickie, and Steve’s snores after a long Family Video shift. Life’s actually decent. It’s warm in the community he’s created. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if it means losing his mom over and over and over again. The pain that was left. Her last goodbye. Which wasn’t really an exchange of words, but her eyes. Oh, her eyes.

Somebody is clambering up the side of the trailer. Thunking and hefting and panting slightly. And then, the top of Steve’s head is popping up. His hair askew, face slack, mouth glistening a bit with drool. “What’re you up here for?” Steve asks him sleepily.

“Thinking,” he answers softly. Opens up his non-smoking arm and gestures for Steve to come on over. Relishing in the way Steve’s head rests on his shoulder when he gets himself settled, the ability to tighten an arm over his broad shoulders, and the heat that radiates from him. “What’re you up here for?”

“Woke up,” Steve mumbles, “you weren’t there. Got worried.”

Eddie hums. “Sorry,” he whispers, “just got caught up in my thoughts. I’ll come back—“

“What’re you thinking about? Y’know, if you’re okay sharing.” Steve nuzzles his cheek into Eddie’s bony shoulder. His lips dragging over the threadbare t-shirt underneath them. The heat and plush quality of them felt.

“Not an exact thing, really,” Eddie answers honestly. “Just sorta…I dunno. Let myself be proud of Mike and Dustin. Remembered the pain of that basketball Lucas tossed at me. Got excited about the juicy details I’ll get from Robin later. Was thinking of how nice it is to hear you sound asleep after a long, grueling day.” He cups his hand over Steve’s right shoulder. Pressing it into his shirt, dragging it down to his bicep, and back up to his neck. Lays his palm flat against the exposed skin there. Frowning, though Steve can’t see him, at the temperature. “Mm, you’re warm. You feeling okay?”

Steve nods sluggishly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “just…y’know me. Space heater.”

Gently, Eddie tucks his head down to land a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead. Feeling how Steve scrunches his eyebrows, then raises them in contentment. He reaches out his left hand blearily to the extra space on the roof, puts out his cigarette, and then wraps his now free hand on the middle of Steve’s back. Pulls him in a little closer and looks back up at the spatter of stars.

“Wayne…Wayne asked me if you’ve talked about your mom at all,” Steve says slowly. An edge of confusion to his words. “Told him no. He thought that it was weird. Is—Should you be talking about your mom or something?”

Tracing a finger down the ridges of Steve’s spine, Eddie makes a non-committal grunt. “I mean…I don’t have to,” he states quietly, “it’s just. It’s the anniversary I came home to Wayne. Her funeral.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes. “Oh. I—I’m sorry, Eds. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—“

“Shh, sweetheart,” he coos. Runs his palms soothingly up and down Steve’s torso until he goes lax against his shoulder again. “I know you didn’t know, it’s okay. I was already thinking about her anyway.”

Steve goes extremely quiet for several minutes. Enough for the mosquitos to take that as invitation, to buzz and hum louder. For the neighborhood stray dog to start digging at the chainlink fence. The neighbors a few trailers down to start up another argument. He eventually sighs, though. Lays his palm over Eddie’s belly and strokes his thumb in counter-clockwise circles. “What were you,” he asks hesitantly, “what were you up here thinking about?”

Eddie takes a hesitant gulp. Hopes Steve doesn’t hear it. Or the shutter of his next inhale. The sudden lurch in his chest. “Oh…I thought about her eyes.”

“Her…Her eyes?”

Instinctively, Eddie squeezes them closer together. As if Steve’s his childhood teddy bear. “Yeah,” he breathes, “her eyes.” His throat clicks with his next swallow. And briefly, he wishes he didn’t have to keep explaining himself. Or the nature of his parents. But he was already thinking about her. God, he was thinking about her. “Have you ever—you probably haven’t—but you ever see somebody say goodbye without using their words?”

“Sure,” Steve says quietly, “Honestly, Billy had this look to him before he…I couldn’t care at the time. But I—That look haunts me. Defeat, I think. It was the towel being thrown in, y’know?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, it’s like defeat. It’s…I think it’s one of the worst ways somebody can look at a person. I think somebody who looks like that knows, too.

“It’s weird. She was sick on and off for years. Just had a slew of health issues. Blood pressure and strokes and things like that. So, her…Watching her go shouldn’t have been a surprise. I’d been expecting it for a long time. Like so long, in fact, that I always had this motto about her: “She’s going to go, so you need to be ready.” That’s what I used to tell myself.”

“Eddie,” Steve mumbles, “that’s—“

“Awful?” He questions softly. “I know. But when someone enters your life and you build your whole world around them and then they just—

“She didn’t care, is the thing. Didn’t care for herself. Didn’t try. Didn’t want to most days. It was always this—this thing with her. I’d help her sort out her pills, I’d be the one to put her to bed on her worst days, I was always there to hold her hair back or to wipe her skin or to just make sure she laughed. But…Some days it just felt like she didn’t put in the effort,” he explains fiercely, yet quietly. For a moment, he takes a deep, strangling breath. Letting it go just as he presses firmly on Steve’s shoulders, as he lays his cheek on Steve’s freshly cleaned hair, and recalibrates.

Steve’s hand lays itself heavily on his chest. Thumb working overtime. “Take your time,” he murmurs, “I’m listening.”

Eddie nods because he’s still finding his words. Swallowing down the bad ones. Receding the anger that overtakes him a lot of the time when she’s the subject. Hates that it’s his first reaction. Loves it because for the first few months after her, he felt nothing.

He continues, “On her last day, I wasn’t even with her. I’d been at school. And then I went to a friend’s house to play some card games and hang out. I had—I remember calling her at the school, using the payphone. Putting in the last of my lunch money so I could just ask for her permission.

“I also remember not saying bye. Or saying how much I love her. Or that I love her, matter of fact. Just rushed out the question, hung up when she said yes. Followed my friend to the bus. Didn’t go home for several hours.” He’s always wondered if he’d gone home immediately, if she would’ve held out longer. If she would’ve been the one to unlock the door and usher him inside. If she would’ve had a tv show on and her wheelchair parked in front of it, if he would’ve been on the couch eating a stupid mayo and turkey sandwich, if they would’ve laughed themselves silly.

If she would’ve kissed his head later that night. And they would say their ‘I love you’s and she would’ve not—

“I came home and she was having a stroke,” Eddie confesses quietly. The words like plucking glass from a deep wound. And that’s sort of what it is, he supposes. Her loss like a still healing scar on his heart. Steve pats his chest like he knows. Maybe he does, Eddie wonders, maybe he always knew. “Dad wanted me to help her into her chair. But I—You’ve seen me, Steve. I’m scrawny. Like I’m not…I’m not like you. I don’t have all that bulk, the muscle to lift much. Like I can lift amps, those are only twenty pounds or so if they’re bigger, but she’s a whole person. I wasn’t going to be able to. But I tried.

“I tried, is the thing. Really, I did.”

Steve kisses his shoulder. “I believe you, Eds,” he whispers, easy as that.

Eddie closes his eyes briefly. The tears don’t want to rescind this time, but he’s caught up in his own words, unable to make them stop. “I tried,” he says again. “I was standing in front of her. And her arms…She kept pointing at things, but I didn’t understand and I—I could only look at her. Couldn’t really breathe. I couldn’t get my words out correctly. So I just stared.

“And she…She looked back, Steve. My mama looked back at me.

“Those thirty seconds that we—“ He swallows heavily, choking back on the steady stream of tears making their sure way down his face. Lets himself breathe. Breathe. “—Those thirty seconds held everything. All the words we couldn’t say. I saw them manifest in her gaze. All those apologies for bad arguments we’d have. The soft okays we’d exchange when I needed to help her. Even the stupid inside joke she had about how Karen Carpenter was my childhood celebrity crush.” Despite himself, he smiles. Washes in Steve’s little snort. Because it’s true, he did have a crush on Karen Carpenter—how his mom just knew, Eddie’ll never know. “All this to say, she told me that she loved me. She gave me the same eyes she did when I’d have night terrors. When I’d cry about how scary the dark was. When I’d come home all swollen and beaten up, thinking dirty about how much of a fag I was; when she had held me and told me it was okay, as long as I was still her little Teddie Bear.

“Oh, I was,” Eddie shakily breathes out. “I was everything to her, I think. Because she was my everything. Stevie, my mama was my whole world. And I—I could only stare at her when she needed my help the most. I wonder, y’know, if she was okay with me gaping and shaking and afraid in that moment.

“I wonder if she looked at me and instead of seeing her freshly teenaged son, she saw her newborn baby boy between her arms. With big scared eyes. And tears on his face. I wonder if she…I wonder if she wanted to reach up with her limp arms and caress my cheeks and coo.” He sniffs. Swallows down his snot, disgusting as it is compared to all of this. And sighs. Says softly, “There was this one night where she had a really bad, explosive argument with my dad. I must’a been four or five? Woke up in the middle of the night to them screaming, kind of drifting, half-awake. And she. My mama opened my bedroom door and pulled back my blanket and crawled in with me. Lay right by my side, held my hands, was crying all soft and quiet.

“I asked her if she was okay. She told me she was fine. I asked her if she was mad at Daddy. She said yes. I asked her if she wanted to cuddle. And she just held me in her arms and I held her back. And when she pulled away, though her hands were still on my back, she looked at me and said: “I love you.” Because I was a curious little shit, I could only ask, “Forever and ever?” She nodded anyway. Answered, “Forever and ever until time runs out.””

Eddie splays his palm between Steve’s shoulder blades. A mirror to his mom’s right hand on his own back. Kisses him again because he’s there and tangible and alive and warm. Whispers, “I wonder if she looked at me in our final moments together and realized time was running out, y’know? If she…if she wanted to promise forever anyway. I would’a let her, is the thing. Because there’s no way that her and I aren’t infinite.”

Slowly, Steve sits up. Leans down on his left elbow, hovering over Eddie. He carefully swipes his free hand down the side of Eddie’s face. Wiping away at the tears, caressing his skin, gazing softly down at him. “Y’know what I think?”

“Hm?”

Another soft pet to the side of his face, this time Steve’s knuckles grazing his skin. “I think,” Steve whispers, “I think you two are. I think…That time doesn’t stop moving. And with the way you talk about her, it’s clear the love lives on.”

Eddie closes his eyes. Drenching in the thought. The sincere truth behind it.

He won’t tell Steve this, but there was a part of him that was ready to welcome his mama into his body. That it was for safety, protection, a sanctuary. In their final moment together, he had wanted to climb back inside his mother’s body or to open his own and fit her around his heart. That he imagined his body like a tomb—and her sanctuary, the womb. That they were one in the same. In that final moment, they were the same.

“At her funeral,” he murmurs, “we had an open casket.” He opens his eyes, searching Steve’s face for uncertainty.

“You can tell me, Eds,” Steve responds, coaxing. “I’m listening, baby.”

Eddie softly nods. Leans into the warmth of Steve’s palm still on his face. Breathes out. Breathes in. “I didn’t want to look,” he confesses quietly. “Part of me was afraid. But…I think most of me just didn’t want to accept her as gone. So I—Wayne had crouched down in front of me, we were in the closest pew inside this crazy echoing church, and he placed his hands on my knobby knees. His hands were heavy and his face was tired. He still had most of his hair, but he looked older, like he does now.

“But he told me that they were going to close the casket if I wanted to say goodbye. I just shook my head. I couldn’t bear the thought. That the last time I saw her, I couldn’t speak. And I didn’t want our last time to be this…this moment where she wouldn’t listen.

“So, when I think of her now, I think of her eyes. Of every single thing we’d ever done. How she held me. How we danced. Our music. The peals of laughter across the living room. Every argument. All the hugs in which we cried and we were sorry and how warm she was. She was always so warm.

“You wanna know something funny, sweetheart?” He asks with levity.

Steve peers softly at him. Holding him. Smiling that little gentle thing he does. “What is it?” He murmurs.

“She used to tell me that she was okay when I asked about how warm she was. Said that, “Oh, y’know. I’m a space heater, Teddie.” And I just think…I think—Sometimes I look and listen to you and I imagine her, just this essence she had. This…

“Her love. Because she loved everything, anything that she could. Held onto things. Caressed them. Kissed ‘em. And if I ever needed assurance that love is forever, I look onto you and I see her and…And I dunno. You reach me in ways only blood knows how, and I know that with you, my world is complete.” He sniffs. Breathes this giddy chuckle of a thing. Steve’s full attention is on him, a little heartbroken, but a lot sincere. “All this to say that I…I didn’t really talk about her today because—Love takes new shape when you need it again. I listened to you snore for a bit earlier before I came out here and I knew I was going to be okay.

“That we were going to be okay. Everybody’s alive. And even if my mom isn’t, her love is. She’s in everything.” He reaches up his right hand from where it fell away from Steve’s shoulders, instead cupping his face. Thumb tracing over his cheekbone, over a raised white scar from a previous fight. Fingers skating down to his neck, the exposed circle from the demobat tail and the vines. Up and around to his back again where he’s got scars like angel wings. Lifts his head and leans up, the lightest press of his lips on Steve’s. Between them, he breathes, “I love you.”

“Jesus,” Steve chokes out wetly, “I love you, too.”

Eddie hums pleased. “I just needed to say it. I never want to forget again. You make me remember. You make me selfless, Steve. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

🫂—————🫂 Oops, thought about my mom today.

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 2

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

When Joel was 17, he kissed a boy for the first time.

His name was Kenny Farmington, and they were both a little drunk on cheap beer and a nice Texas night and the special high that comes from being not quite a man and not quite a boy, stuck in that in-between time when it felt like anything was possible. Joel had a truck and a part-time job at Regis Construction and his whole life spread out before him like an open road.

It was a nice enough kiss. But when Joel opened his eyes after their lips parted and saw fear rather than lust in his friend’s eyes, he knew it ended there. Everyone knew Kenny’s dad was a raging homophobe who would “whoop his ass” if he thought his son might be “one of them dirty fuckin’ faggots”.

Joel wasn’t convinced his own father wouldn’t have had something to say about it had he known.

And, oh well. Joel liked girls, too. He liked them enough to bring Eileen Folsom home and make out with her in the basement rec room at her parents’ house until his cock was weeping and his balls were blue. He liked them well enough to get to third base with Cindy Sherwood in the back of his truck. He liked girls plenty.

It was the eighties, anyway. AIDS was spreading like wildfire, and small-town Texas was hardly the place to go looking for action if you weren’t straight as a goddamn arrow.

Four years later, Joel liked one particular girl enough to knock her up, and then he didn’t have much time to consider whether he’d want to kiss another boy, because he was going to be a father.

And then there was Sarah. And a divorce. And his parents died. And Tommy went off to war and came back, and there was overtime and working doubles to keep the roof over their heads and the payment on the truck up, and who the fuck had time to think about boys or girls or anyone in between.

And then there was cordyceps. And his daughter, his baby girl, bleeding out in his arms.

And then Joel didn’t spend much time thinking about what he liked at all. He kept going for the ones who needed him without a thought spared for himself.

And then came Ellie.

Ellie, who patched up his heart and turned his life upside down and made him care about something other than brute survival again. Tore down his walls and broke him open and somehow left him whole.

Whole, and…wanting.

Which is why, forty years after Kenny Farmington, he doesn’t feel bad about imagining another man’s face, or hands, or lips on his body when he strokes himself in the shower. He doesn’t feel ashamed when he gets off to the thought of another man’s mouth on his cock. It’s not the first time he’s been attracted to a man, and it won’t be the last.

No, he feels bad because that man is his daughter’s fucking therapist. That man is someone she needs to trust, someone she raves about over dinner, someone who is, in her words, “so fucking cool”.

And his duty, first and foremost, is to Ellie.

So he tries not to imagine Ezra when his libido comes roaring back to life after years of dormancy, boiling his blood and making him feel half his age.

And he fails, miserably.

He comes out of his own bad dreams to hers more often than not. Sometimes she calls for Riley, sometimes for him, and sometimes she just screams.

Tonight it’s the latter, and he’s across the hall and through her door in seconds, a reflex perfected over months.

“Hey, Ellie,” he mumbles, only half conscious. “Ellie, you’re okay.”

“He was–he–I can’t breathe ,” she chokes out, panting in short, wispy breaths.

“Yeah, y’can, in and out,” he says. “Like we practiced. C’mon, you got it. Breathe, baby girl.”

“Can’t,” she gasps, but he feels her back expand and contract under his palm, the movements slowing as each subsequent breath gets longer. He folds her into his arms and rubs her back the way she likes and whispers assurances into her hair as her panicked gasps turn into sobs.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay, baby, you’re alright.”

In these moments, she goes from being the smart-mouthed, sassy little shit he loves to a scared, vulnerable little kid. He prefers her bratty. This is too much like those brutal winter days when they came so close to losing each other.

Eventually, she sniffs and scoots over so he can stretch out next to her on top of the covers. He puts his arm out so she can curl into him, one hand gripping his t-shirt at his side. He swears all his sleep shirts are stretched out funny; even after washing, they hold the imprint of her fingers.

They both sleep better this way, though neither of them will admit it. She swears she’s too old to snuggle and he worries what people might think. But after months on the road, after so many nights camped out next to each other in the dirt, the comfort of someone else’s breathing makes for a powerful lullaby.

“Bad one?” he asks, tracing the line of her temple with his thumb.

“They’re all bad ones,” she mutters into his chest. “Wish I wasn’t like this.”

“Like what?”

“All…broken and shit.”

“We’re all pretty fuckin’ broken, kiddo.”

“Yeah, but I’m like, extra broken.”

He swallows hard, wonders how many times he’s dreamed of a vast field bordered by blocked highways, the sound of helicopters overhead, gunfire in the distance. The smell of blood.

“Know it feels like that…but it’ll get better,” he whispers, hugging her tightly, wondering if it counts as a lie. “Jus’ takes time.”

He’s almost dozed off when she speaks again, her voice low and distant.

“I don’t belong here.”

His brow furrows. “What d’you mean?”

She doesn’t answer. He can’t imagine a world in which she doesn’t belong with him, can’t imagine a life where she isn’t exactly where she is right now. Knowing how close they came to that reality, just the thought is enough to set his heart to racing.

Swear to me.

“What do you mean, kiddo?” he prompts.

“Nothing,” she murmurs. “S’nothing, never mind.”

“Look, Ellie–”

“It’s fine, Joel. I’m just…tired,” she mumbles, nuzzling into his chest. “Don’t wanna talk.”

“Alright,” he whispers, cupping the back of her head. “Alright, then. Get some sleep.”

She does, and he doesn’t. He stares at the opposite wall and listens to her breathe and wonders if he will ever not feel like he’s failing her.

Ellie doesn’t offer much about her weekly appointments with Ezra and Joel doesn’t ask. Instead, she talks about the music they listened to (“None of that Linda Ronstadt shit.”) and begs Joel for a record player. He swaps one of his refurbished guitars for a small portable model at the trading post, and Ezra sends her home with new records each week.

There’s a lot of Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and AC/DC, all played at a volume that Joel might find concerning if he wasn’t already half deaf.

Late November comes and she hasn’t had a nightmare in two weeks. She still grumbles about going to school, still talks back and swears like a goddamn sailor, but there are no more pink slips and she hasn’t stabbed any more desks. Or students.

Small favors.

They’re walking into the Saturday movie together before he sees Ezra again.

“What’re they playin’?” Joel asks.

“It’s a Wonderful Life," Ellie chirps. "It’s black and white, a classic.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Just ‘cause it’s in black and white don’t make it a classic.”

“Thought you’d like it that way. Means it’s old as dirt, like you.”

“Was born in ‘67, you little shit,” he grumbles. “We had color movies.”

“Whatever you say, grandpa.”

Ellie drags him into the rec center, eager to claim one of the big couches at the back so she can sprawl out and hog three-quarters of the damn thing.

“I save seats, you get popcorn,” she says. Joel makes a show of rolling his eyes at being bossed around, but this is part of the routine. He makes his way to the table with the little wax bags of popcorn and grabs two. He doesn’t like the stuff, it gets stuck in his teeth, but she’ll eat his portion. That’s also part of the routine.

He gets back to the couch and motions for her to scoot over. “I get the corner.”

She obliges, then takes her usual seat, propped against his right side in a heartbreakingly familiar position.

“Don’t fall asleep this time,” he mutters, handing her the popcorn.

“As if,” she scoffs.

“You did last week.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it was one of those stupid action movies.”

“ Die Hard is not a stupid action movie,” Joel grumbles. “You wanna talk about Christmas classics.”

“You’re kidding, right? What part of ‘dude spends two boring-ass hours climbing through air vents’ makes Die Hard a Christmas movie?”

Before he can make his case for Bruce Willis, she catches sight of someone across the room and gasps.

“Hey, Ezra! Over here!”

She jumps up and waves, eliciting a faint smile from the man as he approaches. “Hello, my young prodigy. And…just Joel.”

Joel nods in greeting; his tongue suddenly doesn’t want to cooperate.

“Sit with us,” she says, scooting closer to Joel and patting the seat.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Ezra says, eyes flicking uncertainly to Joel’s, but Ellie is already pulling him down on her other side.

“Plenty of room,” Joel coughs. “S’no trouble.”

As soon as Ezra’s butt hits the seat, Ellie begins chattering about Christmas movies as Ezra listens with rapt attention. Joel catches only a fraction of their conversation–he blames his bad ear and the rumble of the crowd filing in around them–but he can’t help but watch the two with an unexpected feeling of relief. It’s clear she’s made a friend.

The opening credits start and Ellie turns back to Joel, tucking herself under his arm. She munches on her popcorn until it’s gone, at which point Joel wordlessly hands her his share.

He’s never liked It’s a Wonderful Life , even less so after Sarah’s death. They watched it every Christmas at her insistence. He thought it was dumb then, and twenty years and an apocalypse have done nothing to change his opinion. But for Ellie, he’ll watch just about anything, one arm draped over the back of the couch as she cuddles up against him. 

Halfway through the movie, with their empty popcorn bags discarded on the floor, Ellie is curled up against Joel’s leg, head pillowed on his thigh, breathing deeply.

“Told ya not to fall asleep,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t try to move or wake her, reaching down to stroke her hair instead. Movie nights are good for something, even if it means suffering through Jimmy Stewart’s manufactured crisis.

When he looks up again, Ezra’s attention has drifted from the movie to watch them, a soft expression on his face. Their eyes meet and he smiles a little and Joel feels that warm flush creep up his neck.

He’s used to people avoiding him. Walking around with his scowl and his “asshole voice”, as Ellie calls it. It worked in the QZ and it works in Jackson. He’s known for being gruff and stoic and taking no bullshit. He saves his smiles for Ellie’s shitty puns.

If that makes him an asshole, so be it.

But Ezra clearly hasn’t gotten the message, and Joel doesn’t know what to make of that.

When the movie is over, he rouses Ellie with a gentle flick to her ear. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“Mmmph,” she growls. “Didn’t fall asleep, asshole.”

“Sure, kid,” he mutters. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

She makes it to her feet, rubbing her eyes, and lets Joel help her with her jacket, one of the sleeves having turned inside out in her rush to claim the couch.

“Bye, Ezra,” she yawns.

“Goodnight, young prodigy. Joel,” he nods, those warm brown eyes lingering. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but doesn’t, and then Ellie is pulling Joel into the exiting crowd.

They’re eating dinner at the caf next week when Ellie brings him up again.

“Ezra wants you.”

Joel chokes on a bite of stew. “W-what?”

“Chew much?” Ellie raises an eyebrow. “I said, Ezra wants to see you.”

“Oh, right, uh…why does…Ezra wanna see me?” he coughs, reaching for his water.

“My last session’s on Wednesday. He wants to ‘check in’ or whatever.”

“Oh…right…fine,” Joel says, pulse suddenly a nagging throb in his throat. “I’ll, uh…I’ll drop by tomorrow before patrol.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“Yeah?” Joel stabs at a carrot. “So?”

“Sooooo he’s not in on Sundays.”

“M’sure he can spare five minutes,” Joel mutters.

“Whatever, dude,” Ellie shrugs. “Oh, hey–Dina invited me to go with her and Jesse after stable duty. They’re gonna show me around the south quad; the sheep pasture. Your favorite.”

“Dina…Dina,” Joel mutters, thinking. “Wait, ain’t that the one who–”

“Yeah,” Ellie says, blushing a little. “She’s kinda cool when she’s not being a fucking jerk.”

Joel hides his smile in his mug. “Alright. Just be careful an’ get back here for dinner.”

“Sir, yes sir,” she says through a mouthful of potatoes, throwing in a little mock salute.

This time, he doesn’t bother hiding his smile.

He finds himself on Ezra’s doorstep the next morning. Faint music drifts from inside and by the time he finally works up the courage to knock, Ezra is peering at him from the other side of the glass, half-naked and toweling his hair dry.

“Oh, uh…hey. I, uh–”

Joel tells himself the cold December air accounts for the sudden flush of color in his cheeks. Ezra’s torso is still slick from the shower, a pair of gray sweats hanging low on narrow hips. His bare chest, much like Joel’s, is dappled with scars. He finds himself entranced by a drop of water that escapes a dark curl and lands on his neck, slipping down the length of his throat and settling on one firm pectoral. Joel bites the inside of his lower lip hard.

Maybe Sunday was a bad idea.

“Joel! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

And maybe Joel is reading too much into it, but the way Ezra’s face lights up makes him think it is a pleasure.

“Uh…I can come back–”

But the other man has already opened the door and is ushering him inside. “Nonsense, come in.”

“Ellie said you wanted, uh…needed to see me?”

“I did! I do. ”

The strains of a Tom Petty song float from the office. Ezra ducks in and stops the player with a light needle scratch.

“Coffee? It’s not the genuine article, I’m afraid, just chicory, but I brewed more than enough for two.”

“Uh…sure. Thanks.”

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll return posthaste.”

‘Posthaste.’ Jesus.

Joel stands at the door of the little office with his hands in his pockets, slowly taking in the room with fresh eyes. He’s drawn to the record shelf. Curious, he thumbs lightly through the stacks of vinyl, finding an eclectic mix of basically everything. There’s even some of “that Linda Ronstadt shit”.

“Your young prodigy prefers Pearl Jam,” Ezra says from the doorway, startling Joel a little. “I’m trying to broaden her horizons a bit.”

He’s put on a t-shirt, his hair still tousled and damp around his ears, and he holds out a steaming mug of chicory coffee.

“Thanks,” Joel takes it gruffly, sips at it, burns his tongue, sputtering and making a damn fool of himself in the process. “Yeah, she’s, uh…she’s really impressed with your collection.”

“We’ve had quite the musical education,” Ezra smiles, that same boyish grin. “I’ve enjoyed her company immensely over these last few weeks, I have to say.”

“Uh…good,” Joel says. “She, uh, said you needed me for somethin’?”

“Sure, sure. Have a seat.”

Joel does, setting his mug down on the coffee table as Ezra does the same. 

“The council mandated twelve weeks; our last appointment is coming up. I just wanted to convey my deep appreciation for–”

The office door, slightly ajar, is suddenly flung open.

“Ez, I’m gonna–whoa.”

A lanky, blonde-haired girl, not much older than Ellie by Joel’s estimation, rushes into the room, then stops short. She blinks at Joel and grimaces in apology.

“Door was open,” the girl says.

“We’re not–I’m not working, Cee,” Ezra says. “Cee, this is Joel. Joel, Cee.”

“Hi,” Cee says. “Sorry, I just…I’m at the greenhouse today. ‘Til six.”

Ezra nods. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, birdie.”

And then she’s gone with a wave and a “later” over her shoulder, and Ezra’s smile softens.

“I have a young prodigy of my own,” he murmurs. “You aren’t the only one to take in a stray.”

“Your kid?”

“No…no, not exactly. I’m afraid I don’t share your fatherly tendencies,” he muses. “Fellow travelers, let’s say. She’s helped me out of a scrape or two, and I do the same when I can. We make a formidable team…as do you and your Ellie, I believe.”

Joel bites his lip. When they were on the road, he would have said they made a good team. Now he’s not so sure.

“Right, uh…you were sayin’, about Ellie?”

Ezra smiles and relaxes back into his chair.

“Joel, I think your young prodigy is quite possibly the sanest person alive in the town of Jackson. She has a knack for seeing things exactly as they are, and the soul of someone twice her age. It’s truly…remarkable. It’s evident she’s endured some trauma, but she has a strong constitution.”

Joel braces himself for the inevitable “but”.

She won’t behave. She swears too much. She’s too loud.

She needs someone who can take care of her, and you’re not cutting it.

You’re failing her.

“But…?”

Ezra raises an eyebrow, shrugs. “That’s it. I know from some…personal experience,” he says, eyes flicking toward the office door, “that it’s sometimes difficult for a man to know where he stands with these things. For what it’s worth, you’re doing a fine job with her.”

Joel snorts softly. “Yeah, right.”

“I am wholeheartedly serious,” the other man says. “I’m sure she’s awash in the usual teenage reticence, but in present company, she speaks of you fondly. She tells me she’s lucky to have you, perhaps not in so many words, but it’s there. And I’d agree. She is lucky to have you, Joel.”

Joel blinks, surprised to feel the prickle of tears in the corners of his eyes, the sudden overwhelming relief of it. He ducks his head.

“That’s…uh…that’s good,” Joel manages. “She’s, uh…”

He can’t finish, his tongue feels stuck in his mouth. Ezra nudges a basket of handkerchiefs across the coffee table, and Joel almost laughs aloud at the absurdity. A year ago, if someone told him he’d be crying in a therapist’s office he would have shot them point blank and slept like a damn baby after.

She’s my whole damn world.

She deserves better.

“She’s a good kid,” he finishes thickly.

“Indeed. For the purposes of the council’s involvement, I don’t think she’s a danger to herself or others,” Ezra continues. “And that’s what I’ll be putting in my report.”

“Alright. That’s…that’s real good,” Joel sighs.

He swipes a cloth from the basket and rubs at his eyes. It’s like taking his first breath of air after drowning. For the first time since arriving in Jackson, he thinks maybe she’s going to be fine. They might just make it through.

Ezra gets up and Joel does the same, crumpling the cloth and stuffing the evidence into his pocket.

“Before you go, would you humor me?” Ezra says. “There’s something I like to do with my clients. Not that you’re a client, but…I’d like to satisfy a certain…curiosity.”

He goes to the record shelf and begins thumbing through the albums as if looking for something specific. Eventually, he pulls one down, examining it thoughtfully before turning and bringing it over.

“Give this a listen,” Ezra murmurs. “Tell me what you think. A…musician’s opinion.”

Butterflies alight in Joel’s stomach at the timbre of his voice. That wanting is back, filling in for the weight of the anxiety he’s carried for so many months. Ezra watches Joel’s face with an odd kind of quiet, as if searching for something.

If Joel didn’t know better, he’d think he was nervous.

“Uh, sure,” he says, accepting the album after a too-long pause. “I’ll…let you know.”

And then the moment is gone, and Joel is leaving, record tucked under one arm, half relieved, half longing, and entirely confused.

Later, he sneaks into Ellie’s room to borrow the record player. He takes it to his room, plugs it in, and unsheathes the album.

Eva Cassidy, Songbird .

Joel recognizes the title track, but it’s a softer rendition, softer than any of the music Ellie has brought home and blasted at top volume.

The woman’s soulful, sweet voice draws him in. It’s almost sad. It’s the kind of music that reminds him of Sarah, something she would have asked him to play on the rare nights he was home with enough time to do so. Something she would have sung along with in her soft soprano voice.

Midnights in winter

The glowing fire

Lights up your face in orange and gold

I see your sweet smile

Shine through the darkness

It's line is etched in my memory

So I'd know you by heart

Before long, he’s reaching for his guitar and replacing the needle to repeat the track, frowning as he tries to suss out the key and the chord progression.

Ellie finds him that way sometime later, perched on the edge of the bed with his guitar in his lap.

“Joel, where’d the record pl–oh, hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, blinking into the dim light. “Sorry…guess I lost track of time. Got caught up here.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, uh…saw Ezra today. He gave me this,” he gestures to the record. “Thought I’d try to play a little.”

She narrows her eyes. “Did you guys talk about me?”

“Yep,” he says, setting the guitar aside. “Ezra told me all the dirt on you.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Said you’re a menace to society. Should lock you up and throw away the key.”

Ellie grins. “Did not.”

“Did too,” Joel smirks. “Said you’re crazier than a squirrel in a nuthouse. Loonier than a lake full of…uh, loons.”

She giggles, music to his ears. “Shut up.”

He has the sudden, desperate desire to pull her in for a hug and ruffle her hair. He settles for giving her shoulder a squeeze.

“How ‘bout we go get some dinner?” he says, standing and propping Songbird up on his dresser for safekeeping. “My treat.”

“You mean the caf’s treat, asshole. And I want my record player back.”

“Who says it’s yours? Don’t see your name on it.”

“Dude, c’mon .”

“So…what do you know about this Ezra guy?”

It’s Christmas Eve, and they’re sitting at the table in Tommy and Maria’s kitchen. It’s been over a week since his conversation with Ezra. He hasn’t been able to get the other man out of his mind, and he definitely doesn’t know what to make of the record album sitting on his bedroom dresser.

Tommy frowns. “Ezra…Ezra…that the one without an arm?”

“Uh-huh.”

A shrug. “Gettin’ hard to keep track, lot of new folks comin’ through. Think he came in a few months ‘fore you, though. Had a girl with him, that much I remember. Why?”

He takes a sip of his beer. “Just curious, s’all. Ellie was seein’ him for the stuff that happened at school. What’d he do before?”

Giggles float in from the living room. Out of the corner of his eye, Joel watches Ellie sitting on the floor next to the tree–her first Christmas ever , she’d eagerly tell anyone who would listen–playing with baby Isabel while Maria dozes on the couch. All of them are stuffed full of a holiday meal that might have been a week’s worth of rations in the QZ.

Sometimes Jackson feels like a mirage in the desert. It’s almost too normal, too safe to be real.

“Think they broke off from a raidin’ party. Honestly, I don’t think we would’ve taken them in ‘cept the girl was in rough shape. Thought maybe he was…y’know…usin’ her or somethin’.”

Joel winces, shoots his brother a knowing look. They’d seen worse.

“But she insisted. Vouched for him,” Tommy continues. “Bit of an odd pair. Just like you and Ellie, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

“Why you askin’?”

He can’t meet his brother’s eyes. “No reason.”

“He’s an odd one but seems harmless. Or harmless enough. Talks fancy,” he mutters. “His kid’s a bit shy but smart as a whip. Reminds me of–”

Tommy stops abruptly, glancing at Joel from the corner of his eye as he takes a long swallow of beer.

“You can say her name, y’know,” Joel murmurs, frowning, scratching at an invisible spot on the table’s surface. “Sarah.”

“Sarah,” Tommy nods, then continues softly, “To be fair, big brother, there was a time when I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, well…things change,” Joel mutters.

He still can’t look at his niece without thinking of her, can’t hold her without feeling the weight of one who didn’t make it on his heart.

But at least he can say her damn name.

“An’ cheers to that,” Tommy smiles, lightly clinking his bottle against Joel’s. “How’s Ellie doin’, anyway?”

He tips his head toward the living room.

“Better,” Joel says, surprised to find he means it. “Think she’s settlin’ in alright.”

“She’s warmin’ up to me,” Tommy grins. “I know she’s been a little prickly. But the other day she caught me at the stables to ask about goin’ on patrols.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“She’s gotta be sixteen to start trainin’…and she needs your permission. Mighta told her that wouldn’t be a problem,” he grins. “Told her I could sweet talk you into just about anythin’.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Christ.”

“Offered to take her out at some point if it’s alright with you. Just her and me. Said she’d think about it. That’s somethin’, right?”

The hopeful note in his voice is almost heartbreaking. Sarah and her uncle had been thick as thieves, and Tommy’s eagerness to fill that role for Ellie radiated off him like heat off the pavement in a Texas July. He’d been standing on their doorstep two days after they’d come back to Jackson, ready to be the best damn uncle there ever was.

But Ellie was like a feral cat, slow to warm and quick to bite. Didn’t matter that Tommy was family, didn’t matter that Joel trusted him more than anyone else in Jackson, didn’t matter that Tommy would have let her get away with murder if she asked nice. Whether out of jealousy or fear, she’d resisted his careful advances and bribes.

“Yeah…that’s somethin’,” Joel agrees, smirking. 

“How ‘bout you?”

“How ‘bout me what?”

“How’re you settlin’ in?”

Joel snorts. “You sound like Ezra.”

“Yeah? Well…couldn’t hurt to make some friends, maybe.”

“M’fine, Tommy.”

Tommy shrugs. “Just sayin’. If you’re not careful, Maria’ll try to set you up. Likes to think she’s a matchmaker with all that spare time of hers.”

Joel tries and fails to hide a shudder. Yeah, he’s noticed the attention. It’s a small town with an even smaller dating pool, and he might as well be fresh meat thrown into the lion’s den. Ellie gets a kick out of watching him squirm when women approach him at the caf, is all too eager to string them along on his behalf when she really wants to be a shit-stirrer.

His asshole voice gets plenty of use.

Maybe if it were the right person…well. That would be a different story, one that makes him think of the album on his dresser again.

But he’s sure as hell not gonna tell Tommy any of that.

“M’not lookin’ for anything,” he mutters instead, sipping at his beer. “Got my hands full with that one.”

Ellie sits with the baby in her lap. They’ve turned their attention to the packages under the tree. Joel watches as Ellie picks up the presents one by one, checking the tags and shaking them, then offering them to Izzy to chew on. Tomorrow, half the presents will be sticky with drool and tiny teeth marks.

“You sure do, brother,” Tommy chuckles. “You sure do.”