#jesus christ they’re so cute together

[livwritesstuff]

“Papa has to put five dollars in the jar,” Hazel proudly announces the very moment she and Steve arrive home from her evening dance class.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans his place at the stove where he’s cooking dinner, “What’d you do this time?”

The Jar is actually a repurposed animal crackers container – the big plastic kind shaped like a bear. Most people think it’s a swear jar which, honestly, Steve and Eddie are fine with because that’s probably better than the reality of the situation – that they (it’s mostly Steve, actually) need a system to keep in check the petty fights they get into with practically everyone they know.

“I just–” Steve starts, and then he rolls his eyes, “I don’t get why some people have kids if they clearly don’t want to be part of their kids’ lives.”

“Little pitchers,” Eddie reminds him – as in little pitchers have big ears, as in their children hear everything they say, whether they want them to or not.

Steve ignores him.

“So her class was about to wrap up – they had, like, five minutes left – and they all came out of the room looking all excited and they said they wanted to show us their recital dance so far because they’re almost done learning it.”

“Sure,” Eddie comments.

“And this one kid is, like, rushing to put her shoes and coat on over her little tutu thing because her mom’s waiting in the car outside, and she goes to get her, and then, like, five minutes later she comes back inside in tears because her mom didn’t want to come in.”

Eddie shakes his head, equally unimpressed.

“Anyways, they do their little routine and – Ed, they were so excited, and they tripped over each other the entire time and none of them know what they’re doing and it’s so fucking cute, man. I have no idea how anyone wouldn’t want to watch that.”

“Right,” Eddie said slowly, because he knows Steve well enough to start piecing together where The Jar might come into play. 

“So when it was over,” Steve continues, “I walked the kid to her mom’s car and I told her that she missed a good show and that her daughter very obviously wanted her there.”

“Steve.”

“I really don’t think I did anything wrong,” Steve defended.

“Cough it up, big boy. Jar.”

[heavenbarnes]

I know you talked about meeting older bf!Simon in the alternate universe but can you please tell us how we met normal universe Simon?

oh 🥹 course i can write a little meet cute (i have oc you a little bit but that’s ok i think)

the first time you ever meet your older bf!simon, you’re actually at work.

your boss tells you and the rest of your coworkers (very late notice, might you add) that your dinky little cafe is taking part in a government run initiative-

“service for service men”

the collective hum of confusement doesn’t skip you and you’re even more confused when he tells you that different businesses are opening their doors to service men (and women technically) to allow them to integrate with their community.

you don’t want to outright say it seems performative but, it definitely seems performative.

nevertheless, you get your apron on and wait for them to arrive. you’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that, knowing your luck, you’re going to get some morally-grey weirdo.

instead you get-

“simon riley, uh- ghost”

your boss reads it from his clipboard as the man in question appears before you like an apparition. with a skull gator mask covering the lower half of his face.

ok.

you do your best to smile and give him your name when you learn quickly that this guy is a man of few words, but many grunts.

“do you prefer simon or ghost?”

he eyes you in his peripheral as you move behind the counter towards your coffee machine. he doesn’t answer and you know it’ll be a long day.

“alright, i’m picking simon”

and he doesn’t argue so you take it as a win.

you bring him to the coffee machine and explain the bare basics, you’re also hyper aware that in a few days- he’s going to go back to handling guns and never make another cappuccino in his life so you don’t go too crazy.

but he does have to make his own coffee.

“and then you would bring the milk jug to this spout and the steam froths it”

his eyes are blank, unreadable- but jesus christ can he hold a stare. you get this unshakable sense that he does not give a fuck and, honestly, you can’t blame him.

but it is your job.

“do you want to give it a go?”

his eyes flicker to the machine for a second before they’re back on yours, expecting more silent treatment you nearly jump when he speaks.

“what if i fuck it up?”

your eyebrows crinkle just a little. what? it’s a coffee machine? this man’s probably performed manoeuvres the average person didn’t know existed.

and he’s scared of a coffee machine?

you almost want to snort a little laugh but a voice in your head tells you better not. instead you step a little closer to him.

“you won’t, i won’t let you”

and he catches you in his peripheral again, ever so slightly inching closer to you. he surprises you again by speaking up.

“will y’tell me what t’do?”

“if that’s what you’d like, course i will”

and that’s what you do. massive hands dwarf the milk jug as he cradles it so not to scald the milk but moves it with a dexterity you can only admire.

“and pull it off like- that, that’s perfect”

he looks at the milk before he looks at you, almost like he’s studying your expression.

“y’sure?”

“yes- you did a good job, simon”

he turns his head before you can get a good look at his expression. as he’s pouring the milk into the mug like you’d instructed, you very nearly missed what he said.

“i prefer simon”

craning your neck so you can better see his face, you question it with a quiet hum.

“i prefer y’calling me simon- i didn’t want y’to call me ghost”

oh.

“glad i picked well then”

he doesn’t respond to that but you figure he’s not the type you push. his coffee rests on the bench before him and he’s looking at it like he wants to try.

then he’s looking around at all the people filling the small cafe and his knuckles nudge at the edge of his mask.

oh.

you don’t know how you do it but you put two and two together quite quickly. eyes darting to the door behind you, you’re telling him to follow you.

he ends up, coffee in hand, in the small break room at the back. just a table and a couple chairs with a zip boiler on the wall.

you offer him a chair as you awkwardly hover by the door. “so you can enjoy your creation”

he takes a seat and then looks at you expectantly, before nodding his head towards the other chair.

you sit, do what you’re told- and all of a sudden he’s checking his six once before he pulls the mask down.

it takes your breath away a little bit.

honestly? truthfully? he just looks like a man.

but to you? a part of you is worried that you might spend the rest of your life thinking about him.

like you might be old and grey one day without a thought left to your name but he’ll be the last thing to leave your mind.

he doesn’t break that hardline stare with you as he takes a sip. he really didn’t have to groan quietly as he did it, but he did.

you think he watches you fidget. you think you like it. you think he does too.

at the end of the day, your coworkers are complaining as you all get your bags and close up shop for the day.

“i hope they all got something out of it cause i didn’t get a single bloody thing”

you snort in amusement, minding your business as you shrug your jacket on. as your hands burrow into your warm pockets you feel your fingers brush over the small slip of paper.

you could almost trace the pen stroked digits.

yeah, didn’t get a bloody thing.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory. 

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus. 

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…? 

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you. 

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way. 

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…” 

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips. 

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home. 

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts. 

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night. 

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8. 

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on. 

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it. 

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens. 

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?” 

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?” 

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.” 

“...What’s that?” 

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one. 

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through. 

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?” 

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh. 

“Why not?” 

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back. 

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it. 

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him. 

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him. 

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world. 

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?” 

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap. 

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being. 

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you. 

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain. 

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one. 

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.” 

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves. 

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground. 

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance. 

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe. 

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need. 

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. 

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one. 

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.” 

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt. 

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants. 

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size. 

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood. 

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back. 

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured… 

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose…. 

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart. 

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead. 

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.” 

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 3

part 1 | part 2

(tw: guns, accidental death)

Robin’s already in full panic mode by the time Steve pulls up to her place, flinging the passenger door open and throwing herself into the car with so much force that the car bounces on its wheels a little. “Drive!!”

“Jesus Christ, good morning to you, too.”

“Steve!”

Steve starts to drive.

Beside him, Robin flips the visor down to look at her reflection; groans and scrubs her hands down her face in misery at whatever she sees. Steve doesn’t really get it. He thinks she looks beautiful, with her hair gently moving in the breeze from the open window, with her freckles lit up by the early morning sun.

“Ugh,” she says, turning to look at him, “I can’t believe I look like a zombie and you’re gonna make me late to the first day of school.”

“Wow.” Fuckin’ ingrate. And when he was just being so nice to her in his head. “How about a thank you, huh? ‘Thanks for picking me up, Steve. Thanks for bringing my backpack, Steve. Sorry you almost got shanked by your neighbor, Steve.’”

“You what???”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Um, yes it very much does matter, what the—”

“—I’m just saying, a little gratitude? Wouldn’t hurt you.”

He licks at the corner of his mouth, spritzes wiper fluid to clear the bugs off the windshield. Robin’s eyes are bulging out of her head, but he really doesn’t want to talk about how he still feels the ghost press of steel against his throat, so: “You’re not even right, by the way; I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Huh?”

“School started yesterday. I’m making you late for the second day of school.”

“Yesss,” she draws the word out like he’s stupid, rolling her wrist in a hurry up and get it motion, “but everyone knows that syllabus day doesn’t count. The first pep rally is the real first day of school.”

Ah, there it is.

Steve steals another peek at his best friend while they’re on a straightaway, notes the nervous twitch of her hands as she goes back to fussing at her reflection; the way she’s clumping her lashes together with seven coats too many of some drugstore brand mascara. She’s wearing lipstick. “This is about Vick—”

“—Don’t talk about—”

“—It’s about Vickie, isn’t it?”

“Ughhhhh.” Robin folds forward and thunks her head against the dash. “Fine, okay? Fine! Yes! This may have something to do with a distressingly cute fellow marching band member. Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Oooh, big word for you, Steven.” She swats him on the shoulder, face all twisted up in offense. “Stop laughing!”

“Stop hitting me,” he laughs. “I’ll dump your ass out on this highway.”

She gasps and narrows her eyes at him. “You wouldn’t.”

Steve eases his foot onto the brake.

“Okay, okay! Mercy! I’m being an asshole, alright? I’m sorry. I’m just— I’m stressed! Being gay is very stressful.”

The knife incident pops back into his mind. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I imagine it is.”

—

He catches himself slouching down into his seat a bit when they pull up to the school. Has to force himself to sit upright, hears his mother’s tutting in his ear about bad posture and the message it projects to the world.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed to be here; really, he isn’t. He’s just hoping to avoid being spotted by the nuggets now that they go here, too, lest he be accosted for evading his chauffeur duties.

God.

Dustin’s nerd shit is infecting his brain.

Robin grabs her bag out of the back seat, plants a parting peck on Steve’s cheek as she gets out of the car. “See you later?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up for work.”

“Love you, dingus.”

And then he’s alone again.

With Robin gone, Steve finds himself driving. Wandering and aimless, like a ghost who doesn’t know he’s gone. It’s not like he has nothing to do — he’s supposed to be out finding a second job, finding a way to support himself and his mom, because he’s the man of the house now. Because his life has turned into one of those shitty, overcomplicated word problems from math class.

If a recently widowed mother works no hours and her minimum-wage son works as many as Family Video will allow, how much mold-riddled dogshit housing can they afford?

Not much.

Inevitably, he finds himself circling the scorched bones of Starcourt, driving tired loops around the barbed wire perimeter. His ghost likes to guide him here; can’t shake the place where he shook off the mortal coil.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Harrington died the day the mall burned down. Embarrassing, to not hear the death knell as his family name went up in smoke.

It was hard to hear much at all that night, between the concussion and the fireworks and the shrieking of a monster being torn apart, but the memory caresses his mind now in cruel whispers: the headrush of victory; the blood and the sweat; the relief that they’d won, they’d done it, it’s over, they won.

Steve tugs at his bad ear ‘til the ringing subsides.

Some fucking grand prize.

The thing is, you can’t go around exploding an eldritch horror without alerting the US government, and the US government can’t go around letting major investors in a hostile commie invasion keep their assets once they find out about their treasonous schemes. It happened fast: the arrest, the bail, the impending trial and the seizure of property. Richard Harrington was once a small town god on an invisible throne, making deals with devils in shadowy boardrooms, and suddenly he was looking at life in a cell.

Maybe it was a blessing he died before his reckoning was due. Maybe it was no accident at all.

The second, and perhaps more important, thing is: stray bullets don’t care about your looming court date.

Dad had a habit of cleaning his guns while he was drunk, nursing a whiskey in one hand while he polished the gleaming barrels with the other. Pointless, really, because the guns were always pristine to begin with. Dick Harrington didn’t hunt. Didn’t shoot. Claimed the pistol was for home defense, that he kept it loaded in case anyone ever tried to hurt his family, but Steve knew the truth.

His dad just liked to flirt with death. Liked to handle pretty, deadly things, stroke his fingers over ruthless metal and feel the rush of power when he walked away unscathed.

He didn’t walk away that night.

Didn’t even face death standing.

Sliced through his femoral artery and rolled right out of his chair.

They found him lying on the ground in a dark, sticky puddle, gasping like a fish as blood spurted from his thigh. Crazy how fast it happened. Steve had been in his room when the shot rang out, and he barely managed to reach the bottom of the stairs before the gurgling noises stopped. Just boom! whizz! bang! and Dick Harrington was gone.

Maybe it’s a good thing, too, that they lost the house.

The image of his mother in the hallway that night — shellshocked in the doorway, one pale hand shaking in front of her open mouth, features wide and wet with waking horror as she stared into the room — was enough to make him never want to step foot in the place again.

So now they live in a rundown piece of shit on the wrong side of town, with hideous burnt orange carpet and wood paneled walls, with cracks in the ceiling and cigarette burns in the walls, some parting gifts from whatever feral hick lived there before them, and it feels like another cruel, cosmic joke. Like the universe is delighting in the Harringtons’ comeuppance; like the blackened beams and brick rubble of Starcourt are all twisting to form one great, mocking mouth; the better to smile and laugh at their misfortune.

You bought your bed, now you have to lie in it.

He didn’t even know that the Harringtons owned Forest Hills until it was the only asset left to their name.

He’s pretty sure his dad bought it more as a joke than a genuine investment. Meant to teach Steve a lesson, like how he used to bring home Waffle House applications whenever Steve got a C on a report card. This is your future if you don’t straighten up, son.

Kill yourself, dad.

Oh, wait.

You already did.

—

part 4

[steveseddie]

sweet as pumpkin pie

steddie | rating: t | wc: 3,1 k | cw: none | tags: dustin & steve, dustin & eddie, eddie knows how to bake, steve has a crush, getting together, first kiss, steve pov

for @steddie-spooktober day twenty-four, prompt “pumpkin” 

read on ao3

Pounding at the door has Steve scrambling to his feet and hurtling towards the front door. He glances at Eddie on the couch and is relieved to find he’s still napping soundly, unbothered by the noise. 

Steve doesn’t want him to wake up, not when Eddie showed up an hour earlier looking exhausted after nightmares kept him up all night. The last thing Steve wants is for Eddie to lose any more sleep because whoever is at the door grows impatient and knocks harder. 

So he fumbles with the lock and swings the door open to reveal–

“Dustin?”  

“Steve, we have an emergency!” Henderson shrieks, his loud volume making Steve flinch.

His annoyance is immediately replaced by worry as the kid’s words register. His body tenses up, his fingers itch for his nail bat. “An Upside Down emergency?” 

“Worse!” Dustin says. Steve’s stomach churns and he feels sick. He tries to think what could be worse than an Upside Down emergency– “A baking emergency!” He finishes before Steve can spiral. 

He blinks at him. “A baking–” he starts in incredulity. “Henderson! Jesus fucking Christ, man.” He reaches over and flicks his stupid Thinking Cap. 

“What?” Dustin protests, swatting Steve’s hand away.

“That’s not worse than an Upside Down emergency! Nothing is worse than an Upside Down emergency!”

“Fine, but it’s up there,” Dustin argues stubbornly.

“Whatever,” Steve says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wishes Eddie was awake so that they could share an exasperated look. “What’s the matter, shithead?”

“You know my mom isn’t home this week, right?”

“Yeah, she’s visiting family or something.” She told Steve as much when she called and asked him to keep an eye on her Dusty. 

“Right, well, the science club is in charge of the baking sale this week and she volunteered to bring something, but she forgot it was this week!” 

Steve blinks at him, failing to see what the problem is. “So? She left you money, right? Just buy some cupcakes at Melvald’s and bring those.”

Dustin gasps, affronted. “Steve, it’s a bake sale! Not a store-bought sale!”

“Things at stores were baked at some point too, butthead,” Steve argues, but Dustin keeps looking at him like he’s being stupid. “Geez, fine, what do you want me to do about it anyway?”

“I need you to bake me something, duh.”

Steve snorts. “Sure, yeah, I’d love to, except I don’t know how to bake.”

Dustin frowns. “Bullshit! You cook for us all the time!”

“Yeah, cook like actual food, not pies and shit,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the door.

“It’s the same thing!”

Steve thinks back on the time he tried to bake brownies for Nancy and how he almost burned his house down in the process. “It’s so not,” he says in a bitchy tone. 

Dustin groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “But Steve, I need a pie!”

“Sorry, kid, you’re gonna have to ask someone else. Maybe Mrs. Wheeler or–”

“I can do it.”

Both of their heads snap towards the living room entrance where Eddie stands, rubbing his eyes sleepily. 

Christ, he’s cute, Steve thinks, and immediately feels his cheeks heat up. He hopes Eddie is still too groggy from sleep to notice. “Do what, Eds?” 

“Make Henderson a pie,” Eddie says, waving his hand at the kid. 

Dustin blinks at him with wide eyes. “You know how to bake a pie?” 

“Yup.”

Steve finds himself asking, “How?” 

Eddie snorts amusedly. “We have ovens in the trailer park too, rich boy,” he snarks but his words lack any heat. “Though I might have to borrow yours for this, ours hasn’t worked since the turkey incident of ‘84.”

Dustin and Steve exchange a look, equally shocked by what they’re hearing. 

“So,” Eddie goes on, clapping his hands together. “What kind of pie do you need, Henderson?” He asks as slides his Reeboks on, which he left by Steve’s door when he showed up. “Cherry, pumpkin, apple?”

“Uh, pumpkin?”

Eddie flashes him a dimpled grin. “My favorite,” he says, grabbing his car keys from the table at the entrance. “Let’s go then, shrimp.”

“I thought you were gonna make it here,” Steve says, confused by Eddie leaving.

“Gotta go shopping first, Stevie,” Eddie explains, van keys spinning around his finger. “And I gotta dust off the old recipe, it’s been a while since I used it.”

“Ugh, but I hate grocery shopping!” Dustin whines, earning a smack on the back of his head from Eddie.

“It’s your pie, Henderson. Suck it up.” 

Dustin scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Eddie turns to Steve, batting his long eyelashes at him. “You mind cleaning the oven for me in the meantime, sweetheart?”

Steve should protest that he didn’t agree to help, but with Eddie’s big doe eyes staring at him like that and him calling him sweetheart, all he can muster is a weak, “Yeah, okay.”

Eddie grins, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he grabs the back of Dustin’s neck and pushes him towards his van. “Be back in a few, honey!” He calls back to Steve. “And then we’re baking a pie!”

Steve watches them go and closes the door once the pair gets in the van. 

He’s in the kitchen, ready to clean his oven for Eddie when his words register in Steve’s brain.

“Wait– we?”

***

Eddie and Dustin come back an hour later, carrying everything they need. 

Dustin dumps his bags on the counter and immediately tries to retreat to the living room but Eddie moves faster. He grabs onto the handle of his backpack, pulling him to an abrupt stop, Dustin’s limbs flailing like a puppet on strings. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, tugging Henderson back into the kitchen. “I told you, it’s your pie so you’re helping.”

“But my mom never forces me to help!” He protests, trying to shrug off his backpack to escape. 

Eddie wraps an arm around his neck instead. 

“Yeah, well. Your mom is a saint, I’m not,” he says, letting him go once Dustin stops struggling and handing him a whisk and a list of ingredients for him to mix. 

Begrudgingly, Dustin accepts them and sets off to work on making the filling while Eddie and Steve work on the crust. 

Steve has to focus really hard on following Eddie’s instructions correctly. Not because the instructions are particularly complicated or anything, mostly it’s just ‘add this’ or ‘measure that’ or ‘hand me those’. It’s because Eddie is very distracting like this– with his hair tied in a messy bun, the sleeves of his flannel rolled over his forearms, flour smeared on his face.

And then there’s the familiarity with which he moves around Steve’s kitchen after spending so much time here, helping Steve cook or just keeping him company. And the confidence with which he measures, mixes, and adds ingredients, or tells Steve to do it. 

Steve always had a thing for competence. It’s why he was so attracted to Nancy, whether she was getting all of her chemistry flashcard questions right or shooting monsters in the face. It’s why he started crushing on Robin after she cracked that Russian code. Steve knows that if he had been there when Eddie played the most metal concert ever, and he had seen him shredding his guitar the way Dustin describes it, he would’ve been too busy drooling over him to fight Vecna. 

Eddie knowing how to make a pumpkin pie from scratch is no different– and if it weren’t for Dustin, Steve probably would’ve already pinned Eddie against the kitchen counter to sloppily make out with him. 

For now, Steve tries his best to pay attention to what Eddie asks him to do and not get distracted by thoughts of kissing him or dragging him upstairs or–

He realizes he fails when Eddie has to smear flour on his nose to get his attention. 

“Hey,” Steve protests weakly, going cross-eyed trying to stare at the white powder on his nose.

Eddie chuckles. “There you are, I’ve been talking to you for like, five minutes.” 

“Oh.” Steve must’ve gotten distracted staring at Eddie’s arms as he expertly kneaded the dough and rolled it into balls. He glances down at the counter and realizes he’s done already. Then he glances around the kitchen and notices it’s just the two of them. 

“Where’s Henderson?”

“Well, the filling is ready and we have to leave these babies in the fridge for two hours,” he says, holding up one of the dough balls. “So I sent him to pick a movie for us to watch in the meantime.”

“Oh, okay,” Steve says, wondering how he could’ve been so deep in thought that he missed all of that happening. He grabs one of the dough balls while Eddie grabs the other one, following him to the fridge. “Do we need this much pie crust?” He asks as Eddie opens the door. 

“I thought we could make two pies so I doubled the recipe. Henderson can take one and we can have the other,” Eddie says, sticking the dough in the fridge. “That way you can try it and I can take some back to Wayne. I don’t think we’ve had any homemade pumpkin pie since my mom died.”

Steve hums. “Is this her recipe?”

The smile Eddie gives Steve over his shoulder is a little sad. “Yeah, she taught me how to make it years ago.”

“I can’t wait to try it,” Steve says softly, knocking their shoulders together. 

Eddie spins on his heels, leaning back against the fridge. “I just hope I didn’t fuck it up, it’s been a while,” he chuckles, hanging a hand from his neck. 

Steve shrugs. “You can always blame me. Or Dustin.”

Eddie throws his head back, laughing. There’s a streak of flour on his neck and Steve has to fight the urge to clean it up with his tongue. “Nah, Stevie, you two are doing a great job,” Eddie says with a dimpled grin, “even the kid with his fucking attitude.”

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. “Right? You’d think he’s doing us a favor.”

“Entitled little shit,” Eddie mutters, but the corners of his mouth tick up.

From the living room, Dustin yells at them, his voice dripping with annoyance. “You guys are gonna watch the movie or what?” 

Steve and Eddie share a look and start laughing. 

***

Two hours later the two of them are back in the kitchen, rolling out the pie crust. 

Or at least, Eddie is. Steve keeps messing it up. 

“Fuck,” he mutters as he screws it up again. “You know what? You do it.”

“Come on, Stevie, it’s not that hard,” Eddie says, knocking his bony hip against Steve’s. 

Whatever protest Steve is about to make dies in his throat when Eddie leaves his perfectly rolled-out pie crust and moves to stand behind him, pressing his body against Steve and Steve’s body against the counter, his arms wrapping around him so he can guide his hands on the rolling pin. 

“You gotta start at the center and work outwards,” Eddie says, speaking into Steve’s ear as he shows him how to do it. Steve can barely focus on anything that isn’t the entire length of Eddie’s body pressed against him. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Christ,” Steve mutters. Eddie’s words whispered lowly into his ear are making Steve’s head swim with all kinds of ideas. It’s a good thing that Eddie seems oblivious to it. 

“Now you do it,” Eddie says, letting go of Steve’s hands and holding Steve’s waist instead. 

Steve’s movements are a little jerky, but he manages to finish rolling out the pie crust successfully, even with Eddie standing behind him the entire time. 

“Great job, Stevie,” Eddie says, hooking his chin on Steve’s shoulder to look down at the counter. 

Steve makes the mistake of turning his head, leaving their faces only a few inches away from each other. Steve’s breath hitches and his heart starts jackhammering against his ribcage. It feels like it might explode out of his chest when he notices Eddie’s eyes unmistakably flicker down to his lips. 

And of course, that’s when Dustin comes barreling into the kitchen. 

“Are you guys done?” He asks, his arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping on the floor impatiently. 

Steve drops the rolling pin and Eddie jumps back a few steps. Dustin’s eyes dart curiously between the two. 

Eddie clears his throat. “We’d be done sooner if you helped us,” he says, his voice coming out a little strangled. 

Dustin gives them an innocent look, eyes wide like he’s never done anything wrong in his life. “But you're doing such a great job, Eddie.” 

Eddie doesn’t fall for it. He snorts, throwing a kitchen cloth at his face. “Shoo, you gremlin!”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to tell him twice, hurtling towards the living room. Steve watches in silence as Eddie carefully places the pie crust on the pan and pours the filling Dustin made.

“Now we wait?” Steve asks once both pies are inside the preheated oven. 

“Now we wait,” Eddie says, smiling at Steve. His eyes catch on something and then he reaches out to wipe flour from Steve’s cheek, his thumb lingering on his cheekbone for a second too long. 

His eyes flicker to Steve’s lips one last time before he goes to join Dustin in the living room. 

***

“I present to you," Eddie starts, spinning around on his heels, holding the pie in his hands, “your pumpkin pie, my good sir.”

Dustin grins, letting out something between a laugh and a snort. “Dude, it looks so good!”

“I told you I could bake,” Eddie says, grinning smugly. 

“Hey, we helped,” Steve says with a pout, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Eddie sets the pie down on the counter so he can crowd Steve against it. “Oh, I know, baby, I could never have done it without you.”

Heat builds up in Steve’s cheeks. It’s a good thing that Eddie gets distracted by Dustin rounding the counter and wrapping his arms around his middle in an unexpected hug. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie ruffles Dustin’s curls. “You’re welcome, kid.”

Before Steve can protest once again that he helped, thank you very much, Dustin lets go of Eddie and hugs Steve too. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Of course, buddy.”

“I’ll tell Mom to have you both over for dinner when she comes back,” he says, adjusting his Thinking Cap. 

“Hell yeah,” Eddie says, licking his lips like he’s already tasting Mrs. Henderson’s cooking. “You just earned yourself a drive home, mister.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, no way I’m letting you ruin my–” Steve clears his throat, “ our pie by taking it home on your bike.” He grabs Dustin’s shoulders, and once the kid grabs the pie, he steers him in the direction of the front door. “I’ll come back to help you clean up,” he tells Steve over his shoulder. 

“You better.”

With a wink, they disappear through the kitchen archway, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts. 

And he can’t help but think about Eddie– his eyes on Steve’s lips, his thumb softly brushing over Steve’s cheekbone, his chest pressed against Steve’s back. 

He forces himself to start cleaning up, just so he can stay busy and not drive himself crazy thinking about what might happen when Eddie comes back, now that Dustin won’t be here. 

He’s elbow-deep in rinsing water when he hears the front door open, followed by Eddie’s whistling as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” he says, waltzing in, “I told you I’d help!” 

Without turning around, Steve shrugs. “Grab a cloth, you can help me dry.”

He hears a cabinet open and close as Eddie presumably looks for a clean kitchen cloth but when he appears next to Steve, he’s got a plate with a slice of pumpkin pie on it. 

Steve purses his lips. “That’s not a kitchen towel,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Nope, but I couldn’t wait to try it,” he says, leaning back on the counter, facing Steve. 

Steve gives the slice of pie a pointed look. “Well?”

Eddie grabs a forkful of pie and shoves it into his mouth while Steve stares expectantly at him, waiting for his reaction. It comes in the way of a sinful moan that makes Steve want to shove his head into the water to stop the heat from creeping up his cheeks. 

“I- uh,” he clears his throat, “I take it we didn’t fuck it up?”

Eddie licks his lips, and Steve’s hands tighten around the bowl he was rinsing. “Nop, it’s perfect. Just like my mama used to make it.”

Steve smiles at Eddie’s smug little tilt of his head as he shoves another forkful into his mouth. 

“Hey, I wanna try it too,” he says, nudging Eddie’s side with his elbow. 

He expects Eddie to feed him some pie since his hands are still under the rinsing water and it’s probably what Eddie intends to do, he scoops some pie up with his fork–

But then he hesitates.

His eyes dart over Stece’s face, searching for something. He either finds it or gives up, dropping the fork back onto the plate and placing it on the counter next to him. 

Steve cocks his head, puppy-like, but before he can get a word out, Eddie grabs his cheeks and kisses Steve square on the lips. 

He instinctively kisses back– or does his best to do so considering his hands are still in the water. He moves his lips against Eddie’s and when Eddie laps at his bottom lip, Steve opens his mouth, letting Eddie’s tongue slide inside. 

He tastes like pumpkin pie, is Steve’s first coherent thought, followed by– holy shit, I’m kissing Eddie.

It’s that realization that makes Steve retrieve his hands from the sink, dripping water all over the floor, to wrap his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. He kisses him more deeply, chasing after that taste of pumpkin pie, and smoke, and cinnamon, and Eddie. 

They pull back when they finally need to come up for air but stay wrapped up in each other. 

Steve’s eyes dip down to Eddie’s lips, red and slick with spit. He hears them moving but realizes he didn’t hear whatever Eddie said from the blood still rushing through his ears. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Eddie chuckles a little breathlessly. “I said, what did you think of the pie?” 

“Oh, um. Good, it’s–” Steve licks his lips. “It’s good.” 

Eddie’s mouth twitches with a hint of a smirk. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm but, uh, I think I need– I need to give it another try, you know?” Steve stammers out, watching as Eddie’s eyes go a little dark at that. He licks his lips and Steve does his best not to let out a whine. 

“Come here then, pumpkin,” Eddie says, pulling Steve forward, mashing their lips together. 

Neither of them points out it would be easier for Steve to grab a forkful of pie– they’re too busy chasing after the taste of it on each other’s mouths to even try. 

[boxheadpaint]

playing Minecraft horror themed mod packs as of late to sort of taste test all the scary mods in groups. Sadly yeah most of them are pretty much derivatives of the dweller but usually louder, and the variation between designs is pretty much just in like… number of teeth. The knocker though is neat, got me pretty good at one point and does a bit more than Play Loudest Sound On Earth And Insta Kill You.

horror elements mod is a common one that is Immensely funny. from the outside it’s unnerving with the over the top gruesome models but in game they come off as like your Minecraft world turning into a neighborhood-wide haunted house competition. Structures of violent scenes pop up everywhere but don’t actually do anything and occur at such a high interval that they have no impact. It’s mostly just a fun mod for creepy decor so while I do understand why someone would include it in a mod pack it more detracts from the fear factor

“cantbreathe” is a dweller-type that’s fairly popular last I checked and though I think it’s mainly for the design. It’s cute but other than that… the noise gets you one time and is just annoying after. There was one mod I don’t know the name of yet that was doing something neat, intentionally or not, of spawning their creepy figure further away from the player and vanishing after idling for a bit. Never jumped out at me like the others but kept me on edge way better.

another mod in development currently is “in your world” if I recall correctly, and it’s doing some pretty weird things in a fun way. Rather than being hounded it makes itself home In Your World of course and you have to seek out what the deal is. Makes the scare a bit more impactful, and im wondering where they’re going with it. Interested 2 see

and of course from the fog is a similar one that’s already a classic- herobrine haunting your ass for real, never jumping out and attacking you but stalking from nearby and making changes around you. The effect doesnt last the longer you play and it ends up coming off more as your creepy roommate who shows up to ask what youre making I fucking forgot my spaghetti I forgot I was cooking spaghetti my fucking spaghetti is stuck together my spaghetti is stuck together now Jesus Christ

[lovecla]

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter eight:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: smut (softdom!quinn, slight degradation, oral sex—m. receiving, protected sex, p in v, praise kink, overstimulation), aftercare, mentions of shitty brother.

➴ word count: 4.9k

💌 from me to you: jesus christ who wrote this!! it wasn’t me!! i swear!

౨ৎ

2024, MAY.

“THIS DOESN’T even look like a pancake, Quinn,” laughing, you stare at the weirdly shaped pancake Quinn had just finished flipping.

“Bella, your mom is being annoying. Tell her to leave me alone.” Quinn talks to Bella like a dad would to a daughter, baby voice and all. Bella, just like the traitor she’d become ever since she met Quinn, barks at you. “Good girl, aren’t you?”

“You are the worst, both of you,” you point at them, sitting on the stool and watching Quinn cook the worst looking chocolate chip pancakes you had ever seen. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I introduced you to her.”

“You were just doing the inevitable. B and I were meant to be.”

You stick your tongue out and roll your eyes.

It was Saturday, eight a.m. and the sun was already shining bright outside, making you and Quinn wake up an hour earlier so you could go for a walk in the forest surrounding the cabin.

“You used to make the most perfect looking pancakes. What happened?” You bicker, smirking when he frowned, looking down at his monstrosity pancake.

“I think they look fine. You’re just too demanding.”

He placed four of the ten pancakes he managed to make in front of you, giving you a kiss on the forehead without saying anything. You liked whenever he did things just because he wanted to.

You cut a piece and slid it into your mouth, almost biting your tongue because they tasted amazing, just like seven years ago.

He looked at you with expectant eyes and even though you wanted to mess with him a little more, those puppy eyes made it hard for you to go any further.

“They’re amazing, babe,” the pet name slipped out of your mouth like you had called him that way your entire life. “You’re still the best chocolate chip pancake maker ever.”

He smiles, eating a bite of it himself and speaking after swallowing. “Do I get a kiss for making the best chocolate chip pancakes ever?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin with your finger. “Umm. I guess? Maybe. Let me think about it for a bit.”

He chuckles, grabbing your neck and kissing you himself. The kiss tasted like coffee and chocolate, sweet yet bitter, dreamy either way. Kissing Quinn never got old. His tongue caressed yours, the firm grab he had on your neck making you whimper softly.

“Yeah. Sweet.” He confirms after separating your lips.

You finish eating breakfast together, going upstairs so you could change into something lighter and appropriate for a hike. You put on your favorite white sports bra and leggings before putting on your Nike shoes and moving on to put your hair up in a ponytail.

While Quinn got ready, you put on some dog shoes for Bella— completely unnecessary but she looked so damn cute with them— and put on some sunscreen on her nose so she wouldn’t get sunburn.

“Why does she have nicer shoes than I?” Quinn moves behind you, while you were taking pictures of Bella looking cute.

“Because she’s mommy’s sweetest thing. Aren’t you, baby?” You talk with her, using your best baby voice and kissing her face all over.

Quinn laughs behind you. “The day you actually become a mom will be the end of everyone. Just think about how spoiled your kid will be.”

You get up from the floor, raising your brows at him. “The day I ‘actually become a mom’? Excuse me. I gave birth to Bella.”

He stares at you like you’re the craziest human being who ever walked on earth and smiles, placing a hand on your waist.

“Let’s get going then, mommy,” he jokes and you smack him on the chest, calling Bella and grabbing your water bottle.

The forest surrounding your cabin wasn’t much of a big forest, it was more like a bunch of trees lined up with a path in the middle, and you actually preferred it this way, because it was less creepy than going around in dark, deep forests with little to no light.

You and Quinn walked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company and the view, Bella walking ahead of you both, smelling every plant she found on her way.

You could see the lake from where you were and you smiled, feeling happy and peaceful.

That was the best thing of being around Quinn Hughes.

He was calm, and gentle in a way you don’t see much in men anymore. Your last boyfriend, one of the male models who worked with you in LA, was genuinely the definition of what a man shouldn’t be.

At first, Richard was all you could ask for and more. He understood your fears as a young, inexperienced model in her first big girl job and took care of you.

But then, you started to get big, bigger than him. He started complaining about the parties you went to, the dinners, your relationship with Nicholas— a gay man and your friend— and the outfits you wore.

Then he got extremely pissed at you when you got to be the cover of British Vogue, something he’d been wanting for his entire time at IMG. You remember how he yelled and told you you were trying to be better than him, and how you would never outshine him.

You thought about explaining to him that you could never outshine him because you worked for different brands and different people— hell, he was a male model and you were a woman. How could you outshine someone who didn’t even work in the same modelling industry as you?

So you broke up with him, another thing that hurt his ego and made him cry and beg in front of you, pleading for another chance, which you, dumbly, gave it to him.

Only for him to break up with you a week later.

After that, and after another nightly session of stalking the Canucks Instagram page, looking at pictures of Quinn for more time than it should be normal, you gave up and admitted that, unfortunately, you wouldn’t find anyone as good as Quinn.

“How do you think Jack and Luke are doing?” You ask after a while, genuinely curious.

“They’re fine. They asked about you,” he says, casually, making you smile.

“I miss them.”

“You can always call them, you know…” he suggests. “They would love to talk to you.”

“I don’t know…” you start, feeling unsure. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Quinn frowns at you. “Why would you be a bother?”

You stare at him, forgetting for a second who you were talking to. This was Quinn, talking about Jack and Luke. But for a second, you thought—

“Madison, why are you calling me in the middle of the night?” Peter sounded angry, making you flinch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper, holding the phone with your shaky hands. “I just miss you. It’s been a while since the last time we spoke.” A while meant seven months.

“Do you think I have the time to sit here and chit chat with you?” He scoffs. “I’m a doctor, Madison. I have a real job, I don’t sit around all day bothering people, taking pictures of myself for other people to see.”

“You know mom chose this job for me…” You try defending yourself, pointlessly.

“Is this a fucking therapy session? I don’t give a fuck, Madison. I need to go back to sleep. Bye.”

He turns the phone off before you even processed what he had just said to you, letting yourself cry for the millionth time since you moved to Los Angeles.

“Maddie?” Quinn’s voice brings you back to the present, making you blink fast and realize you were standing in the middle of the path, Bella sitting beside you and Quinn looking worried.

Great, now I’ve ruined the hike.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you smile, not letting it reach your eyes. “Just… well. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he wraps his hand around yours, pulling you closer to him. “Are you okay, baby? Was it something I said?”

This time your smile was genuine. Quinn never judged you for your accidental mood swings, the ones you tried so hard to hide from him; instead, he just tried to make you feel better.

“No, I think I just miss the boys,” you tell a half truth, liking how Quinn’s hand completely covered yours. “Are you sure they won’t be upset if I call them?”

“Look at your mommy, Bella, asking dumb questions,” he tried to mimic your voice, earning a slap and a giggle from you. “They won’t, baby, I promise. They miss you just as much. You’re family.”

“Ew, don’t say that!” You joke, making a disgusted face. “We just kissed each other on the mouth. That’s weird.”

“Yeah? Well, and I’ll do it again.” His phrase is the only earning you get before his lips are glued to yours again, both of you smiling and almost ruining the kiss.

Bella interrupts you both when she barks, making you seperate yourself from Quinn and smile at her, hands still intertwined with his.

“Bella, we made a deal: I give you that strawberry cookie you like so much and you let me kiss and make out with your mom. What are you doing?” Quinn frowns at Bella while you stare at him, fake angry.

“I’m never letting you be alone with her again. Strawberry cookies? She doesn’t eat sugar!”

“Well, maybe not with you. But she won’t get any more cookies if she gets on my way again.” He tells her and she barks back at him, resuming her walking.

You smile, giggling as they both start bickering with each other, while Quinn makes empty threats.

He would make a great dad, you think, as you watch him take care of Bella, giving her water and snacks he prepared for her behind your back.

You had been walking for a while, chatting about everything and anything, when you felt a single drop of water on your arm. You looked up, watching as the blue sky from before turned into a cloudy, greyish shade.

“We better head back,” you tell Quinn, stopping suddenly and calling Bella. “It’s going to rain.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s just a little cloudy.” He grabs your hand, making you start walking again.

“Quinn, look up. I just felt a drop of water on my arm and it’s cloudy as hell. Let’s go.”

“Maddie, you’re just not used to Vancouver’s crazy weather. It’s not raining.” He stubbornly said.

“You—”

You don’t even get to finish, the rain deciding to make its way down faster than you thought. Heavy yet quick drops of rain fell down on you, Quinn and Bella, getting all of you soaking wet.

“What the hell,” he shouts over the sound of water hitting the floor and quickly turns around, taking you with him. “This is your fault, I hope you know that.”

You watch Bella running in front of you, mesmerized by the fact that she knew the way back. “How is this my fault, Hughes?”

“It just is!” He shouts, making his steps faster. “It wasn’t going to rain. I checked the weather.”

You laugh, not even bothered with the fact that your hair was wet, your clothes were wet, your skin was wet.

“Well, at least it's summer rain, so it should be over in a few minutes,” you say, watching the cabin still a bit far from you. “I hope we still can go to the lake tomorrow.”

“We will,” he guarantees, even though none of you are sure of it.

You get to the cabin after a few minutes and just like you predicted, the rain stopped. Bella was soaking wet just like you and Quinn, and the first thing you did after removing her little shoes was making sure she was as dry as possible, since she didn’t let you use a hair dryer or a towel. Thankfully, it wasn’t cold, so it wasn’t an issue for her to be a little bit wet for a few hours.

You went upstairs, finding Quinn already in the bedroom you were sharing with him, shirtless and with a towel in his hands, drying his somewhat long, gorgeous hair.

You stood there for a minute, watching his body. Quinn had always been fine, that you were sure of, but this was your first time seeing him half naked after seven years— every time you’d made out with him, the only thing he removed were your shirt and panties and his boxers. And even when you were both young, he made sure not to get naked in front of you, because he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

If the thought of getting uncomfortable over shirtless Quinn was something possible in the past, it sure as hell wasn’t now. All you wanted to do was get your hands all over his body.

You snapped out of it, walking inside the room. “Bella didn’t let me dry her entirely. I hope the owners don’t kill me for letting a half-wet dog on the couch.”

“I highly doubt it,” Quinn removes the towel from his face and smiles at you, before dropping his eyes to your chest for a second.

You get curious and looks down at your chest too, feeling mortified when you realize that your once white, perfectly not transparent sports bra was now just a wet piece of clothing, as transparent as a wet shirt, showing your tits to everyone who wanted to see— Quinn Hughes, in this case,

Quinn didn’t look bothered by it, but the fact that he had looked… it had to mean something, right?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been intimate with you before. After that first night at his house, where he fingered you until you came on his couch, you both got each other off on different occasions.

But, for some reason, you never talked about going further, which sometimes left you wondering if he didn’t want it, because you certainly did; Quinn shoving himself inside of you was a very welcome thought.

Maybe now it was time for you to find out if he wanted it, or not.

Pushing your shyness to the side, you let your hair down, combing the wet strands with your fingers. “Do you mind if I change here real quick?” You bat your lashes at him, praying he would say no.

And he did, shaking his head at you and resuming drying the rest of his body.

You turn around, removing your leggings first, sighing with relief because wet leggings were the closest thing to hell you had on earth. Then, you moved on to your bra, letting it fall with a wet thud on the floor, moving around like you were alone in the room, grabbing the towel you brought with you and drying yourself, aware that Quinn’s eyes were on you the entire time.

It was weird only because your teenage horny fantasies were finally coming to life. You remember being nineteen and thinking something was wrong with you because whenever you got off, it was Quinn’s face you imagined on top of you.

And it was weird, because you weren’t even friends anymore. And even if you were, getting off to your best friend isn’t something you should do.

You are both grown. Intimacy between the two of you wasn’t anything new.

But now, as you dried your tits with the towel and pretended you didn’t feel Quinn’s heavy presence surrounding you, you realized that this was something much bigger, different from the other times.

Quinn was looking at you like a man looked at a woman.

“Madison,” he calls you, voice an octave deeper.

You lift your eyes and stare at him, still pretending that you weren’t doing anything.

“What are you doing?”

Damn you, Quinn Hughes, for seeing right through my bullshit.

Still, you decided to play dumb. “What do you mean? I just told you I needed to change.”

“Yeah, change. Not stand in front of me with fucking tiny ass panties and tits out for everyone to see.”

You drop the towel on the chair beside the bed, watching as his eyes run up and down your body, making you feel like a little deer standing in front of a wolf.

He also drops his, and it’s your time to stare at his body, particularly at the tent formed in front of his shorts. He looks huge, and the worst— best—- part is that you already know he is.

“Come here,” he orders, softly, and you’re quick to do as he says. “Wouldn’t expect a girl as sweet as you to act like a whore.”

You bit your lip, already regretting your past actions. You liked when Quinn was mean to you, but you liked so much more when he praised you for being a good girl. His good girl.

“Don’t say that,” You mumble, shaking your head.

He clicks his tongue, lifting his hand and gently running his finger over your tits. He mindlessly draws invisible lines, circling your nipples and playing with your boobs while you hold back your moans.

“Why not, hm?” He squeezes your right nipple between his index and his thumb, making you open your mouth slightly. “I always said you were well behaved, sweet; I told you you’re my sweet girl, but maybe I was wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to speak despite his hold on your nipple.

“No, you weren’t,” you breathe. “‘M sweet, I swear.”

He hums, moving on to your right tit, doing the same thing he did seconds ago to the other one. “I don’t know about that, Maddie. Sweet girls don’t undress in front of men the way you did.”

“I just—”

“If you need me to take care of you, all you have to do is ask. You have done it before, what made you stop now?”

You look away, embarrassed. Maybe the fact that Quinn hadn’t fucked you yet wasn’t his doing, it was yours.

“Look at me when I talk to you, baby,” voice steady and firm, he orders, removing his hand from your chest and gently holding your chin, forcing your eyes to stare at his. “Now answer my question, pretty.”

“I just need you,” you whisper, squeezing your thighs together, embarrassingly wet, and not only because of the rain anymore.

“You have me. I am right in front of you.”

You shake your head, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I want you. I want you i-inside me.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “Is that so?”

You nod, hoping and praying that he’d finally give you what you want. And fast.

He stepped back, making you almost cry with how cold you felt. Then, he locked the bedroom’s door and walked back at you, kissing your lips feverishly.

His tongue entered your mouth and his hand gripped your wet hair, roughly. His other hand pushed you back, making you sit on the bed. He steps back again, and just when you were ready to tell him to get closer, he removes his wet clothes, standing naked in front of you.

Quinn was pretty, just like the rest of him. He was thick and big, precum leaking from his red, slightly swollen tip.

“Will you show me how much of a good girl you are and get me ready for you?” He asks, and even though you know it’s rhetorical— he knows how much you enjoy having him inside your mouth—, you nod eagerly, tilting your head up and staring at him. “Go ahead, pretty.”

You take him with your hands, giving the tip a small lick before putting it inside your mouth, tongue caressing the tip like you knew he enjoyed.

Sucking Quinn off was something that you never thought you’d like so much, but turns out you’re always very eager to do so. The heavy weight of his dick inside your mouth, the difficulty to breathe while he fucks your mouth gently, the doubled attention because you didn’t want to risk hurting him with your teeth.

How he holds your hair with his right hand and how he places his left hand behind your neck, tilting your head in the right angle and shoving himself deeper inside your mouth.

How he moans loud and deep, how he praises you for being so good, for sucking him off like a pro, for being able to fit his entire length inside your mouth.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he says, quickening his pace.

You hollow your cheeks, tightening your mouth for him and watching as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head, eager to come. But just when you thought he would give you what you want, and come deep into your throat, he pulls back, cock wet with saliva— your saliva— and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing them out of his face.

You hold back a whine, desperate to show him how good you were.

“So pretty,” he says, wiping your wet, swollen lips with his thumb, wrapping his mouth around it after he’s done. “I want you to ride me.”

You nod, not sure if you knew how to. You had never been on top of anyone before, but if Quinn wanted you on top of him, you weren’t the one who was going to rain on his parade.

He kisses your forehead before moving around and sitting on the bed, resting his back against the headboard. He pats his thick thighs, silently asking for you to sit there. You promptly do as he asks, sitting on top of him, just a few centimeters away from his dick.

He plays with the little bow in front of your panties before removing it from you, lifting your hips just enough to get it out of his way.

You were sitting naked on top of your childhood best friend, captain of the Vancouver Canucks, Quinn Hughes. And you were wet, so wet that you were afraid you’d leave a wet spot on his thighs.

He shamelessly stares at your pussy, lifting his thumb and lightly touching your clit, making you bite your tongue, the taste of copper filling up your mouth.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he smirks. “And it’s all for me.”

He sounded proud and that made you happy.

“I want you to open the bedside table drawer and get a condom for me, can you do that?”

You pout, already doing what he said. “You’ll make me do all the work today.”

“And you think I’m wrong? You think you deserve princess treatment today?”

Yes, you immediately answered in your head, not saying it out loud though. Deep down you knew that if you did, you’d only make things worse for you.

You open the condom package, not even bothering to ask how he knew it would be there, and wrap it around his cock, jerking it off with your hands once, and then twice.

Quinn stared up at you, sapphire eyes full of lust and danger.

“Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.” He ordered, making you whimper.

You lifted your hips slightly while you wrapped your right hand around his dick, sinking slowly, feeling your hole stretching around his cock.

With this position, you could feel that he was deep inside you, and you couldn’t tell if it made you feel better or worse. It’d been months since your last time and your ex wasn’t nearly as huge as Quinn is, so you were a little bit overwhelmed.

“You’re b-big,” you hiccup, sliding further. “I can’t—”

He caressed your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Do you want to stop, sweets? We can take it slow.”

“It’s been a while,” you whisper, stopping for a second so you could… breathe.

“I can tell,” he almost hisses, running his hand down your body. “You’re so fucking tight, Madison. You’re squeezing me to death.”

You both moan loudly as you finally get his dick all the way in, your ass meeting his thighs. Your insides were burning with the stretch, and you felt so full you could swear he was in your stomach.

“Fuck.” He groans, touching your clit again, making your first tears start to fall.

It was too much, but at the same time, it was just what you needed. It was overwhelming, not only because it was your first time fucking someone in months, but because you had known Quinn since you were eleven. Your affection for him ran deeper than for anyone else’s.

He rubbed your swollen clit while he pushed his torso up and kissed your lips. You let out a moan because his dick slid the slightest bit out of you, and when you broke the kiss, it got all the way in again, hitting your right spots.

“Come on, baby. Make me proud.” He whispers, gripping your waist hard and lifting his hips up while you lower yours, both moaning at the same time.

You placed your hands on his chest, searching for support before quickening your pace, watching as he planted his feet on the bed and pounded into you with force.

If you thought that making out with him was good, having sex was definitely better. His hands were working hard and fast on your clit while he pounded inside you, fucking you deep and keeping you full.

Quinn Hughes fucked you like he played hockey: to win.

Your moans were loud and you were so greatful the cabin was in the middle of nowhere because no one could hear your screams.

“My sweetheart. Make me come, baby,” Quinn knew that pet names, especially the ones with a possessive pronoun in front of them, did it for you, so this time wasn’t any different. “Maddie.”

Your name on his lips was what made you keep going, fighting the tears running down your face and the pain in your thighs. You wanted Quinn to be proud, you wanted him to want nothing but you.

You wanted Quinn Hughes to yourself, even if it were for a short period of time.

“I’m so close, baby, you’re squeezing me so well,” he licks his lips, rubbing your clit as you ride him. You can feel the exact moment where he comes inside the condom, and you clench around his dick harder, watching his head fall back on the pillow, sweat drops running down his face.

You whine, happy because he came and frustrated because you hadn’t. You were about to complain when he turned you around, his dick still nestled inside you, making you lay back on his chest, your back glued to his front.

“Hold your thighs back for me, sweetness,” he orders, making you hold the back of your thighs until your knees are almost touching your chin, completely exposed for him. “There you go.”

He pounds back into you, quick and steady, making you shiver. His hand, the one that wasn’t holding you in place, finds your aching clit, rubbing it furiously, wanting nothing more than making you come. Your lower belly felt weird, hot and cold at the same time, and you knew you were about to come.

“Make a mess for me, sweets,” he whispered in your ear, and what could you do besides what he asked you to?

You came, mind numb and shaky thighs. The room became silent, your mind as light as a feather, and your thoughts all over the place. The overwhelming feeling of wanting to be his consuming your body like a drug.

“Baby?”

Quinn’s voice sounded distant, like he was a thousand miles away from you. Your tongue sat heavy inside your mouth, and you were slowly falling asleep.

“P-proud?” You hear yourself ask, barely acknowledging his low, tired chuckle.

“Of course, baby.”

Suddenly you’re awake and inside water, which scared you for a few seconds.

“Sh, it’s just water, baby, calm down,” you hear Quinn’s soft voice behind you, now clearer and closer to you. You look down, seeing a sea of smelly bubbles and feeling Quinn’s thick thighs around you, only then realizing he was inside the huge bathtub with you, and you were laying on top of him. “Hey there, baby. You got me scared for a second.”

“Sorry,” you say, your voice cracking mid word.

“No need to be sorry. Was it too much?” He asks, and you could almost taste the concern in his voice.

“No,” you shake your head, welcoming the warm water around you. “No. It was perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re always so good to me, Maddie,” he whispers, running his hands up and down your arms, touching you everywhere. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You chuckle, wanting to tell him that you felt just the same.

“You’re unreal,” he kisses your cheek, and you snuggle closer to his body. “I’m glad you came back to me.”

Your heart stops beating for a second inside your chest, and it feels heavier now. Because being his was all you ever wanted to be, but the only thing you realised after being with him, is that you aren’t the right person for Quinn Hughes.

And it hurt.

taglist: @hischierswhore @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @he6rtshaker @nope-i-am-done @nngkay 🤎

[mara-and-its-the-same]

Incoming Steddie thoughts…..(brief mentions of Eddie losing weight, but it’s really just one sentence and he’s ok)

So you know how Eddie tapes his rings to make them fit? You’ve seen the pictures of his hands. Yes, you have don’t lie to me. So he wraps tape around the underside to make them fit his fingers.

Yeah, so what if they’d been together for long enough that they want to give each other things. But like subtle ones, cus like, 1980s middle america… So Eddie gives Steve his guitar pick necklace because of course he would, and he can just tuck it into his shirt. (and I really feel like Steve is a necklace type of guy, like not just a chain guy- no absolutely not he needs some kind of pendant somehow) But Steve needs to give Eddie something inconspicuous too, something people won’t notice right away and even if they did, something they wouldn’t question.

So he decides on his class ring but Whump Whump, Steve has bigger fingers than Eddie and he already knows that so before he gives it to him he gets some string and he wraps it around the back because it’s softer than tape.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah Stevie?”

“You know how you gave me your necklace?”

“Yeah and I told you I don’t want anything back so get that hand out of that pocket and it better be empty”

“I didn’t get you anything, I already had it.”

“I said you don’t have to give me anything.”

“Too late, take it” and he presses it right into his palm.

Eddie looks at it and he shakes his head and makes a face, “Stevie, what- I can’t take this from you.”

“Yes you can, I’m giving it to you. Does it fit?”

“Yeah, uh perfectly, actually”

Then nobody really notices for a while, Eddie’s hands always flying around so fast no one gets a chance to really look at the numbers engraved on the side. They all know they’re together, but no one really gets the intensity of their relationship, considering they’ve only been together for so long. But they do notice the different colored string on the other side. Then Dustin and Gareth get worried that he’s losing weight again. So they ask him about it and he cannot make eye contact and he’s just fidgeting with his rings, which only worries them more but then they see his goofy little smile under his bangs and he just spills about how he and Steve traded and it was so cute and “Steve’s just so ugh- I can’t even make it into words, but he got the size perfect and everything, and I just-“ and they haven’t said they love each other out loud yet.

Then one day he’s cleaning all his rings so he has to take the string off and he sees the engraving underneath it. On one side, in the standard times new roman every one got, a nice, even SH. Then as he’s unwrapping it, he sees something else, and he starts panicking “oh my god I scratched it, he’s gonna be so upset, I scratched it Jesus H Christ.” Then after he paces his bathroom for a solid 15 minutes, his hands dragging down his face, rubbing his nose, he finishes unwinding it and there, in the most scraggly looking etching is a little, uneven EM

@haydipoof

[shotmrmiller]

Happy trails, John.

A/N: I've been meaning to write the captain my captain but he's my holy grail—look but not touch even though I'd beg him to let me make him lonches at 4 am. Also, I watch Die Hard every Christmas because it IS a Christmas movie, argue with your demons. In response to @glitterypirateduck's prompt thing which inspired to me to write something cute and civilized.

“Just once, I’d like a regular, normal Christmas. Eggnog, a fucking Christmas tree, a little turkey. But no. It’s always ‘Die Hard’.”

“John, love. You’re being overdramatic. It’s just the holidays with my parents.” 

You rolled your eyes as you stuffed your clothes into the luggage bag, preparing for the trip.

“I know, love, but I wanted to spend a quiet Christmas with my wife— but no, the in-laws have to call with their ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ ", he said with a mocking lilt in his voice.

You snicker and say, “I promise we’ll leave as soon as it’s polite.” 

“Sure, sure, I go out and keep the world safe just so when I can get a little reprieve, it’s to not spend it alone with my wife. I’m feeling a little fuckin’ underappreciated.”

You closed the zipper on your bag and went over to the bathroom where John was grumbling his displeasure. Looping your arms around his waist, cheek to his shoulder blade you say, “It’s just Christmas, hun. We’ll have New Year's all to ourselves and we can even have the boys over to celebrate. I’ll even tell you what I got you for Christmas.”

That seems to distract him a bit, as he turns his head a tad with a curious tilt.

“I bought you a Lagavulin 16-year aged single malt scotch.”

His eyes warm with appreciation and he lets out a resigned sigh.

“Right, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Stepping out of the bathroom, you turn to look at the time. 

“Jesus Christ, John! We’re gonna need a miracle to get to the airport on time!”

You’re hastily grabbing your bags, yanking them off the bed and you see John on the phone.

“John! Get your bag—”

Suddenly, there are tires screeching outside on the driveway. John walks past you with his bag and picks up yours as well, before jerking his head at you towards the front door. 

“You wanted a miracle. I give you— The TaskForce 141”, John says, tossing the bags in the trunk of a truck that has Ghost, Johnny, and Gaz in it.

You don’t even care to question why they’re here— you just hop in the back seat immediately and buckle up.

John’s foot is barely inside the truck when it’s speeding off, tires screeching on the pavement. The entire drive has you almost nauseous with the jerky turns and harsh brakes. At a particularly abrasive step of the gas that has your neck jerking back towards the headrest of the seat, you turn towards John with a white-knuckle grip on the driver and passenger seat— you ask “Who’s driving this car? Stevie Wonder?!”

Johnny, sweet Johnny turns with a confused furrow on his brow and says, “Whad’ya mean, lass? It’s just L.T.” 

You’re at the airport in no time with the no-question illegal speed Ghost drove at, and you’re stumbling out of the vehicle with shaky legs. At least you made it.

Gaz grabs the bags from the trunk and places them on the floor but you’ve already run off to check in before it’s too late. John thanks Ghost for the help and after Johnny is rolling his window down— “I heard you’re going to America. To California, specifically.”

John grunts in annoyance at remembering the trip, and he sees Johnny grin cheekily at him before he says, “Yippy-ki-yay, motherfucker!”

[world0fmadness]

LITTLE SNOWFLAKES

sebastian vettel x wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughters

♡ how valerie and valentine vettel / little snowflakes came to be!

୨୧ this can kind of be any era but i think it works best with retired sebastian <3

♡ view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: lisztomania by phoenix - blue romance by black honey

♡ when you guys found out you were having twins… oh boy… that day was a day to be remembered

୨୧ the second the nurse performing the scan said “ oh… hold on a second, looks like you’ll be needing two cribs ” with a soft chuckle, the room went so quiet you could hear a pin drop

♡ but then sebastian spoke…

“ yep… yeah, i guess we will, huh? jesus christ! two babies… that’s… oh, that’s so exciting ” ( it took a couple seconds for it to really click in his head before a huge, goofy smile spread across his face and he started laughing )

୨୧ when you guys get home, he’s straight to his computer, looking up online stores to buy things for twin babies

“ oh! look here liebling, a twin pram! we’ll probably need that, hm? ” ( okay, now it’s really really beginning to click in his head that he’s getting not one but two babies and he couldn’t be more excited )

♡ he goes on quite a shopping spree that afternoon, ordering things like another crib, cute matching twin plushies and WAY more bottles…

୨୧ your babies arrived on valentine’s day!

♡ the birth went fine! except for the fact you had to push out TWO babies…

୨୧ you had a moment filled with nothing but hatred for sebastian for putting two babies inside of you, cussing him out all while he holds your hand

♡ he gave a slightly freaked out look towards one of the nurses who simply told him it was “ totally normal ” and you didn’t mean what you were saying

୨୧ so he doesn’t say anything, just keeps brushing your hair back from your face, cheering you on and praising you for how much progress your making <3

♡ it just felt right to name one of your babies valentine… your greatest gifts made from love arriving on the day of love and the second would be called valerie

୨୧ sebastian is a natural at cradling both of them at the same time almost immediately, you swear just about everything comes naturally to him!

♡ he nicknames them his little snowflakes because whilst from afar snowflakes may look identical, when you really look at them, they’re actually always unique and it’s the same for his babies! his girls may look the same but they’re their own person, they’re both so unique and special in their own different ways <3

୨୧ since they sleep in the same room, when one of them wakes up crying, so does the other…

♡ sebastian is always the first to jump out of bed, telling you to go back to sleep, claiming you need it more than him since you just went through the birth and hey, you’re not going to fight him on that

୨୧ but often times, you do stay awake, waiting for him to come back to bed, more often that not with both of his little snowflakes cuddled in his arms

♡ he slips back into bed next to you, being extra careful with the twins before gesturing for you to cuddle up into his side

“ they’re so perfect, liebling… thank you, thank you for giving me such perfect girls ” ( his voice sounds slightly choked up and before long, you see small tears dripping down his cheeks, you spend the rest of the night cuddled up together, whispering words of love towards your husband and your babies as he falls into a deep sleep )

୨୧ sebastian LOVES teaching his little snowflakes all about animals and bugs, making sure they know how important it is to take care of their planet

♡ because of this, valerie and valentine don’t really want a lot of toys and similar things when they’re children! they’re incredibly aware and smart for their age which is something you both take a huge amount of pride in

୨୧ the only thing his snowflakes really want is those monthly subscription wildlife magazines! y’know the ones that come with a plushie and other little knick knacks like plastic bug containers?

♡ sebastian had already signed them up for it when they were old enough to read a lot and showed an interest in wildlife like he did and they’ve become OBSESSED with receiving them every month <3

୨୧ he has to hold back a huge smile everytime one of the twins asks him when the end of the month is, so happy that his little snowflakes care about the planet as much as he does

♡ the twins LOVE bugs and always try to bring them into the house, yelling for their papa to come and see what they’ve caught this time

୨୧ it can be slightly daunting for you to see them walk through the back door, one of them holding a bug in hand, knowing they’ll probably drop it in the house and it’ll be weeks before you find it…

♡ which is why when sebastian hears them yelling, he’s speed walking towards them and gently steering them right back outside with a hand on each of their backs, throwing a wink your way as he walks out the door

“ what’ve you got there my little snowflakes? come, outside, show me outside on the grass ” ( you let out the most relieved sigh, thankful you won’t be moving your couch to try and find some bug )

୨୧ the twins absolutely love going on bike rides with sebastian too, it’s one of their daddy daughter activities, leaving you once a week for around an hour or two to have some me time

♡ when they get home, they’re talking your ear off about EVERYTHING they saw, no matter how mundane it may seem, sebastian’s little snowflakes find beauty in everything around them

୨୧ sebastian built a tree house for the twins in your backyard!

♡ not only did he build a treehouse, he decked it out inside with SO many books about bugs and wildlife and shelves for them to put their little bug containers on…

୨୧ safe to say they spend more time in the treehouse than they do your actual house! it’s hard for you guys to get them out of there, even just for lunch and dinner

“ will you come down from there, my little snowflakes? please? your lunch is ready… okay, well you know, i just found this really cool spider and i wanted to show you guys before lunch but i guess you’re not interested- ” ( they come barrelling out so fast sebastian yells at them to “ please be careful ” and extends his arms, fully prepared to catch them if they fall )

♡ you guys take the twins out for ice cream a lot! it’s one of their favourite sweet treats

୨୧ which is probably because you ate it a LOT whilst pregnant with them…

♡ sebastian goes in to order with the girls whilst you sit at one of the tables outside, watching them through the glass windows of the store with a soft smile on your face

୨୧ you chuckle as you see sebastian have to hold valerie up on his feet so that she can see the flavours, she’s always been the smallest of the twins which makes him especially soft with her

♡ when he comes out, he gives you a cone of your favourite ice cream with two chocolate flakes stuck in it, you didn’t think he forgot your favourite did you?

୨୧ sebastian makes them tuck a napkin in their shirt, no matter how embarrassing they think it is, he doesn’t want you having extra laundry that could’ve been prevented

♡ they already get so many clothes dirty from sitting on mud in the garden, you should really get around to buying them more overalls!

୨୧ as you all sit in the sun, eating your ice creams ( some faster than others ) sebastian can’t help but admire his little family! his gorgeous wife and his perfect little snowflakes

♡ oh, how lucky he feels…

sebastianvettel and ynln: merry christmas from the vettel family ⛄️ 🦌 🎄

sebynforever: the vettel twins are so big now, oh my god

> loveyouseb: sebastian’s snowflakes in the snow 🥹

lewishamilton ✔️: merry christmas to you two and the girls! hope they liked my presents ❤️

> sebastianvettel ✔️: they loved them, thanks lewis! - sebastian

[i-love-ptv]

(Coco) Nuts For You 𓈒ㅤׂ 𓇼

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Coconuts n cuteness with your lovely JJ

Fluff! + One sexual innuendo ;)

(Not proofread I fear..)

Wc: 583

An: Hi Babies!!!! I’ve missed you all so so much! Sorry for the long break, but I think it was def needed for me. Here’s this small fic so I can get back into the groove of things! xx

feedback is always appreciated <33

“Hey J?” You murmur.

“Hm?”

“Ya know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, well that’s never good, is it?” He sasses heartily.

“Shut up. It’s basically been scientifically proven that i’m smarter than you,” you say while giving a slight kick to his shin under the table.

JJ chuckles, “Whatever helps you sleep at night cupcake, now what were you saying?”

“Oh right! I was thinkin’, if you were a fruit, you’d totally be a coconut!” You say with glee, with a sense of urgency.

“…Yeah? And why’s that baby?” He asks as he pops another fry into his mouth; his voice filled with amusement while he slightly tilts his head to the side in a puppy-like manner.

You hold your index finger in the air, signaling for him to ‘hold on’ while you sip on your crisp coke.

“Well I dunno, I just think it fits you. I mean, coconuts are hard ‘n tough on the outside, but they’re so, so sweet on the inside, ya know?!” You say as you reach over and grab one of his fries in his basket.

You continue shortly, “Like they’re kinda hard to open at first, takes you a ‘lil to get it, but it’s worth it at the end.” You finish, with a shy glance up to the blonde.

“…..Or maybe it’s jus’ cause you have a big ass head.” You say through snickers, which turn into full-blown laugh when you watch disbelief wash over your boyfriend’s face.

“Oh, you little-” He cuts his shout off quickly, noticing a few other customers in The Wreck looking over; some with a snarl.

This only makes you both giggle louder. Whenever you were with JJ, it felt as if nothing mattered, as if you were both in your own little world, together. Being with the boy made you stop caring about what others thought of you, it wasn’t easy persay, and you’ll always thank JJ for helping you get out of your shell.

“Way to ruin the moment, and you know what, I’m gonna ignore what you just said. That just may be the corniest thing you’ve ever said, hun.”

“Shush, you. It’s not a bad thing,” you mumble out.

“I’m glad that you’re comfortable enough with me to let your guard down, to let me care for you like you deserve.” You say softly, as you link your pinkies together over the wooden table.

JJ displays a full smile after this, letting his canines show brightly.

“I think you’d be a peach,” he says with a smirk as he fixes his red backwards cap.

“Oh yeah? Why?” You say with a similar look, a hint of mischief in your eyes.

“It’s ‘cause your butt is like two round peaches together. Or maybe a watermelon, ya know, cause I love your sweet taste, if you catch my drift.” JJ says as he releases laughter that could fill the room alone.

“Jesus Christ JJ! God, I think you’re the one ruining the moment now!” You screech out, as you throw his fries at his face, in a way to somehow silence him before you get a complaint from your shared friend Kiara.

JJ’s head is tilted back while his hands rest on his stomach. You peer at him over your glass, and wonder how you got so lucky.

You don’t know what god you somehow pleased, but you’ll endlessly be grateful for them allowing you to wiggle your way into JJ’s heart.

No matter what, it’ll always just be the two of you, in your own little world, together.

[leviathans-watching]

I have an request for you- is it alright if you do an fanfic where the brothers, dateables, and even the new characters get turned into toddlers? And now (mc) had to care of them? But Luke turns into a baby. A really fluffy, motherly thing? Idrk it's my first time requesting from you- it's alright if you don't want to do it though! :D -chickechee 🐥

when they turn into toddlers

includes: barbatos & gn!reader, & everyone else (no pronouns mentioned)

rated g | wc: .5k | m.list

a/n: oml this was so cute i hope you enjoy!! i have more baby!luke here as well. my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback so come say hi <33

reblogs are greatly appreciated

“oh my god!” you look around the room in horror. “what the hell happened?”

barbatos looks like he hasn't slept in a week. it’s only been a few hours since the initial incident. “what always does,” he answers tiredly, shifting toddler–yes, toddler!–diavolo to his other hip. “someone touched some cursed relic they weren’t supposed to and the effect was disastrous.”

“that’s one word for it,” you murmur. everyone, except for you and barbatos, had regressed into children. infants, even. barbatos had made quick use of the castle’s nursery, left over from one of the previous rulers, and turned it into something daycare-esque, thankfully providing a safe space for them all to be that would keep them out of harm's way, as well as trouble.

as you watch, mammon rises onto shaky legs, making his way over to levi, who’s playing with blocks. “oh please tell me he’s not going to do what i think he’s going to do,” you moan.

“he’s going to do exactly what you think he’s going to do,” barbatos replies, and sure enough, in one deliberate movement, mammon knocks over all of levi’s hard work. immediately, levi begins to scream, startling mammon, who falls back onto the padded ground and begins to cry himself.

“oh, shush.” moving more on instinct, you scoop levi up, patting his back gently. “you’ll be alright, honey.”

he quiets, staring at your face. you wonder if he recognizes you. mammon is still crying, so you set levi back down and move on to comforting him.

“that wasn’t very nice, now, was it?” you ask gently. “let’s not knock over other’s towers, okay?”

he sniffles, rubbing at his eyes with tiny fat baby hands, and it’s just the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. when you go to set him down, he holds tight, and you realize that apparently, he was just as clingy as a toddler as he is now. wonderful.

shifting him to one side, you take stock of everyone else, making sure there are no immediate concerns. simeon, rapheal, and lucifer are sitting together, coloring (and jesus christ you’re going to need to pull out your camera right now), diavolo is still in barbatos’ capable grasp, beel and belphie are napping quietly in a pile of blankets, solomon is telling something to asmo and satan in incomprehensible toddler speech, and mephisto and thirteen are busy playing on their own. you spy a crib in the corner, which must hold luke, who barbatos had said had regressed into an infant rather than a toddler.

“you’re good with children,” barbatos observes, and you sigh.

“i always did like them. i spent my teenage years as a babysitter and camp counselor so i have some experience under my belt,” you explain. “so are you, by the way.” you’ve long stopped being surprised by the fact that barbatos is skilled at literally everything.

“yes, well, it helps that they’re a bit better behaved like this than when they are normally,” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. against your shoulder, mammon echoes your laugh, then sticks his fingers in his mouth. eh, he’s got a demon’s immune system, he’ll be fine.

“how much longer are they going to stay like this?” you ask, and barbatos shrugs.

“probably two or three more hours,” he says.

“just enough time to have to give them lunch while they’re like this,” you say with a slow-dawning horror. “which should be super easy and not difficult or tiring at all.”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[bingwriterxo]

moth to a flame

pairing: amber freeman x reader, minor wes hicks x reader

summary: in which you get a new boyfriend, yet he's not who you really want

warnings: mentions of domestic violence, talks of homophobia, cheating

word count: 1000+

author's note: loosely based on 'moth to a flame' by swedish house mafia & the weeknd. writing mojo's back, babyyyy 🤠

“So,” Mindy started as she slammed her hands down on the lunch table, her eyes sparkling with an excitement that made Amber want to puke, “let’s talk about the happy, new couple!” She climbed into her seat and whipped her head around. “Coast is clear. Thoughts, everyone?”

Liv piped up first. “I think they’re adorable!”

“Yeah,” Chad agreed, grinning. “They’re cute together.”

“I’m just happy that Y/N is happy,” Tara said. She shrugged and added, as an afterthought, “Wes, too, I guess.”

Amber scoffed and crossed her arms, sitting up a little straighter when everyone looked at her. “Are you idiots blind? Wes is a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend.” She narrowed her eyes at her friends as disgust boiled beneath her skin. “He’s not nearly good enough for Y/N.”

Mindy rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. “You don’t think anyone’s good enough for her, Amber. You said that about her last three boyfriends.”

Amber nodded. “Yeah, and I was right. They all ended up being abusive assholes.” Even just mentioning your ex-boyfriends left a bad taste in her mouth and ignited a murderous flame in her chest. Oh, what she’d give to teach all of them a lesson. 

“Okay,” Liv began, a little hesitant, “but we know Wes, and he’s good for her! He’s the sweet ‘boy-next-door’ type.”

“Yeah,” Tara said. “He’d never hurt a hair on Y/N’s head. Not like…” She trailed off, and the silence of the group spoke for itself. Amber clenched her jaw at the thought. “Besides, she was so happy to tell us about the relationship! They both were.” She reached out and placed a hand on her best friend’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “She’s in good hands, Amber.”

“Yeah, right,” Amber muttered. “If he so much as touches her, I’ll--”

“Who’re you threatening today, Ambs?” Your teasing voice interrupted the girl’s warning, and she looked up at you, smiling, before her face fell upon seeing Wes beside you, a grin pulling at his own lips. She swore she could feel bile rise in the back of her throat when she realized that the two of you were holding hands. “Someone good, I hope,” you said, chuckling. 

You fell into the seat beside Mindy, greeting the rest of the table, and Wes was left to sit across from Amber, shifting uncomfortably beneath her stare. 

“Yeah,” Amber said, smirking at the blonde boy. “Someone real good.”

* * *

“Jesus Christ!” Amber groaned as she reached for her phone, which had been ringing non-stop for minutes. “Can’t a girl just get some sleep?” With her eyes half-closed, she answered the call, barking out, “What?” and almost immediately regretting it when your teary voice echoed through the phone. 

“Ambs,” you whispered.

She shot up, her eyes wide and worried, her heart pounding in her chest. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“I--” You hesitated, and Amber could feel her stomach drop when you sniffled. “Can I come over? It’s my parents.”

Half of her wanted to snark, “Why don’t you call Wes?”, but the other half of her--the half she knew she’d listen to--just wanted to hold you in her arms and keep you safe. 

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “Come over.”

When you hung up, telling her you’d be there in ten minutes, Tara’s voice started to ring through her head: she’s in good hands, Amber. A small, tiny, minuscule part of her that she’d never admit existed almost felt bad for the boy. 

* * *

As soon as you arrived, you were crawling beneath Amber’s blankets and wrapping your arms around her waist, your face nuzzling into her neck as you inhaled her scent. She was holding you just as tightly, glad that your tears had subsided in the time it had taken for you to cross town. 

“You okay, baby?” Amber asked, her voice loud in the otherwise silent room. 

You hummed, shuffling even closer to her. “Better now,” you confessed. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed deeply. “They’re just fighting again. It’s whatever.”

Amber hated when you did that--when you’d brush off the troubles that were going on at home, when you’d brush off your own feelings. Still, there was a flicker of pride in her chest that you had called her rather than Wes.

The two of you settled into comfortable silence for a few minutes, but after a while, Amber could no longer let sleeping dogs lie, and she piped up. 

“So, you and Wes.” Her face soured at the boy’s name, and she could feel you tense in her arms. “We should probably talk about that.”

“What do you want me to say?” you asked carefully.

“You like him?”

You sat up, and Amber immediately regretted saying anything at all, missing your warmth. “Can we not do this right now?”

She sat up, too, drawing her knees to her chest. “You called me; you were cuddling with me. I think we have to do this right now, Y/N,” she said, tilting her head. She scoffed when you stayed silent. “Of all the boys at Woodsboro, you had to choose one of our friends?”

“He’s safe, Amber. You saw what happened when I chose at random. You saw,” you said, your voice tight and shaky, and Amber glanced away, images of your bruised wrists flashing through her mind. “At least with Wes, I know he won’t hurt me.”

“Why do you have to choose a guy at all?” she asked. “We both know how you really feel, and you don’t feel anything for that boy.”

You hung your head. “I can’t come out,” you whispered. “You know that. You know what my parents would say, what they’d do.” You looked back up at her. “But you’re right: we both do know how I feel, what I feel.” You reached out, fingers skimming over her hand. “For you.”

Amber cursed the butterflies that stirred in her stomach at the touch and bit the inside of her cheek. “You know I already can’t stand Wes, and I really don’t care about his feelings, but if he finds out--”

“He won’t. They never do.” 

“But if he does--”

You interrupted her with a kiss, soft and sweet and loving, and when you pulled away, your forehead pressed against hers, you whispered, “He won’t.”

[artdcnaldson]

horny and feral… i get it… i feel like i need to bite down on a piece of wood……

artpatrick dp… when you bring it up, tell them you want both of them at the #same time they kinda go crazy. feral even. idk maybe you saw it in a video or something… a video on patrick’s computer…… they’ve turned you into a perv… but it’s fine!!! you’re so sweet and innocent (or you were…..,,,.) that patrick is shocked you even.. know what that is. that that’s a thing. you want it soo bad after you guys have been fucking for a few weeks you’re beggggging them. they say no… at first… they don’t want to hurt you. defile you. but the idea of them in #both of your holes (or the same one.. even……😃) makes them dizzy

Patrick straight up refuses. It’s a firm, “no, no way,” because he wants time to warm up to it. It would be batshit if it went from one of them fucking you at a time to both in the span of weeks.

Like, you haven’t even had anything in your ass yes. But then Patrick swallows, asks you if you’ve ever tried to put anything in your ass. Nearly faints when you shyly tell him you’ve tried to finger yourself, just to see what it’s like 🥺 he literally has to just tell you to stay there with art while he goes and takes a walk around campus. Because Jesus Christ, he didn’t think anything would shock him, but there you are.

When he comes back, you and Art are fucking, because you’re fucking insatiable, because Art and Patrick created a horny, needy monster together.

He tells you okay, but it’s not going to be for a while, or even anytime soon. They need to build you up for it, go slow. They don’t want to break their favorite girl, do they?

And ofc the first step is making you go into a sex shop, all shy and hiding behind their shoulders while they pick out toys to fuck your ass with, cute little plugs, small toys to get you started. Their only rule is that there’s no more playing alone— that they’re always gonna be there to watch.

[tightjeansjavi]

a drabble of joel rolling a joint then holding it to my mouth to inhale plEASE goD I BEG YOU

anything for my dear Mya ♡

A/N: baby gets what baby wants 😤 This was 100% self indulgent and I have nothing to be sorry for lol

~word count: 2.8k~

Summary: after a long day patrolling Jackson, Joel asks you to come over for a nightcap and a smoke. You eagerly agree.

Warnings: smut, fingering, praise kink, pet names, good girl, teasing, flirting, banter, sexual tension to the max level, Joel is an expert flirt, begging, paraphernalia, puff puff pass, mentions of drinking, doing drugs, dubious consent/consent under the influence, Joel and the reader almost get caught by Ellie, dirty talk, filth, NSFW, +18 minors dni!

When your patrol partner; Joel Miller, asked if you wanted to come back to his place to have a nightcap and a smoke, your brain barely registered your lips moving at the lightning speed to immediately say yes to his generous invitation.

His brow raised in your direction when you eagerly responded to him. Albeit, it was an incredibly long day so he expected you to be more willing than if it were any other occasion.

Leaves crunched under your in-sync boot steps. The sun was beginning to set along the horizon, turning the sky into brilliant hues of dark purple, magenta, and orange. Fall sunsets were your favorite, especially with Halloween steadfast approaching. The air held a slight chill that had you wrapping your arms around your body, hugging yourself gently.

Joel chuckled at this and had half the mind to offer you his jacket; but he didn’t want to cross a line. He unlocked his door to his cozy abode that he shared with Ellie. You’d been in Joel’s home a handful of times but only in the daytime. Seeing it at night was a whole new experience. The fading sun casted warm shadows over the furniture that inhabited the living room. The sage green couch pushed up against the wall and it appeared to already be well-loved.

“Go on and make yourself at home. You wanna have anythin’ to drink? Got whiskey..and more whiskey..” he chuckled warmly as he hung up his coat and rifle along the back hook on the wall alongside the door.

You could see the muscles beneath his well-worn flannel clench with the mundane movement. Jesus Christ, you were screwed.

“I’ll have a splash of whiskey, thank you.” You bent down, unlacing your boots and set them alongside his before hanging up your coat. You sank down into the couch with a content sigh as he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen. “Hey, Joel? Is Ellie not in tonight?”

“Nah. She’s at Dina’s havin’ a sleepover. She’s practically livin’ there at this point. Nice girl, makes El happy and that’s all I really give a damn about, y’know?” He popped the cap off the bottle of whiskey with his teeth, pouring a decent glass for himself, and a little more than a splash for you.

“They’re really cute together. Never seen your kid smile that much, except when she’s around Dina.”

“Yeah tell me ‘bout it.” He gave you his signature grin as he sat down alongside you, knees bumping into each other as he handed you your glass. He lightly clinked his glass against yours before he took a hefty sip. “Jus’ nice that she’s gettin’ to live a normal life now. S’all I really ever wanted f’her.”

You gave him a little grin over the rim of your glass as they taped together. You took a generous sip, sinking further into the couch cushions. “She’s really lucky to have you, Joel.”

He chuckled as he set his glass alongside the coffee table before grabbing a tin box that rested comfortably inside one of the coffee table drawers. You casually watched him pull out a jar of weed, and some fresh rolling papers. “I think it’s honestly the other way around fo’me. I’m really lucky t’have her. You wanna roll this one, or do you want me to do it?” He looked over at you casually watching the way your lips rested along the rim of the glass.

“I actually don’t know how to roll..you wanna teach me? When’s the last time you even rolled a joint, old man.” You teasingly asked as you lightly shoved his shoulder.

“You ain’t ever rolled before? Well, my dear, you’re in luck because I happen to know how to roll some of the tightest joints your pretty eyes have ever had the pleasure of feasting upon.” He declared with a subtle wink. “I ain’t that old sweetheart. Don’t let the gray fool ya. Last time I rolled one of these babies was..come to think of it, can’t remember. Probably back in my college days. Tommy though? He never stopped.”

“Hmm. You think you still got it in you Miller?”

“Me? Absolutely. It’s like ridin’ a bike.” He laid the paper out as he leaned over the table, grabbing a few small nuggets of marijuana and sprinkled it onto the paper. “Y’know, I’m really surprised that you said yes to comin’ over tonight. Thought you hated me or somethin.’”

You took another swig from your glass, setting it alongside his. “Hate you? No. Not even close to hating you. You’re just intimidating at times, and sometimes I feel like I’m gonna say the wrong thing and piss you off or something.” You said with a nervous laugh crawling up from your throat.

“I’m intimidatin’? Who woulda thought.” He snorted under his breath. “I highly doubt you could say anythin’ t’me that would piss me off. I really enjoy your ramblin’ when we’re on patrol together. Makes the time go faster.”

“Yeah, man. You’re so fucking intimidating. Like a walking fucking fridge. Or a bear..either or. Phew! I totally thought my rambling annoyed the hell out of you.” You let out a sigh of relief.

“Did you really just fuckin’ call me a fridge? That’s a new one I’ve never heard of before. ‘Supposed to be a compliment? I’m serious, darlin. You’re extremely easy to talk to, and very easy on the eyes.” His smooth twang nearly had you jumping his bones right then and there, but you were afraid of crossing that line the same way that he was.

“Joel Miller, are you flirting with me right now?” Your tone was light, teasing but you couldn’t help but shamelessly check out his side profile as he was bent over the side of the coffee table, licking the paper with one broad stroke of his wet tongue.

Your thighs subconsciously clenched together.

“Absolutely. I am flirtin’ with ya. Want me to stop? Don’t wanna go and cross any boundaries or nothin’. I uh—just think you’re really attractive. Have thought that for a while.” He smoothly admitted as he rolled the paper inwards, sealing the marijuana inside with precise precision.

“How long are we talking here? No, I don’t want you to stop. Keep going, I am enjoying the flattery.” You lightly giggled. “It’s your lucky day, Miller. I find you to be painfully attractive.”

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle as he used the tip of his nail to pack the weed down. “Wow, look at us. Haven’t even started smokin’ and we’re already admittin’ dirty secrets? Well, aren’t we just naughty.”

“The naughtiest.” You agreed.

Joel reached over with the unlit joint between his fingertips as he placed it between your parted lips, letting it rest along the plush skin of your lower lip. “Hold that fo’me. Good girl.” He praised you as he grabbed his little box of lighters. “Ellie and I collected most of these from old gas stations and stores we’d come across. Amazin’ what you can find even in an apocalyptic world. Huh?”

You did as he said as you gingerly held the joint between your lips, reaching into the box of lighters to pick one out. You ended up picking the one that had red and orange flames licking up the side of the lighters cartridge. “Exactly, you never know what you’re gonna find out there.” You handed him the lighter, watching his eyes lock on yours as he lit the tip of the joint for you with a spark from the lighter.

“You wanna sit in my lap? Y’know—just uh cause it would be easier for us to pass it back and forth.” He boldly asked.

“Wow, you sly dog. That was bold, even for you Miller. You weren’t kidding when you told me to make myself at home, huh?” You took a deep inhale as the lit end burned a bright vibrant orange. You blew the smoke up towards the ceiling before placing the unlit end into Joel’s lips. You wasted no time to crawl in his lap, with your thighs on either side of his hips. The close proximity was already making your head deliciously spin.

“I don’t joke about those kinds of things darlin.’ M’very serious with this stuff.” His free hand found purchase around the skin where your ass meets your thigh as he took a long drag.

“Oh? What other things are you serious about Joel?” You replied with a soft hum.

“Mmm. Lots of things, darlin.’ Could always show ya, if you want.” He placed the joint back between your lips, his thumb lightly brushing along your lower lip in the process. “Goddammit. Those pretty lips of yours are doin’ somethin’ to’me. They look so fuckin’ pretty wrapped around that joint. Think you have it in your heart to spare this old man a kiss? Think I’ll end up dyin’ if I don’t get a taste.”

The first thought to spring to your mind was, ‘what the fuck is in this weed, and where can I get more of it.’ And, ‘holy fuck. Is this really about to happen?’ You took a long, deep drag, lightly blowing the smoke past his head before you reached behind you and set the joint down against the ashtray so you could drape your arms loosely around his neck. “You wanna kiss me Mr. Miller?” You cooed softly.

“I want to kiss you so fuckin’ bad babydoll. So bad.” He whispered smoothly.

The kiss started off as a light brushing of your lips before it turned into a proper one. Joel’s one hand stayed firmly wrapped around your thigh while the other was cradling the back of your head as he kissed you deeply. He swiped his tongue along the seam of your lips, and once you granted him access, his tongue soon tangled with yours. The kiss grew more fervent, heated, as the seconds ticked by.

“S’okay. We don’t gotta rush or anythin’, sugar. Just let the weed do all the talkin’ for us. Say, did I ever tell ya how fuckin’ gorgeous you are? Mmm. No? Well, I’m sayin’ it now. You’re goddamn stunnin.’” He mumbled hazily against your lips. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your fingers tangled in his soft tendrils of salt and pepper hair, tugging it gently as you scooted yourself further into his lap. The air was growing heavy with lust as your jeans began to feel ten times tighter now. “Joel.” You whispered between kisses, “can I take these off, please? Fucking dying in these things”

“You just lookin’ for an excuse to get naked in front of me? You don’t gotta ask, babydoll. Told ya to make yourself right at home.”

You reluctantly detached your lips from his, a string of saliva connected your lips for a moment before you were sitting up and popping the button off your jeans. You shimmied them down your thighs, and past your ankles, giving him just a little show as you tossed the denim to the floor.

His fingers brushed over the lower back tattoo that was etched beautifully in your skin. A heart with barbed wire, it was fitting. “This one of your college days choices?” His thumb brushed along the ink, eliciting a shudder to roll down your spine.

“Yeah, do you like it?”

“Fuckin’ love it.” He rasped, coaxing you back down into his lap gently. “C’mere.”

“You gonna touch me, or keep asking questions Miller?” You were kissing him once more, biting down on his lower lip and tugged it out before gently releasing it.

“Mmm. Someone is awfully eager. C’mon, be a good girl and ask me nicely.” He teased.

“Please fucking touch me Joel. Or I’ll do it my goddamn self.” You threatened.

That’s all it took for Joel Miller to slowly dip his fingers under the thin fabric of your panties. His broad middle and forefinger brushed between your slit, gathering up the pooling arousal between your sticky folds. “Fuck me. You’re so fuckin’ wet. This all fo’me? How generous of you honeypie. Such a sweet little wet cunt.” He hummed as his fingers rubbed tight circles against your clit, causing your back to arch up towards his touch like a magnet.

“Mhm. It’s all for you. I’ve been dreaming for this to finally happen. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. I almost had me jumping your bones earlier.” Your lips parted as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh? Now you’re havin’ dreams about me, sweet girl? That’s cute. Didn’t know you had that much of a crush on me. Woulda made a serious move sooner if I had known.” He detached his lips from yours, swollen with your kisses as he peppered them down your jaw and throat. “Want me to play with ya a little? We’ll do whatever you wanna do. No pressure.”

“I want you to make me cum with your fingers alone. I want to see if they’re really as skilled as they look.”

Joel let out a low growl as he playfully nibbled on your skin, soothing the pain his teeth inflicted with his tongue. “Think I can easily handle that darlin.’ Why don’t ya grab that joint again while I fuck ya with my fingers. Wanna see your pretty face ride through the high.”

He used his thumb to push your panties to the side for easier access as his middle and forefinger lightly circled your tight went hole. You were wet enough for both of his fingers to slowly sink knuckle deep into your pussy. His fingers were inside you at a deliciously deep angle that already had you seeing stars as he curled them inwards.

“I knew you had a tight pussy, sweetheart. Didn’t know she was gonna be this fuckin’ tight. Fuck. Can you imagine how tight your little pussy is gonna be clenchin’ on my cock? Dunno if I’m even gonna fit baby.”

You struggled to reach behind you and slip the joint back between your fingers as his fingers pumped in and out of your tight wet walls with practiced ease. With a shaky exhale you placed the joint back between your lips taking a long, and deep inhale. “Another—another night Joel. I promise. Just keep going. Don’t stop.” You pleaded as your hips slowly rocked into his hand.

“That’s it. Nice n’slow fo’me now. Yeah, that’s it. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Can feel ya clenchin’ down on my fingers, sweet thing.” He curled his fingers in a come hither motion while he used his thumb to lightly rub circles against your clit while you rode his hand.

The air was growing heady, musky as you moaned out his name through hazy smoke that circled your bodies like halos. The joint was placed between Joel’s lips as you continued to rock and roll your hips. Just when you were about to hit your high, tasting your impending orgasm on your tongue, the door lock jiggled and Joel was quickly throwing a blanket over your bodies as your hips stilled along his fingers.

An exhausted looking Ellie strode in through the front door. She didn’t even see you and Joel on the couch as she trudged up the steps to her room.

Joel let out a shaky breath of relief when she didn’t notice the filth taking place on the couch. Just to be safe, he brought his freehand against your mouth before he resumed the motions of his fingers. He kept the joint between his lips as his fingers pumped inside of you at an unforgiving pace.

“C’mon. You gonna cum all over my fingers, sweet girl? Gonna coat them fo’me? C’mon. I know you’re fuckin’ close.” S’okay. I gotcha.” He praised you softly as you let out a hushed sob against his hand that covered your mouth. Your hips stilled as he slowly slipped his fingers out with a boy-like grin.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You giggled, plucking the joint from between his lips to finish it off.

“Like what? Like the way a man knows he’s completely and utterly fucked? I thought you enjoyed that typa of thing darlin.’”

“Mmm. Yeah, you are most definitely fucked, Joel Miller. It’s alright. I am too. We’re both fucked.”

“In the best way possible.” He added on.

What was left of the joint was ashed out before Joel was cuddling up with you on the couch like the soft teddy bear he truly was.

“Do you think Ellie saw us when she came in?”

“Nah. She didn’t even look ova’here. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. She knows just how bad of a crush I’ve had on ya anyway.” He lightly kissed the curve of your spine as you were pressed against his chest.

“Oh, of course she did.” Your eyes fluttered shut gently as a small grin graced your features. High off Joel Miller, and his joint rolling skills; what a fantastic evening indeed.

Tag list: @cavillscurls @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @thetriumphantpanda @darkroastjoel @chaotic-mystery @korynnekorynne @kirsteng42

[2knightt]

if you havent already, request for the outsiders boys with a super sweet sunshine s/o?

↳i love you, so let me get to you!₊˚✧

──IN WHICH, the gang dates a happy go-lucky reader!。✦

||✰ — the gang, separately

Johnny Cade ;

your kindness probably frightened him at first, he wasn’t used to anyone as nice as you.

but when he gets to know you are—he can’t get enough.

your happiness probably rubs off on him.

johnny’s smiling more, opening doors for people, and has a little spring in his step.

the gang definitely knows about you and teases johnny about it.

“you gotta stop hangin’ ‘round y/n. you’re starting to get their smile.”

“yeah, johnnycakes. i swear—i ain’t never seen you this happy.”

“get used to it, i dunno.”

you refuse to see the bad in people, and honestly johnny kinda likes that mindset.

but he doesn’t at the same time.

he knows people in the world suck, he knows how cruel it can be—but with you by his side, you make it bearable.

you make him feel actual hope that he can get out of this place.

make him feel like he has a future.

“thank you.”

“for what?”

“..everything, y/n.”

Dallas Winston ;

opposites attract dare i say?

i can see you calming dallas down, just a bit though.

not too much. just a lot.

he stops beating up people for no reason, yelling so much, and even helps a few old ladies cross the street.

only when people aren’t look though. this is still dallas.

“jus’ get outta ‘ere, punk!”

“aw, dallas! you let ‘em go! ‘m so proud.”

“whatever.”

he mumbles, snaking an arm around your waist with his other hand stuffed in his pocket.

the gang was so fucking shocked when they found out you two were dating.

“…for real?”

“you ain’t pulling our legs, are ya?”

“no? what the hell would make you guys think that?”

“they’re sweet while you’re—you.”

“fuck’s that ‘posed mean?”

“nothing.”

i feel like a lot of people would judge you for being so happy, especially with the situation with soc’s and greasers.

but dally shuts them up real fast.

“they gotta be on drugs. no way someone can be that happ—“

“who? who’s on drugs? c’mon, you can tell me.”

“uh—no one, dallas.”

“you sure?”

“yeah.”

punches them anyways.

but i don’t want you to scroll with a bad taste in your mouth.

just know, you’re the only relationship dally has been serious about in a long time.

a very, long time. so—he loves you to death.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

admired you somewhat.

he loves the aura that surrounds you. he thinks it’s different—way different than what he’s used too.

he’s used to people beating others, spitting on people, mocking, teasing.

but you?

you go out of your way to help those who were pushed down, bullied, spit on.

he admired that. he admired you.

he loved that about you.

tries to pick up your habits—but ends up failing.

“pony, when’d you become so…happy go-lucky, huh?”

“is it bothering you?”

“a little.”

“…fuck you too then.”

i feel like he’d look for a partner like that.

his type??? possibly???

you just,

give him hope.

hope that he can leave tusla and live the life he wanted on the country side.

Sodapop Curtis ;

same thing, different font.

you two get along so well it’s sickening.

when the two of you walk in a room together you blind everyone with how bright the both of you are.

im not joking.

“did he really, soda?”

“yeah! can you believ—“

“JESUS CHRIST!”

“what?”

“get out.”

“WHY?!”

“what?!”

“y’all are ruining my bad mood. screw off.”

“is he always like this?”

“yeah. just ignore two-bit.”

takes after you a lot.

like a lot.

started fighting less, helping out more costumers at the DX, etc.

he loves talking about you.

he just

does.

you’re all he talks about. i’d know, cause i’m literally writing this rn.

Darry Curtis ;

THIS DYNAMIC IS SO CUTE OH MY GOD.

cold, closed off darry with a cute, kind and sweet reader.

i’m crying just thinking about it.

you force him to open him to others.

literally.

“how’s your day, darry?”

“okay.”

“just okay? didn’t something happen at work today?”

“well yeah.”

“then tell, em! he’s your brother, babe.”

people always chuckle, seeing you cling to his arm—all smiles while he sits, looking like a guard dog.

but as soon as darry glares at them—they stop laughing.

everyone calls you sunshine after darry mockingly called you that. sorry i don’t make the rules :/ (yes i do.)

“hey, sunshine!”

“oh—hey, dal!”

“don’t call them that.”

“why not, superman?”

“because.”

Steve Randle ;

Guard dog 2.0

you gotta hold him back all the time help.

“steve! you know violence isn’t good—i hate it!”

“LEMME AT ‘EM, BABE! C’MON!!”

isn’t also—not used to people being so nice to him.

so you being so affectionate, looking out for him, loving him—just being so nice to him in general is so..shocking.

“you did so good today, love. ‘m so proud.”

“what?”

“oh? did you not hear me?”

“no—i did. it was just, outta nowhere. kinda spooked me a lil.”

please just love him.

please. he needs it.

he needs someone like you in his life and he’s so glad you are in his life.

he would’ve lost his mind a long time ago if you weren’t.

Two-bit Matthews ;

YALL ARE SO CUTE.

silly goofy guy with a sweet loving partner.

you let him ramble about anything and everything. he couldn’t be more happy.

“and they dance, like all the time!”

“even the dog?”

“EVEN THE DOG! he got his own moves, y/n!”

brags about dating the kindest person in Tulsa 24/7.

like, actually.

if you don’t like his drinking cause you know it’s slowly killing him, he’ll slow down on it.

“two, you know i don’t like you drinkin’ this stuff!”

“i know. but it’ll be my last one tonight, promise.”

“better be, ‘m worried for you.”

you’re like all he talks about.

he’s just so blessed to have an angel in his life!

like, what’d a guy like him do to get a person like you? save a country?