#jesus what is my baking tag

[whatimdoing-here]

Friday.

[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. 

[bluebeary-jay]

Hold me close and hold me fast

Hi, my darling @always-andromeda!! I'm your secret santa from the space sisters server 🥰 I hope you're having a fantastic day and will enjoy what I wrote for you 💕 I tried to mix fluff and angst into your Joel prompt and it was tricker than I thought it'd be but hopefully I did it justice 😌 I wish you all that's best and happy holidays!!

Summary: It's been a long time since Joel was in any relationship and because of that he has absolutely no clue how to react to your affections. It culminates into an angsty conversation which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, fluff and angst, soft and shy Joel, hurt/comfort, established relationship 💕

Word count: 3.3K

A/N: dividers by @saradika, beta read by @reddedmiller ❤️

Twenty years ago, when the apocalypse started and Joel Miller lost his only daughter, he was certain that he’d never feel happy again. Time didn’t heal his wounds – he still thought like that when he was fighting for survival with Tommy, then when he was doing side jobs with Tess in the QZ… It was never going to get better.

But somehow, as he looked up at the massive tree he just helped the others set up in the middle of the square in Jackson, he realized that it could. It did. Now Joel had a home here. He had his brother back, he had Ellie whom he cared for like his own kid and he had a community that welcomed him into Jackson, people who didn’t know about the horrible things he’d done and therefore didn’t hate him.

“Hi, handsome,” he heard from behind his back and turned around to the most beautiful face in the world – the main source of his newfound happiness. You. His girl. “Are you done with work?”

He nodded with a small smile gracing his lips. You were the newest addition to Joel’s life, but the most precious one in his eyes. Unlike everyone else in Jackson (excluding his brother), you knew all about the sins he’s committed. And yet, you still chose him. Every day you continued to choose him, to envelop him with the warmth of your love which Joel wasn’t sure he deserved.

He’d never tell you, though. Not as long as you kept him in your heart.

“Yeah, no, we’re done. M’pretty sure my back will blow if I have to pick up or carry one more damn thing.”

Right at that moment Tommy walked by with another box full of tree ornaments in his arms, and huffed a laugh when he heard his brother complaining.

“Jesus, Joel, you really are gettin’ old.” He put down the heavy box on the snow and sighed, propping his hands on his hips and nodding at you. “You sure you’ll be able to put up with this grump?”

“Positive.” You climbed onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to Joel’s cheek, and he felt his skin growing hot under your lips. He turned his head to hide the embarrassment evident on his face, missing the slight furrow of your brows, but not missing a hearty laugh his brother let out.

“Aww, is the big, scary man gettin’ all shy from a little kiss on the cheek?”

“Get lost, Tommy.”

Tommy chuckled and bent down to pick up the box again. “By the way, you two have any plans for today? We’re makin’ a screening of some Christmas movies for the kids, and after that the adults will head to the bar. You should come.”

“Well, if you want to?” you directed the careful question to Joel, but he shook his head just slightly, causing you to smile. “But we actually have other plans for tonight.”

That was true, and there was no way Joel would trade those precious hours spent in your company for having to sit – or worse, dance – in a loud room full of half-drunk people.

“Sounds like somethin’ I don’t wanna know about.”

“We’re just gonna bake some cookies for Ellie,” Joel murmured when you bumped his arm lightly with a giggle. The irritation at his brother lessened slightly when he heard the sound of your laughter. “But don’t tell ‘er.”

“My lips are sealed.” Tommy winked at Joel, then shifted his eyes to you. “Enjoy your evening, lovebirds.”

“That’s the plan.” You took Joel’s hand in both of yours, beaming up at him with excitement. “You’re ready?”

“Yeah.” He inconspicuously let go of your hands to brush the arm of your jacket lightly, and then nodded in the direction of his house. “C’mon, darlin’.”

He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too harsh as he hid his gloved hands in the pockets, intending to blame it on the cold in case you asked. But instead of saying anything, you just matched his step and slipped your hands around his arm. Joel went rigid when you leaned your head on his shoulder, the side of your body almost hugging his.

Joel loved you like no one before and until he met you, he hadn’t been this happy in years. But there was a problem, a major one, in your relationship that he didn’t at all know how to address.

Because Joel didn’t have any clue how to react to all your touches.

No matter if they were tender or needy, brief or lasting, he always felt out of his depth. It’s been so long since he actually wanted to be intimate with someone that when the chance arose… he was at loss. You were such an affectionate person and he loved that part of you, he cherished all touches and gestures you graced him with – craved them even – but…

He stole a glance at you, wondering if you could feel the stiffness of his body when you were so close, but it seemed that you were none the wiser. He tried to will his muscles to relax, but it didn’t work and he still felt an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his arm.

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do as your partner, but ever since Sarah died, he hadn’t had an opportunity to show affection to someone. Everything he thought about seemed awkward and incongruous, but he really didn’t want you to think that he was an inexperienced old man who didn’t know how to please – and in your case, love – a woman.

He did. In theory.

So he tried his hardest to show you in other ways how much he cares about you. He brought you gifts, whether they were knickknacks scavenged during his patrols or wooden figurines he made for you. He did what he could to relieve you of your duties, helped around the house and out in the town. He found time during the day to spend with you or at least just talk in passing if you both were busy.

But that still wasn’t enough. He knew that wasn’t enough.

Every damn time you cuddled, every time you kissed him or did something as simple as lay your head on his shoulder, Joel never felt better. He never wanted those moments to end, but at the same time he just couldn’t reciprocate, and it was tearing him apart, because he could see how hurtful it was to you.

“You’re quiet.”

Joel snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at you, noting that you’re almost at his place. He breathed a little lighter when he realized that he managed to go all this way without the need of pulling his arm out of your grasp.

“Is everything alright?” you asked with concern in your beautiful eyes and squeezed his bicep slightly, causing Joel to clench his teeth. “Listen, if you’d prefer to go with Tommy, just tell me…”

“Hey, I’m okay, sweetheart,” he assured you quickly and even managed to smile as if the guilt of not being able to even kiss your forehead wasn’t eating him alive. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with right now.”

“Just right now?” you asked teasingly, and Joel couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“Listen here, you little tease…”

A bright smile returned to your face and you tugged his arm down so your lips could reach his stubbly cheek – and (only a little) reluctantly, he let you kiss him with a huff.

But the guilt of not telling you the true reason of his worries was still swirling in his stomach, making him feel sick for the rest of the way.

An hour and a half later the cookies were already done, and somehow the attempt to clean each other off the flour and the colorful frosting you used to decorate them ended up with you sitting in Joel’s lap, kissing him softly.

Not that he minded.

There was nothing as wonderful as the feeling of your lips on his skin, Joel was sure of it. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since he was with someone that made him feel like a young boy in love again, but your every gesture, every sound coming out of your mouth and every day he got to spend with you was just a confirmation of how lucky he was to have you.

Even now, as you were kissing him slowly and without any rush, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But while they initially appeared from the happiness and giddiness you were causing in him, the longer your hands wandered – and the longer his stayed uselessly at his sides – the worse and more stressed he felt.

“You know you can touch me, right?” you asked playfully at last, and the pit in Joel’s stomach grew almost tenfold in size. “It’s highly encouraged, actually.”

There was an actual question in your voice, which made him feel even worse. He should’ve known you’d address it eventually – after all, nothing went past you – but it still felt so awfully embarrassing to admit it to you. He was an old man, but felt like an inexperienced teenager who didn’t know how to make a woman feel good.

You moved to kiss him again when he didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, but on instinct Joel pulled back – actually ducked – out of your reach. Immediately regret painted his face at the rejected look in your eyes, and he started to rake his mind in search for something he could do to fix it, but nothing came to him. He knew what you’d want from him – you’d forgive him if he took your face in his hands, kissed you with all his strength, let you know that you did nothing wrong… but it made him nervous just thinking about it, let alone do it.

“Sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I didn’t– didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look at me… What’s wrong?” You brushed some hair out of his forehead and Joel exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the knees at your touch. “Talk to me, baby. Did I do something?” Joel shook his head and you pressed your lips together. “Did something happen, then?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly, but he avoided your eyes. “No. Nothin’.”

“Joel…”

The room got too stuffy all of the sudden, the shirt on his back too tight and your body too heavy on his lap. Joel knew he was panicking over nothing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want you to see him like this, so unsure and embarrassed over his own insecurity and behavior… So he gently removed you from his lap and stood up from the couch.

“Sorry, I gotta… I need some air. I’ll be right back, alrigh’?”

“Joel.”

No ‘baby’. No ‘handsome’. The tone of your voice made him stop dead in his tracks, and he turned around to meet your sad, solemn eyes.

“Just tell me if you don’t want me anymore.”

Your voice, so small and weak, took him off-guard and for a couple of seconds Joel wasn’t sure if you really said that, or if it was just his imagination playing cruel tricks on him. He blinked several times, but you were still in front of him, sad and… oh, god, you were on the verge of tears.

“What?” He couldn’t help a curt, disbelieving chuckle that escaped him – which was a terrible reaction, he realized when you turned your head away from him. “I– I don’t understand.”

“You don’t ever want to touch me first.” You let out a shuddering breath and lifted your arm to wipe your eyes, and Joel realized with mortification that he fucking made you cry. “And when you do it’s only when I initiate it, but sometimes you just pull back and it… it makes me feel so unwanted. And I know I might come off as too clingy…”

“Hey, none of that.” Joel quickly made his way to you and sat back down, gazing at you with his brows furrowed in worry. Your face was tearstained already and you avoided looking at him, but didn’t pull back when he took your hand gently in his. “Darlin’...”

“Just tell me if it doesn’t work for you,” you breathed, your voice thick with tears which also welled up in your pretty eyes again. “I hate not knowing if I… if our relationship makes you happy.”

“Of course I’m happy, babygirl.” Joel lifted your hand as if to kiss it, but hesitated. He had half a mind to draw back, but you needed him now, and he needed to prove that he really loved you. So, tentatively, he pressed his inexperienced lips to your fingers, making you look up with suspicion dancing in your irises. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever felt.”

“You’re pretending.” The quiet accusation combined with you withdrawing your hand caused Joel’s heart to break and he opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I don’t want you to pretend now that I’m upset, I want– Joel, I need you to be honest and tell me if it isn’t working for you. You always move away when I try to hug you and during all this time we’ve been together I can count on one hand the number of times you kissed me first. I don’t…” you choked down a sob and a new wave of tears flew down your cheeks. “I don’t want to waste either of our time if that isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you want–”

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I want,” Joel whispered with pain in his voice, moving so he could sit closer to you. “M’so very sorry that I wasn’t…” He searched for the right words, but everything felt flat on his tongue. “I’m sorry. For everythin’ I did that made you feel this way.”

“But why?” you asked pathetically, staring at him with defeat and sadness. “You never said anything and I wouldn’t try to touch you so much if you just told me you didn’t like it!”

“I do like it,” he cut you off with a firm tone, which caused you to stop abruptly. “I fuckin’– I love it when you touch me, darlin’. I’m dyin’ for you to keep doin’ it, but I…”

“You what?” you asked, softer this time, and Joel swallowed hard, nervous how you’ll react. But you had the right to know, so ultimately he pushed through his discomfort.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he finally settled on that. “I really, really love when you touch me, babygirl, no matter in what way.” He took another deep breath, bowing his head to look at his hands so that he didn’t have to face you. “But it’s been so long, damn decades, since I… since anyone touched me in the way you do. I never loved someone the way I love you. I’m very sorry, I just don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do… when someone…”

He trailed off, worried that he might break down and cry in front of you if he says another word, and he’d prefer to avoid it at all cost. The world outside was so harsh and cruel already, and you needed someone strong – a safe haven, a pillar you could lean on. He was that someone for everyone around him for the last twenty years, and even longer before the outbreak.

But it was so much different now. You made him feel safe and loved no matter what he could provide to you and it was almost scary how vulnerable he was becoming in your presence.

“...when someone cares for you?” you asked quietly. Joel nodded, and tears gathered in your eyes again, though now for a very different reason. “Oh, Joel…”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, his own vision also going misty. “I want to give you everythin’ you desire, darlin’. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll try to…” He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t know. I’ll try to get past it.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You scooted just a little closer and put your hand on his knee lightly. He looked up with anguish swimming in his brown eyes, not believing that you were still here and not already out of the door. You worried your lip between your teeth for a couple of seconds before inhaling deeply. “How about… I show you what to do? We can go as slow as you want.”

Joel slowly shook his head, not understanding. “...show me what?”

“You said you don’t really know what to do, right? So how about I show you exactly how… you know.” You smiled almost shyly, but it only caused Joel’s heart to beat even faster. “Where to put your hands.”

Joel was nodding before you even finished speaking.

It was embarrassing, really, how excited he got at this idea, but just the thought of your hands guiding his, demonstrating where and how to touch you, had him feeling weak in the knees and hot under his clothes. You smiled, almost with relief, and moved even closer until your thighs were touching.

“Here, just relax. We can stop at any time, just say a word,” you said soothingly, placing his palms on your hips and sending him a small smile. Joel wondered if you could see how red his face surely was, feel how sweaty his palms got. “Is this okay?”

“S’better than okay,” he breathed in something akin to wonder. “It’s easier… Everythin’ seems easier with you.” His chest was tight when he looked up at you. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t a lie. You did make it seem effortless, and though Joel could still feel the rigidness of his muscles and tendons, the tension was slowly melting away, replaced by a tingling warmth on his skin.

You gave him a reassuring smile and his eyes flickered to your lips almost involuntary. You noticed it, of course – Joel didn’t think he was exactly subtle with his staring – and cupped his jaw in your hands. His arm, practically instinctively, encircled your waist and pulled you closer before he could stop himself, but you didn’t berate him – in fact, you seemed delighted by his action.

“Now, are you going to kiss me or not?” you whispered coyly, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs. Joel chuckled at your attempt to put him more at ease, but it worked and he leaned in to press – very, very carefully – his lips to yours. He felt you smiling against them and his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming relief.

“I love you so much,” he murmured with his mouth only millimeters from yours. “So much, babygirl.”

You hummed a quiet love you, too, and moved your lips up to softly kiss his eyelids, then temple, then cheeks and nose. Joel almost wanted to cry when you started running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It felt so good, your touch so nice and tender… He couldn’t remember when was the last time someone treated him with such care. Maybe never. “Next time it becomes too much, you tell me, got it? And I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

Your touch didn’t bother him now that he admitted what was weighing heavily on his chest for so long. Now, it felt soothing. Grounding.

So, so loving.

Joel held you closer, melting into your embrace, and claimed your lips in a soft – if not a bit shy – kiss.

There was nothing else he’d rather be doing tonight.

[lucvly]

can you do hcs of being chris’ gf and also matt’s and nick’s bff

— being chris’ girlfriend + matt and nick’s best friend. ⸰ 𖥔 ͙

warnings: fluff, cursing, suggestive, not proofread.

a/n: i love this omg?? keep feeding into my delusions please and thank you.

— most times, you help them film their videos. you’re not really in them but they all love it when you’re their camera girl.

— when you’re at their house, you have to hang out in chris’ room, otherwise nick and matt are constantly talking to you.

— sometimes you’ll be in the pool with nick and forget your phone around the house, then when chris comes home looking for you, he just finds you out with nick. (“jesus, i thought you got kidnapped or something.” “by your brother, yeah.”)

— movie nights with chris start off normally, just you two cuddling on his bed and watching a random movie you picked out, but somehow nick and matt end up crashing it. chris gets so pissed because they’re interrupting your date but you have to reassure him that it’s fine.

— you’re always in their photo dumps LMFAOO. most of the time, their comments are filled with “spot y/n challenge go.”

— you and chris can’t have a proper date in his house because nick and matt always crash it. so you end up having to hang out at your place or coming up with outside date ideas (museums, picnics, etc.)

— one time you and chris were making out in his room, you were straddling his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hands were on your waist— then suddenly, a loud scream from the door. shit. matt.

— “the door wasn’t even open.” “well it definitely wasn’t shut either, kid.” “shut the fuck up matt.” “dumbass.” “what did you say?”

— sometimes you and chris peacefully fall asleep on call, then you wake up at 3 am because matt stole his phone. he ends up begging you to go to the gas station and get slushies. you do.

— you three have a groupchat LMFAOO chris hates it because matt, nick and you always gang up on him.

— whenever they get in arguments with each other, it’s possibly the worst day of your life. all three of them tell you their side of the argument. (of course you side with your boyfriend, but you appreciate their trust in you LMFAOO.)

— you’ll get calls at midnight from matt asking you to get rid of chris because he’s being extremely annoying. followed up by a call from chris telling you to not listen to matt.

— you go with them on tour obviously. you and chris sleep together despite both of you having your own little bed.

— i feel like chris would be the clingiest boyfriend ever gn, especially if you’re best friends with his brothers LMFAOO.

— you’re always hanging around his house without him even knowing it. this one time he was out for whatever reason and when he came back he found you and matt in the backyard playing pokemon go. safe to say he was confused.

— on a certain occasion, you and chris were baking cookies. after you took them out of the oven, you left them out on the counter to cool down— big mistake. when you came back five minutes later, the cookies were long gone. chris was pissed.

— whenever chris wants to plan some grand gesture or big date, his brothers help him 110%. on one of your anniversaries he filled your room up with balloons and chocolates. like, on an insane level. after the whole celebration you had to call and thank nick and matt for the help.

— despite them denying it, matt and nick think your relationship is so cute. they’re your #1 fans honestly.

— ^ which means they take pictures of you all day every day. chris sends you random ass pictures of you two it’s so funny. (“look at the pic matt took of us lol” “when did he even take that hello????” “idk but we look so cute”)

— chris is head over heels for you and he loves that you have such a good relationship with his brothers. it makes everything a lot easier since you can tag along to trips, tour, and just be with him a lot more.

— whenever chris posts you on social media, he posts the cutest couple pictures. however, the comments always include matt and nick with something along the lines of (“PARENTS” “you’re both disgusting” “get a ROOM”)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

A flock of elephants

Written for the November warm-up round of the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Prompt: Bakery AU

Rated: T

CW: some sexual tension and innuendo

Tags: Baker Steve, Rockstar Eddie

Notes: Can be read as a continuation of this microfic

“You don't understand how huge a deal this is, Steve,” Dustin says. He’s wiggling in the passenger seat, trying to take in every bit of their surroundings as they pull up to the concert hall. 

Steve huffs and squints at the signs. There's security and fans and staff everywhere and he can feel a headache coming up. 

"A guy asked me to bake a cake, so what? It's literally what I do for a living, nothing-" 

"A guy asked you to-" Dustin sputters. "Excuse me, what did you say? Eddie Munson commissioned you to bake a replica of his world famous Warlock, do you have any- Do you even know who Eddie Munson is?" 

"Of course I know," Steve grouses. "I don't live under a rock." 

"Oh yeah?" Dustin levels him with an unimpressed look. "Name one of his songs." 

"Please," Steve rolls his eyes. "You're blasting that shit on repeat, it's practically seared into my brain. Especially the one about the elephants." 

Dustin stares at him. Steve resists the urge to pinch his nose.

"You know the one! What was it? Flock of Elephants?" 

Dustin crumples into the car seat and slaps both palms to his forehead. "It's A Court of Sycophants, Steve! Oh my God!"

"Synchro-what?" Steve ignores the way his neck prickles and takes a sharp right. "You just made that up. Now help me look for the delivery entrance or we won't have ourselves a deal at all." 

*

Once they find the entrance, it turns out he forgot the ID badge that the label sent, because of fucking course he did. He spends about half an hour trying to convince the grumpy security guard to let them in while Dustin has a complete meltdown. Just as he's ready to give up, they're rescued by the appearance of a tiny blonde in a pink cardigan who cheerfully introduces herself as Eddie’s manager. 

"Sorry about Hop," she says for what must be the fourth time, while Steve sets up the guitar-shaped cake at the center of the buffet and Dustin inspects the backstage lounge with awestruck eyes. "He takes his job very seriously." 

"Yeah, I noticed," Steve mutters. She seems nice enough, but he really doesn’t wanna engage in smalltalk right now. The bustle of the stage hands and the hot air of the venue are making him squeamish. All he wants to do is get this over with and go home.

Unfortunately fate must hate him, because that is the exact moment that a familiar voice says, "Hey, Chris. No matter what Hop tells you, I didn't order hookers to the venue. I dunno where he got the-" 

Dustin starts squealing. 

"Oh my God, you're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie squints at him like a confused cat. 

"Last time I checked, yeah. And you are?" 

"Dustin," says Dustin, like that explains everything. "I'm with Steve." 

Eddie’s eyes flit over and his face breaks into a delighted, dimpled smile. 

"Baker boy, hi!" 

Steve's mouth goes dry. 

He doesn’t know why, but all of the easy confidence of their last meeting is suddenly gone. 

Maybe it's because they were in the bakery, on his own turf, and now they're on Eddie’s, where the lights and the noise and the hum of the crowd in the auditorium are grating on his nerves. 

Maybe it's because last time, Eddie looked like just some guy in his ripped jeans and ratty hoody, unwashed hair piled in a chaotic bun, and now …

… now he's in a pair of leather pants that are so tight they may as well be spray-painted on and what looks like a fucking harness, hair cascading around his face and shoulders in a halo of messy curls and is that eyeliner? 

"Woah," Eddie breathes, eyes growing large, and yup, eyeliner. Definitely eyeliner, Jesus fucking Christ. With two long strides of those impossibly long legs, he's beside Steve and ogling the cake with an awestruck face. "This is fucking incredible, dude, it looks just like the real thing. You did all that from the photos?" 

By some miracle, Steve manages to channel the incoming blush into a sly pop of his hips and a smug eyebrow quirk. 

"Told you I was the best." 

Eddie is looking at him like he didn't bake a cake but hung the moon, which … in combination with the eyeliner and the leather and the harness of it all? Steve squirms in his jeans.

"Okay, erm … if that's all, I'll send over the bill by-" 

"Wait, what? You're not staying for the show?" Eddie swivels to Chrissy, all righteous indignation. "Why are they not staying for the show?" 

Chrissy shrugs, at the same time that Steve says, "That's really not necessa-" 

"We'd love to stay!" 

Dustin shoves himself between them, elbowing him in the kidneys. While Steve is still coughing, Eddie turns to Chrissy. 

"Show the young man to the backstage area, Chris?" 

Dustin looks like he's about to die of happiness, so Steve resigns himself to his fate. 

"Will you play the one about the psychopaths?" he asks as they trail after him. "It's his favorite." 

"Psycho-" Eddie’s brow wrinkles.

"Sycophants, Steve!" Dustin hollers from ahead. "Jesus!" 

"Anyways," Steve says over Eddie’s rumbling laughter. "You really didn't have to-" 

"I know I didn't." Eddie accepts his guitar - the real one - from a stage hand and slings it over his shoulder. "But I saw what you're best at, so I figured I'd return the favor." 

"Careful there," Steve huffs. "All you've done is ogle my cake. You may wanna try it first." 

"Oh, I'm planning to …" Eddie's smile is sharp as he leans in, close to his ear. "Preferably with less people around, though." 

And then he's gone, stepping out on the stage, making his guitar wail. 

Steve can't quite tell if the roar in his ears is the crowd or the sound of his own blood.

[theghostinyourwalls]

Cake

William Afton x Wife!Reader

Tags: Smut, unprotected sex, food play if you squint, fluff, slight dubcon, daddy kink, pet names, praise kink, fingering, kissing, romance

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY GUYS!! This is my first official fanfic on tumblr hope you guys enjoy it <3

It was Valentine’s Day and the house was filled with the sweet scent of freshly baked goods. The clock on the wall showed that William would be home soon. You spent the majority of the day baking cookies, tarts, and cake to surprise him. Just as you finished assorting the sweets into a beautiful display, the door was swung open and promptly slammed closed. The sudden loud noise made you jump.

“William?” You called out for your husband, but there was no answer. A small shiver of fear ran down your spine. He usually responded to you when he’d get home. “William?” You called out again, this time turning around to search for him. A small yelp leaves your lips as you come face to face with the man. “Jesus Christ! You scared me!” You clutched your chest as your heartbeat returned to normal.

He still hadn’t said anything. His face was almost completely emotionless. His eyes were dark, his shoulders ridged. He looked stressed, tired, hungry even.

“Honey, is everything okay?” You asked, concern etched onto your face.

Instead of answering, he slowly approached you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed the top of your head before pulling your face up to his. His lips lightly brushed over your own before you finally leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was gentle and soft. His hands began to travel lower as he slid them over your ass and lightly squeezed. It made you gasp against his mouth, which he took to his advantage as he slipped his tongue inside, tasting you. The sweet innocent kiss quickly turned into shameless desire as he pulled your body even closer. His hard length pressed against your stomach as he continued to kiss you.

You pulled away from him, breaking the kiss. He looked at you, his eyes were heavy with lust. “I need you,” he panted. He spun you around so that he was behind you, trapping you against the counter. His hands found their way underneath your skirt. His fingers traced the waistband of your panties before dipping them inside.

“Wait! Not yet!” You squeaked out as he made contact with your center. He groaned into your neck as he felt how wet you already were for him. “William!” You tried to sound stern, but ultimately failed. He ignored your pleas as he gathered your slick onto his fingers. He teasingly rubbed circles over your clit and watched as you tried to resist him. You couldn’t help but gasp as he pushed his finger into your pussy.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Just let me have this,” he whispered into the crook of your neck, his finger sliding in and out of you. He added a second one, his ring finger. The cool sensation of his wedding ring against your wet heat made you shudder. He began to thrust them into you at a steady pace with his palm pressed against your clit. The warmth in your abdomen began to intensify as he brushed his fingertips against that spot deep inside you. He quickened the pace of his fingers along with the pressure against your clit, making you whine and buck your hips against his hand. The pressure in your abdomen came to a peak surprisingly fast. Your body shuddered, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. His fingers continued to move inside you as you rode out your high. “That’s it. You're such a good girl for me,” his speech was slightly slurred as he ran his lips along my neck, leaving behind a path of kisses and hickeys.

There was a brief moment of silence as he retracted his hand from you. The only sounds that could be heard were your soft pants as you caught your breath and William beginning to undo his trousers. You realized what was going to happen and you tried to deter him. “Wait, William we were supposed to- '' You choked on your words as his cock pressed against your ass cheek.

“Bunny, you know I can’t stop now. I need to feel you around me,” He almost sounded apologetic as he rutted against you in desperation. Before you could protest any further he pulled your panties to the side and aligned himself at your entrance. “Besides, I know you love it when Daddy stretches you open with his cock.” With that he slowly pushes into you. He only made it halfway in when you clenched down on his cock, your walls quivering around his shaft. “It’s okay baby, you can handle it,” he whispered, his voice was low and soothing. You tried to relax your overstimulated muscles and allow him to push deeper into you. With one more thrust of his hips he bottomed out. He was so deep that you could feel him pressed against your cervix. Small muffled groans and gasps escaped William’s mouth as he felt you completely surround him.

Slowly, he withdrew from you only to thrust back into your tightness. His pace was slow at first as he took his time fucking you. Your back arched against him as he continued to hit that sweet spot over and over again. It wasn’t enough to make you cum though, you both knew it. He held your jaw in his hand, pulling you to look back up at him. “You want me to fuck you like the good little girl you are?” You nodded eagerly at his proposition. “Then show me how much you want it.” You leaned further over the counter and pulled your skirt up to give him a proper view of what exactly he was doing to you.

“Please, can't you see how wet I am for you. I need you to fuck me harder, Daddy please. I can’t take it anymore, I need to cum on your cock.” With a satisfied hum of approval he began to fuck into you faster. His hips slapped against your ass as he harshly thrusted into your tight cunt. His hand snaked around to your front, finding your clit. He teased the sensitive nub, tracing light circles around it. Your body writhed at the feather light touch as you tried to push back against his hand, craving more friction. He gave into your desire for more and placed his fingers on either side of your clit, roughly rubbing them against you. He pushed your upper body down towards the counter, where the cake you baked earlier sat. You tried to push yourself back up, but he easily overpowered you. The buttercream frosting smeared onto your cheek. You normally would’ve been angry at him for ruining your creation, but at that point you couldn’t care less. Your pussy throbbed from his brutal pace and you could feel the tight knot in your abdomen begin to release. You knew he was close too by the way his cock twitched inside you. His cock brushed against your sweet spot one final time before you came. Your pussy tightened around his cock, rhythmically pulsing as white hot pleasure consumed your senses. Your body seized up as you felt the peak of your orgasm. A soft cry of pleasure escaped your mouth as you came on your husband’s cock. He groaned as your walls contracted around him, pulling him in deeper.

“That’s my good girl,” William grunted out in between thrusts. His pants became more and more labored as he sought his own release. You couldn’t help but smile when William, who usually tried to keep his noises contained, let out hiccuped whimpers as he came inside of you. His hot cum filled you to the brim. He stayed inside you for a while just catching his breath and enjoying the warmth of you before pulling you to stand up straight. You leaned back against him for support as he pulled out of you, leaving a small trail of cum that trickled down your thigh. He quickly pushed your panties back into place to try and keep as much of his cum inside you as possible. He tucked himself back into his trousers and spun you around to face him. He looked at the frosting smeared over your face before looking over your shoulder at the mess he made of your cake.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, honey. It was supposed to be a surprise.” You chuckled as you looked at his expression. His face was filled with love and admiration for you.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry I ruined the surprise. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He leaned down and kissed you tenderly. He held your face in his hands after breaking away from the kiss. He turned your face slightly and licked some of the frosting off of your cheek. You giggled at the gesture and tried to push him back. “Mm, tastes amazing sweetheart. I think I have an idea.”

“Hm?”

“How about I leave, come back in and you can surprise me just like you wanted to. How’s that sound?”

You laughed at his silly plan, but agreed to it anyway. “Alright, then this never happened okay.”

“It’ll be our little secret.”

[idolatrybarbie]

pairing: santa!francisco "frankie" morales x fem!reader

word count & rating: 886 words | explicit jesus christ

summary: you're joking, right?

tags: santa kink???, cockwarming, cum, like so much cum, unprotected vaginal sex, unethical use of a mall Santa Village, semi-public sex, dirty talk and pet names, mentions of free use.

notes: hiatus more like LIEatus. what am i supposed to say here. this is unedited, straight off the dome. blame the gin twins @atinylittlepain @wannab-urs. sorry?

You can’t tell how long you’ve been sat here. The sprawling hall is dim with light, security fluorescents shining from the glossy, guarded windows of each storefront. Without all this festive set dressing, the mall at night would be purely creepy. With Santa’s Village set up amid all the sleek chaos, though, it’s cheerfully welcome. And here you are, taking full advantage of the generous invite.

Sat on Santa’s lap, you shuffle your hips the slightest bit, trying to relieve the tingles that run up and down your calf. Frankie—err, Saint Nick slaps your ass with a solid gloved hand.

“Sit still,” he tells you.

“Sorry, Mr. Claus.”

You stutter on a sigh as you feel him twitch inside you. The last thing you expected was to be spending Christmas Eve speared on Santa’s cock, keeping him warm as a nasty blizzard blows wildly outside.

“Have you been a good girl for me this year?” he asks, voice gruff.

“Yes, I promise,” you keen.

Facing away from him, you can feel the tickle of his magically fluffy white beard against the nape of your neck. The only thing keeping you sane is the thought of that same plush softly running along the skin of your inner thighs. Imaging Santa’s tongue in your cunt has you clenching around him, earning you a groan.

“You seem pretty naughty to me,” Santa says.

“Please, Mr. Claus. Santa, I need it.”

Without warning, he punches his hips up. The tip of his jolly cock reaches the very ends of your cunt in a pinch of painful pleasure.

“You’ll take what I give you, when I give it to you,” he says. “Keeping me nice and warm right here, honey. Be a good girl for me and you’ll get a nice present this year. Promise.”

“Santa, please. I’ll be such a good girl next year, I promise.”

“Yeah? How am I gonna hold you to it, little girl?” Santa asks. “Maybe I’ll keep you with the rest of my elves. They all work real hard, you know. Maybe I could put you to work.” He starts to move his hips, thrusts lazy into your wet heat as he continues to ramble. “Yeah, think I’ll do just that. While the rest of ‘em make toys for all the good girls and boys, you can stay right here with me. You can be my toy, honey.”

“Fuck,” you whisper.

“A bad word? That wasn’t very nice.”

Santa picks up speed, cock practically sloshing through your sopping cunt like driven-through snow.

“I think you’ll like it up North. Christ knows you’ll be getting enough pole,” Santa continues. He grips the skin of your neck in his hand with his thick fingers, holding you up like a disobedient kitten. “That’ll teach you how to be a good little girl. Hard work, all day every day. Usually Mrs. Claus does the baking, but I’ve got a special icing for this little cookie.”

The thought of being fucked, purely used at any time of day for 365 days of the year has the soft embers in your belly growing to scorching flames. He lets go of your neck, bringing that hand to the column of your throat while his other hand skates down the naked plains of your chest. His fabric-covered hand slides between your breasts and past your diaphragm, pressing down at the soft spot between your stomach and pelvis.

Each upwards stroke has you almost gagging, tongue lolling out of your mouth as you surrender any intelligent thought or movement. You can feel yourself dripping down around him, pooling between your thighs to the dark, sticky velvet of his disheveled pants.

“Look at you, little girl. My sweet doll. All plug n’ play, aren’t you? You like being my hard little worker?” Santa asks, lips brushing against your ear. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Please, please, please,” you chant in time with each of his thrusts.

“It’s pretty chilly in here. Can’t wait to watch it drip out of you. Think it’d make an icicle for me?”

“Ah, oh god,” you cry.

“I’ll let it drip over you, right back into that pretty pussy. How’s that sound?”

You’re past the point of talking. Santa uses your body for his pleasure, legs spread out in front of you like the wings of a turtledove. The constant smack smack smack of wet thighs and pussy almost creates a caroling tune; something for your mind to grasp onto as he fucks you stupid.

“I’ll have to make sure my girl doesn’t get too greedy. Can’t have you hogging all the toys next Christmas. Can’t have you too naughty,” Santa says. Then, “Ho—oh, it’s coming, honey. You ready for your Christmas gift from Santa?”

You bob your head in a nod, biting your lip as he gets his last few thrusts in. Your cunt sucks him in hungrily, squeezing with your own orgasm as you simultaneously milk Santa of his wintry blast. Somewhere in your haze of pleasure, you hear the faint jingle of Christmas bells. Finally, you’re sat still in his lap again. His snowy spend leaks out of you slowly, soiling the crotch of his pants further.

“D’you like what you got this year, little girl?” Santa asks.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. “Can’t wait for next year.”

[eldritcmor]

Hey look! It's incorrect quotes time

Storm: Graves had an unfortunate come to Jesus meeting

Graves: you pushed me down the stairs

Storm: you didn't get to meet Jesus

--

Someone: *uses Storm's full name*

Storm: *running and hiding cause oh shit*

Price: wait your telling me that's all I had to do.

--

Soap: I feel unsafe.

Storm: *hands soap a knife*

Gaz: well now I feel unsafe

Storm: *hands Gaz a knife*

Price: *just opens his mouth to speak*

Storm: *hands him a knife* can't feel unsafe with a knife in hand.

--

Ghost: *watching storm book it away from the los vaqueros base with like half the base chasing them* what did they do?

Gaz: something stupid

Storm: *after replacing all hot sauce with ghost pepper sauce* shit shit shit

--

Ghost: Have you guys seen Storm?

Gaz, Price, Soap: nope

Ghost: okay then *walks away*

Storm 5 minutes later: *drops from the ceiling only to get full on body slammed by ghost*

--

Storm: *driving down the highway and sees a cop. Starts speeding up*

Price: kid! What are you doing, kid?!

Storm: having a little fun *is racing a cop*

--

Storm: *Dancing around the kitchen, shirtless, with the broom. Like it's a rave while music blasts from their phone*

Price: *walking in to get a midnight coffee* kid, what the fuck?

Storm: *who hasn't stopped dancing* what? It's this or be alone with my thoughts while the bread bakes.

--

Ghost: *after witnessing storm have a panic attack* do you...want a hug?

Storm: you and I both know that will be uncomfortable as hell. I would like a fight.

Price: *walks in on them beating the crap out of each other.*

--

Graves: now we play the most dangerous game!

Storm: cattle prod tag!

Graves: the fuck is that.

--

Storm: *part of a drag show as a drag king at a club*

König: *recognizing them and taking vid*

Storm: *definitely trying to swipe his phone* delete it delete it

König: *has already sent the video to soap*

--

Storm: I wanna fight, do you wanna fight?

Ghost: I wouldn't mind one.

Storm: good. 2am the Denny's parking lot. Don't tell dad.

Ghost: you mean price.

Storm: yeah, dad.

-- Gaz: my name is nuuugget and I'm a big fat chiiiicken. Dammit. Soap: *trying not to laugh* Storm got you singing it -- Laswell: *Uses storm's full legal name to reprimand them* Storm: *immediately* yes ma'am, no ma'am, no it wont happen again ma'am. Price: Holy shit, the kid can be respectful. -- Storm: *Staring down another eldritch kid from their home town* The eldritch: Field Storm: Trees *Both nod and simply move on* soap: *fully expecting a fight* what? -- Storm: *picking up a screwdriver and throwing it so hard it sticks out from the doorframe out of anger* Ghost: but can you do it with a knife? Soap: Please don't encourage them -- Alejandro: *watching storm haul a full rack of cow ribs towards the base's kitchen* Should I be concerned? Price: *glancing up from the paperwork for the next op* Oh, not at all. Storm is benched due to some shenanigans. Your men will eat like kings. Alejandro: why? Price: because and I quote. "If I cant stab you in the ribs, I can still make a rack of ribs to stab" They stress cook. It's great.

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 12 - Ow!

Summary: Gareth has a tummy ache.

Word Count: 898

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Food, Gareth is a glutton (for punishment), poop talk, vomiting, food poisoning

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

One thing the guys had to learn quickly when they finally got on the road for their first “tour”—basically an extended road trip in the van, hitting different summer fests through the Midwest—was that injuries happened.

Cuts, bruises, pulled muscles, a sprained wrist, sunburns.

But the worst of all?

"Guys, my stomach really hurts."

A tummy ache.

They happened quite a bit, and they struck hard, especially with all of the fried foods and gas station snacks that the guys were eating.

Not to mention all of the cheese festivals they hit in Wisconsin while Eddie had a bad case of lactose intolerance.

"It's ok guys," he'd pant from the inside of many-a-port-a-potty. "I'll be fine."

But they struck especially hard with Gareth, Corroded Coffin's personal garbage disposal.

“Guess you guys never noticed when my mom bought all the snacks for us,” he shrugged off the complaints about him eating them out of house and home. “I’m a growing boy.”

“Growing boy my ass Gare,” Jeff shoved him out of the way as they headed into the gas station for yet another snack run. “If this was a growth spurt, you’d be taller by now, Jesus.”

“Hey!!!”

The unfortunate thing about that was that his eyes were often bigger than his stomach, and for a kid who'd never left Indiana before, he never knew when he was about to get the chance to try some of these local favorites again.

Deep Dish in Chicago, Skyline Chili in Cincinnati, Beer-boiled Brats in Milwaukee

What did him in, or so they all thought, was a piece of Gooey Butter Cake in St. Louis.

It was a long, hot day. One of the last out-of-state stops on the tour before they headed back for a gig in Fort Wayne and Gareth had been eyeballing the little stand hocking baked goods all day.

He'd gotten the last slice at the end of the night.

"I seriously wouldn't eat that if I was you," Dave scrunched his nose in disgust. "It's been out all day."

"It's no different than any of this other fair food we've had," Gareth simply shrugged and shoved a bite in his mouth. Heavenly, he thought as his tastebuds exploded with rich sweetness.

"Your funeral," Dave scoffed.

And wouldn't you know? It nearly was.

It started with the rumbles late into the night, Eddie at the wheel driving along long stretches of dark rural highway when Gareth started groaning from his place in the back.

"Lemme know if you're gonna shit yourself," he called back and tossed their handy-dandy bottle of pepto to his friend. "We're probably not gonna reach a rest stop until we hit the interstate so I'll have to pull over."

"I'll be ok," Gareth grunted and chugged the chalky pink liquid.

But by the time they got on the interstate, his aching stomach turned into sharp pains, everyone was awake.

Then they all started to worry when he announced, maybe two hours away from Hawkins, that they needed to pull over so he could puke.

"I swear to god if you puke in my van," Eddie tried to grumble lightheartedly but as soon as the van was in park, Gareth was tripping over Dave's legs and their equipment to empty the contents of his stomach.

And when he was done? He looked like a corpse.

Green around the gills, hair matted with sweat, eyes glassy.

Jeff traded seats with him for the rest of the ride home and Eddie drove through some fast food place to grab as big of a sprite that he could and a plastic bag in case they couldn't stop in time.

Eddie broke more than a few traffic laws just to get back home a little faster.

It was scary, for all of them, for their little buddy to be so visibly sick, shaking with the chills, and--at least in their eyes--on Death's Doorstep.

Finally when they pulled into the Emerson's driveway, it was like a full team operation to get Gare into the house and into bed, the little trashcan from the bathroom set up beside him.

Mrs. E was worried--relieved that they made it home safe, but worried--and it had the other three boys feeling so guilty for taking this trip in the first place. Especially if anything terrible happened to their friend.

Come morning, Gareth woke up feeling worlds better--empty--and shocked to find his friends asleep on the floor of his bedroom.

"Uh, guys?" he woke them up, voice scratchy. "Guys wake up."

Before he realized, they were all awake and piling onto his bed to touch his forehead and rub his stomach and Dave even had the audacity to comment on how bad his breath was.

"Get off," he chuckled and pushed his friends away.

"How do you feel?" Eddie questioned.

"Better, a little sore," he admitted. "Feels like I ate shards of glass. But better."

"Maybe you did," Dave tried to laugh his worry off. "I told you not to trust that cake."

It got a chuckle out of everyone, and Gareth vowed not to trust fair food ever again.

"I don't think I'll ever eat again actually," he groaned.

But when Mrs. E woke up soon after and came to check on the boys, then said she was making breakfast, Gareth was the first to admit,

"What are we having? I'm starving."

[silver-ink-iron-words]

T_T

This is so touching!

I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this. But then I was like, I've already made them wait long enough, and what's the harm of posting two things in one day?

Felt it'd be nice to have Part 6 be a little less plot-driven. You'll see what I mean

-------

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

QPR, Part 6

“[Hero], come on!” the villain called, from where they laid sprawled on the couch. “You said it wouldn’t take that long!”

“Hold on just a sec.” The hero’s voice floated from the kitchen. “They’ll be done soon.”

The villain scowled and flopped back on the pillows. “You never see Do-yun making Ha-rin wait around forever.”

“That’s because tv shows have this magical trick called the jump cut.” There was the sound of an oven door closing. “We'll just let them bake, and then they’ll be so good you won’t even remember the wait.”

The villain groaned.

Then they heard the sound of running water, and burst up, rushing into the kitchen. “Are you doing my dishes?!”

The hero jerked their head up like they’d been caught vandalizing. “I was just going to do a few while we waited.”

“Okay, one, you do not need to do my chores on k-drama night. And two, how long is the baking going to take?!”

The hero glanced to their phone on the counter. “’Bout fifty more minutes.”

The villain gaped. “That’s most of an episode!”

“Well I didn’t want us to have to pause the show during a big scene. This way we can – Jesus your hands are freezing!”

The villain had come up behind the hero to hug them, pressing their hands on the hero’s stomach.

“Come watch tv dear,” they said into the hero’s shoulder. “I’m cold without you.”

The hero shook their head, but also cracked a small grin. “You’re evil.”

The villain matched their expression and pressed their hands more. “Of course I am. It’s the only way I can get you to cuddle me.”

In the end, the brownies were, in fact, good enough to make the villain forget why they were annoyed in the first place.

---

“Oh my god,” the hero said.

The villain fidgeted. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” The hero looked up. “[Villain], it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The hero was holding a small fluffy teddy bear, its fur the black, grey, white, and purple of the asexual flag.

The villain beamed. “Really?”

The hero nodded gleefully. “He needs a name.”

“I think the tag says its name is ‘Fuzzy’ or something. You could – ”

“Ferdinand,” the hero decided, assessing the stuffed animal. “Ferdinand Bearnsby. The next Prince of Denmark.”

The villain wrapped the hero in a hug. “I’m so glad you like it.”

---

“So is [Villain], like, a law-abiding citizen now?” the hero’s friend asked.

“Uh, sort of?” The hero gazed around at the restaurant’s outdoor seating area. “They still break minor laws, but I think they’ve really toned it down to stress me out less.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

The hero swirled their iced tea with their straw. “Yeah, I guess.”

The friend quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

The hero sighed. “Okay, so don’t ever tell [Villain] this, but I think their ‘devil may care’ attitude is maybe, kinda . . . a little bit cool?”

The friend grinned. “Oh really?”

In return, the hero’s smile was sheepish. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I secretly wish that they’d behave more like their old villainous self sometimes.”

“Hm, well I suppose that – ”

Something enormous crashed into the street, making all the dishes clatter. The hero and their friend both whipped their heads around to see the cause of the noise.

“[Villain]!”

“Oh hi [Hero]!” The fifty-foot tall mech waved at the two of them. “Fancy meeting you here. How did you know it was me?”

“[Villain], why are you in a giant robot?!”

“Isn’t it cool?” The villain spun around, their heavy feet cracking the pavement and the machine's hinges screeching with every movement. “I finally figured out how to get the power system working.”

“This is illegal.”

The villain laughed. “Ah okay, I see the issue. But, fear not my darling, for I have” – they pulled out a sheet of paper that looked miniscule in their enormous metal hands – “a permit!”

Soon after, the mech continued walking down the street, while the hero followed them, shouting at the top of their lungs.

The friend watched them go, and then chuckled. Those two maniacs were perfect for each other.

---

A-spec stories taglist:

@feline17ff , @piept , @doublericenobeans , @vioqueenofmushrooms , @pigeonwhumps , @thelazywitchphotographer , @taramacgay

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

timetraveling!Vikings + Christmas

Summary: how timetraveling Vikings would react to modern Christmas/what they enjoy/etc.

Tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey @ivarlover @levithestripper @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy (hmu to be added to any of my taglists!)

Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!

Ragnar

I think Ragnar likes modern christmas more than he should

He takes it like many non-christians do nowadays – fuck Christianity, i’m getting presents

Might let Athelstan drag him to church

Leaves midway tho

So bad at gift-giving that he accidentally gets you a great one

Lagertha

The BEST gift giver

Has a little table (after you show her how excel works, obvi) of the people she wants to get presents for and tracks their wishes over the course of a year

You need her at Christmas, actually

She doesn’t like the Christian part of it, but she likes the community it creates and GODDAMN Lagertha makes some good food

Athelstan

Vibes to church service HARD, even in modern times

Big enjoyer of WHAM! And Mariah Carey

Makes small, but very thoughtful gifts

Definitely always gets sick around Christmas and wears a bundle of scarves

Please don’t let him shave his head weirdly, or his brain will freeze

Bjorn

Doesn’t like Christmas

He came to the future, you have planes, let him use them

Spends his Christmas in warm places

Honestly, he might enjoy Aussie Christmas

Any excuse for beaches and bbq

Ubbe

If you want to stage a great Christmas celebration, go to Ubbe

Despite being from Viking times, he will be able to organise it better

He likes bringing people together for any occasion, and will be decorating the venue he chose like a PTA-mom with rabies (so, quintessentially, Ubbe)

Does not let snowy grounds stop him from playing football with friends/brothers

Hvitserk

LOVES Christmas

An endless supply of cookies and chocolate? Are you kidding??? The christians got something right?????

Eats everything you leave lying around

On time for everything during Christmas

Honestly, he gets hilarious gifts for everyone

Surprisingly good at singing christmas carols

Honestly, Hvitserk makes friends in all religions so his year of exquisite eating is just

Easter -> Eid -> Midsommar -> Thanksgiving -> Hannukah -> Christmas

Rinse and repeat baby

Sigurd

Spends the entire time critizising the compository value of christmas songs

Has an enemies to lovers arc with them

One day, soon after Christmas Eve, you will find a slightly drunk Sigurd in front of a karaoke machine with a thousand yard stare and the best interpretation of Last Christmas your ears will ever hear

Ivar

Christmas is a capitalist venture for the foolish designed by greedy christians

Totally does not buy super expensive gifts for his friends to brag

That Tesla outside your door? That’s not a Christmas gift silly, he’s sending you down the frozen road as a sacrifice to Odin so his bleeding ears might be saved from Sigurd

Does make an effort to put his mafia-ventures on hold for you though

He still hates Christmas

Floki

HATES CHRISTMAS. Floki hates Christmas so much. Did he already say he hates Christmas?

Hates it so much he secretly loves it.

‘Annoyed’ at Helga for baking cookies with you

‘Annoyed’ at the celebrations and people coming together

He secretly enjoys the non-Christian part of Christmas

But he just can’t get over the Jesus being born thing

Celebrates the part of Easter where he’s dead for a few days

Helga

Loves Christmas, and without shame

Turns into a cookie factory

Handmade gifts for everyone

Does a lot of charity/social work around Christmas

Enjoys ice-skating rinks as well

Tells Floki to stop moping around (he does)

[powderblueblood]

BEAUTIFUL!

ronnie ecker recounts the last first day of the worst of her life or i wanted to rewrite beautiful from heathers the musical, hellfire and ice version. warnings: first person narrative (ronnie's pov), swearing, era-typical misogyny, bullying and slurs, mention of eating disorders, everyone's a dick, everyone's kind of gay for lacy doevski. wc: 3.8k

September 1st, 1984. 

First day of the end of your life. It’s hard not to get a little intro-outrospective.

If I was a diary keeping person, which I’m not because I don’t like to leave a paper trail outside my own goddamn academic brilliance, I’d write something like this. 

Dear diary, I believe that I’m a good person–y’know, relatively speaking, if you don’t count that one time I bit that one kid for catcalling me. But, here we are! First day of senior year! And I look around at these kids I’ve known all my life and I ask myself–what happened?

We’re in the hallway, bottlenecking toward the cafeteria. It’s right around lunchtime, so everyone’s getting a real good look at everybody else, categorizing who they hate, who they hate more, who got boobs over the summer. God, do we ever stop slinging shit at each other, even when we think no one’s listening? There’s a constant cacophony in the hallways of Hawkins High.

Freak! Slut! Burnout! Bug-eyes! Poser! Lard-ass!

And no one does anything about it. 

It’s pretty sad, considering where we came from. 

We were so tiny, happy and shiny, playing tag and getting chased.

Freak! Slut! Loser! Shortbus!

Singing and clapping, laughing and napping, baking cookies, eating paste. Especially me. I was crazy for that shit.

Bull-dyke! Stuck-up! Hunchback!

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger, like the Huns invading Rome. “Shit, my bad!” That underclassman I just walked straight into looked terrified. And for good reason.

Welcome to my school, this ain’t no high school. This is the Thunderdome. 

Trailer trash!

For the very first very last time, I crane my head around the swamped hall and try to recall where my new locker is. First star on the right, and I wiggle in my combination and dump my books inside. I take a second, shoving my head inside the cool metal darkness (voluntarily, for once) and mutter, “Hold your breath and count the days, we’re graduating soon–”

“–Christ. College will be paradise, if I’m not dead by June.” 

I crane my neck out. Two lockers up from me, elegant fingers pull open an identical door to mine except hers, of course, already has a vanity mirror hung up inside. She checks her reflection, not like it ever needs checking. One of her faithful little redheads stands beside her, smacking bubblegum so loud it makes my ears pop.  

“You are so melodramatic, it’s crazy.” 

“What was that?”

“Nothing…”

It sucks how the chrysalis of adolescence has made most of us completely obnoxious. I try not to be a sucker for nostalgia, but I can’t help but remember how much easier this was in middle school. Waking up on a weekday didn’t have to be like living in a segment of Creepshow. 

I know, I know, I know, life can be beautiful. No plastic Jesus on my dashboard (or… handlebars, I guess) but I pray, I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again… 

Then I get a whole shoulder of dork, right to the face. Bubblegum snaps between snorts, I can see that he’s been shoved my way. Yeah, we could be beautiful…

“Ow!”

Just not today. “Hey, are you okay?”

This Jansport sporting asshole twists his face up right in mine. “Get away, nerd!” Jesus Christ.

The choir of angels go on–I’m just trying to make it to the cafeteria and grab a fucking chicken pot pie. I’m starving, and I could use a little less soundtrack.

Freak! Slut! Cripple! Homo! Homo! Homo! 

But, listen. It’s not a total nightmare. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Things will get better soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke or Brown–

–or, NYU, if we’re being really serious. 

“Wake from this coma, take my diploma–” God. This chick’s voice seems to cut through the din of the hallway like a bell, “Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy covered walls and smoky French cafes…”

“Sooo uber pretentious!”

“Watch it, freak!” I don’t even need to turn around to figure out who that’s directed at. But, I’m a little preoccupied with singing my own tune, here! Muscling through to the lunch line, grabbing a tray while I–

“–fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze. Hey, Ronnie!” 

Dude, shut up! I swing around, trying to spot the owner of that very different, very familiar dulcet tone when some duckbill hat wearing dickwad upends my lunch tray. Dressed in Hawkins Tiger green and gold, this is one of many prize dickwads. 

Bear with me, I’m trying to place him.

“Ooops.”

Andy Sweeney. Indiana’s worst point guard… “whose true talent lies in being a huge dick.”

Did I mention before about that lack of filter between my brain and my mouth? I patch it up pretty good most of the time, but sometimes…

“What did you say to me, skank?” Andy demands of me all darkly and shit. It’s scary. Even if I’ve got a foot and a half on him.

“Aaah!” I recoil, looking at his flexing fists, “Nothing.”

I back up from him, way way up, leaving my mess of a lunch tray on the ground. Even though that makes me feel shitty–when did I become the guy who left stuff for the already harangued janitorial staff to clean up? 

We were kind before; we can be kind once more… 

Head down. Stalk through. Find the Hellfire table. But, not before someone chucks me lightly on the arm. 

“Agh!” I holler before I register him. I am totally on edge. “Hey, Eddie.”

“Hey,” he grins in a sardonic way that says I cannot believe we’re putting ourselves through this again. 

Eddie Munson. My best friend since pre-pube. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a brother, unless Granny finally lets me get that gecko I’ve always wanted. I��m almost eighteen, for Chrissake, I should be allowed. 

Anyway, Eddie rocks. We know this. Look at him. 

“We still on for movie night?” he asks.

I beam. Our first day of school comedown tradition. “Shit yeah, you’re on Jiffy Pop detail.”

Eddie’s got a little pep in his step and it jangles his wallet chain. Dude can’t help but attract attention– almost all of it unwanted. “I rented Evil Dead.”

“Hohoho, again? Wait, don’t you have it memorized by now?”

“What can I say?” Before I can even warn him, Eddie’s backstepping straight into– “I’m a sucker for a gory ending.” 

“Eddie Munson, king of the trailer park! What, you didn’t qualify for free lunches this year?”

A hand comes down hard on the age-old tin lunchbox Eddie’s carrying. The clatter it makes against the lino makes me want to cover my ears and hide, especially when I see Eddie’s face. Total resignation. It’s humiliating. 

This guy?

Tommy Hagan. He’s the smartest guy on the basketball team, which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.

“Too goddamn easy, man!” he guffaws, and I would try to figure out what farm animal he most resembles, but apparently I’m too busy–

“Hey! Pick that up! Right now!” –being the hero.

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” Tommy also tries to tower over me, but I’ve got a decent number of inches on him too. 

My cheeks blaze.

“Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on my friend. You’re a high school has-been waiting to happen. Tell me, Tommy, do you actually have a personality outside of sticking your nose right up Steve Harrington’s ass?”

Tommy gets closer and closer. So close that I can see the nose hair move as he huffs through his freckly nostrils. His finger points right between my eyebrows.

“… you have a zit right there.”

Cue rapturous laughter from the peanut gallery. 

Dear diary…

Why do they hate me? Why don’t I fight back? Why do I act like such a creep? Why won’t he date me? Why did I hit him? Why do I cry myself to sleep? 

Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me!

Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope here! Something to live for!

The doors of the cafeteria burst open and Tommy’s attention is thankfully wrenched away from me. Everyone’s attention is wrenched away from me. Because we’ve all been waiting for this.

They enter the caf in a solid formation, so solid that people part for them. Some gazing, some gawping, some glaring. The name calling ceases, the bullying pauses. 

This is the royal court. They float above it all. 

Tina Burton, head cheerleader. Her dad is loaded. He sells engagement rings. 

Heather Holloway, runs the yearbook. Badly. No discernible personality, but her mom did pay for implants. 

Even the lessers are notorious. Carol Perkins has been having sex since, like, seventh grade. Cass Finnigan’s been pretending to save it for Jesus but giving a backdoor key to whoever buys her peach schnapps. Nicole Summers invented three new slurs last year alone. 

And finally, Lacy Doevski. 

The Almighty. 

She is a mythic bitch. 

These girls, they’re solid Teflon. Never bothered. Never harassed– 

“I would give anything to be like that.”

And I know I don’t sit in that thought alone. Glancing around the tables, the coagulation of cliques, I can hear the desire coming from my classmates. 

I’d like to be their boyfriend. If I sat at their table, guys would notice me. I’d like them to be nicer. 

“What’s the over-under on one of those harpies getting kidnapped, taken to some abandoned warehouse to be photographed naked and left for the rats?” Eddie mutters into my ear as we slam ourselves down at our regular table. 

I roll my freakin’ eyes. “I told you that your Barb Holland theory was insane.”

Eddie shrugs, flipping open his recovered lunchbox. “Just sayin’... They never found a body. Anyway, my money's on the ice queen. If everything they're sayin' about her dad is true, she is prime ransom material.”

“You are so unnecessarily twisted.” But my eyes are still following the crown jewels. I notice that Lacy, Tina and Heather all rise to the girl’s room immediately after they finish their minimal lunch. 

I interrupt Eddie and Gareth’s too-intense-for-lunchtime debate about the morality of posthumously publishing The Silmarillion. “I have to take a leak.” 

As I gently push the door of the bathroom open, I can see Tina standing nervously at an open stall door. Heather is ralphing like her life depends on it. The reptilian arch of Lacy Doevski is bent towards the mirror, touching up her lipstick. 

“Grow up, Heather,” Lacy says in this voice that could weirdly be misconstrued as concerned,  “Bulimia is so sophmoronic.” 

Tina grimaces. “Maybe you should see a doctor, Heather.”

From inside the stall, Heather’s voice echos. “Yeah, Heather– I mean, Tina. Maybe I should.” 

I’m about to open my mouth, say something about ginger ale or peppermint tea, but Mrs O’Donnell enters behind me. I dive into a nearby stall, pretty confident I haven’t been spotted. But, I leave just enough of a crack in the door to watch everything that unfolds out there.

“Ah, I should have known–”

Heather vomits again. Damn, how can she pull trig so much on so little?

“–the witches from Macbeth always travel in a trio.” Her heels click over the cracked, yellowing tile, but the way Lacy turns from the mirror gives even O’Donnell pause. “Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell over all the vomiting. You’re late for class.”

Hey. Idea. I dig around in my backpack and scribble on a piece of paper, leaning against the bathroom door.

“Heather wasn’t feeling well.” Lacy says. Again, confusing enough to sound kind! “We’re helping her.”

O’Donnell chuckles all airly. Like she’s any match for her. “Not without a hall pass, you’re not. Week’s detention.”

That’s my cue. I scurry out of the stall, presenting O’Donnell with–

“Um, actually, Mrs O’Donnell, all four of us are out on a hall pass.” I gulp and glance at Heather, who’s finally hauled herself off her knees. “Yearbook committee.”

It’s super hard to breathe as O’Donnell inspects my handiwork. It hits me that this could go horribly, horribly wrong, and I can feel Lacy’s eyes boring into a hot spot on the back of my head.

O’Donnell arches her eyebrow. “I see you’re all listed. Hurry up and get where you’re going.”

She goes to hand the note back to me, but Lacy intercepts. Once the coast is clear, she takes her time looking it over. 

“This is an excellent forgery,” she tells me. A drop of freezing sweat runs down my back. “Who are you?”

“Uh, Ronnie– Veronica Ecker,” I stumble. “We were lab partners last year?”

Lacy’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t remember taking the lead on coolly dissecting a frog in front of me, it seems.

“Doesn’t matter. I crave a boon.”

She holds her glare on me. Jesus, why do I feel like I’m about to have my throat slit? “What boon?”

“Um. Let me sit at your lunch table. Just once. No talking necessary. If people think that you guys tolerate me, then they’ll leave me alone…”

What? It worked for Nancy Wheeler. Even if she had to boink Steve Harrington to do it, but I can't quite stretch that far.

The girls all chorus in laughter at me. Oof. 

“Before you answer, I can also do report cards, permission slips and absence notes.” Dude, I cannot tell you where this boost of bravery (or foolhardiness) is coming from.

“How about prescriptions?” Heather asks.

“Shut up, Heather,” Lacy cuts. 

“Sorry, Lacy.”

Then, she zeroes in on me. Takes slow steps toward me, just like Tommy Hagan did. But her stare is tearing strips right through me. I even freaking hunch as she gets closer.

“For a greasy little nobody,” Lacy says, her voice dropping low so I have to strain to hear her, “you do have good bone structure.”

Tina and Heather must already be tuned into this Lacy-only frequency.

“And a proportional body,” Tina adds. “If someone didn’t catch you during a basket toss, you’d probably only kind of fracture your spine. That’s very important. 

“Of course, you could stand to de-hobo your wardrobe.” Heather goes so far as to flick the flappy pocket on the front of my overalls. “Salvation Army much?”

“And ya know, ya know, ya know…” the shiniest jewel in the crown hums, tapping her lipstick tube against her cheek, “This could be beautiful.” Her painted fingers pinch my chin and turn it down toward her–because I’m fucking tall. “Mascara, maybe some lipgloss and we’re on our way. Get this girl some blush– and Heather, I need your brush. Let’s make her beautiful.”

A manic looking Tina produces a vanity bag out of absolutely nowhere. “Let’s make her beautiful…”

“Let’s make her beautiful?” Heather snarks, but Lacy shoves a hand in her face. 

Her eyes turn on me again. Dark and sparkly and… and… smiling. At me. “Okay?”

“Okay!”

Then, whaddaya know, smash cut, it’s the next freaking day. I don’t know how that works, but I don’t see another goddamn narrator so pipe down. 

The halls are their usual shitshow– Billy Hargrove shoves the new Hellfire freshman, Gareth, into a locker. Eddie hauls him up by the collar and they run headlong into a gaggle of girls, who all scream because every nerd that plays a fantasy game is contagious. 

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“Get away, pervert!”

“What did I ever do to them?” Gareth yelps, exasperated. Hard not to feel bad for the kid.

But Eddie’s sage about it, even though he knows it’s as unfair as I do. “You’ll get used to it, freshman.”

“No, dude!” Gareth pushes back, verging on a panic attack, “Who could survive this! I can’t escape this–I think I’m dying!”

O’Donnell, hot on the tardy check, appears behind the both of ‘em. “Who’s that with Lacy?”

“Damn. Someone got a welfare increase,” Nicole Summers hatefully snarls.

“Who’s the babe?” says Andy Sweeney.

But Eddie Munson, oh-ho, Eddie Munson settles his eyes into slits. Anytime, any place, he’d know–

“Veronica?!”

“Veronica?” Cass and Carol caw.

“Veronica?” Steve and Tommy mimic. 

And Lacy Doevski… she looks to her dutiful right, and smirks. “Veronica?”

And you know, you know, you know, life can be beautiful! 

My whole life, I haven’t had a choice but to be one of the boys. My best friend’s a boy. I’m in a band with all boys. I’m surrounded by boys all the time who make gross boy jokes and do stupid boy shit. Nobody, not even my Granny, even though she fucking rules, ever asked me if… if I wanted to put on a skirt and get my goddamned nails painted. And it’s not as if I mind being on the more masculine side of things but, shit, is it so wrong to want something? Even if I believed what I was pretty much dragged up to believe, by all my friends and the world at large around me–that being a chick was totally dumb. Couldn’t I try it on?

You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! 

Lacy beckoned me into her walk-in closet, which was about as big as my bedroom and smelled of gardenia, and put me in a pleated skirt set that she said didn’t fit her temperament anymore. ‘But it’d work for a novice.’

Ask me how it feels, lookin’ like hell on wheels–

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Eddie seethes as I pass, carried on the cloud of Lacy’s perfume.

‘My god, it’s beautiful!’ I’d said, spinning around in the stupid, flippy skirt. 

“Those bobbleheads totally morphed her!”

‘I might be beautiful!’ I mumbled, fingering the diamond studs she put in my ears that she made Heather pierce.

“She looks like–like–” Gareth chokes.

And when you’re beautiful…

“A girl!”

… it’s a beautiful fuckin’ day!

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Now, at first, I think I’m fucking flatlining, expecting to wake up with goddamn tubes down my throat and shit– but I’m not. I’m in my regular old bed, with my regular old alarm clock screaming at me. I smash my hand down on it and jerk up, out of the covers.

First place I go is my wardrobe. 

I feel the physical sensation of my heart dropping like a lead kite when I flick through my old thrift store samesies and Granny Ecker hand-me-downs to find no such minty plaid skirt set. 

Just a dream. 

Which is such a bullshit conceit. Sorry to break it to you. 

I admit defeat and pull on my overalls, scrunching my ballcap over my head and muscle out the door. I’m already late, for me. 

But–then, there’s an apparition hovering at my mailbox. 

Someone who excitedly takes notice and waves when she catches me staring, arm stretching out of her fur-trimmed peacoat–which is looking a tiny touch shabbier than it used to these days. 

“Happy early acceptance day, asshole!” Lacy Doevski sing-songs. Sing-songs. Which is… something I have to readjust to, given the liminal version of her I just experienced.

“Oh.. jeez,” I mutter, feeling dazed still, “I forgot that was today.”

Lacy’s brow gets all pinchy. “You okay? You look like steamed dogshit.”

“Thank you so much,” I drawl sarcastically, “It’s nothing, I slept funky. Where’s Eddie?”

Lacy shifts in herself a little, tucking hair behind her ears and avoiding my eyes. “How should I know?” Right. That. The daylight version of this little tryst they pretend they’re not having. Honestly, if the two of them would just bang it out– well, maybe things might be worse off and this weird little platonic ménage à trois of ours would be totally ruined forever, but at least I’d have to stop tiptoeing around them. “Come on, are you gonna open it or what?”

Oh, right. There’s a whole gravity of a situation supposed to be happening here.

I kind of feel the saliva gathering at the hinges in my jaw, you know the way you do when you’re about to puke your guts up? But then, I remember. Bulimia is so sophmoronic. 

I yank open that rusty mailbox and a thick, thick envelope with a New York University imprint sits inside. I yank it out.

Lacy stares at me like I’m the dude holding the thing the Ten Commandments were written on. 

I’m not drawing this shit out. I am not teasing myself, dude, you couldn’t pay me to–savagely, I rip the envelope open, which makes Lacy cringe. She probably has a little knife for these sorts of things, knowing her. 

Dear Veronica,

Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you…

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Well…?”

I thrust that hot, heavy paper right into that pretty girl’s face. “Full. Goddamned. Ride.” 

Lacy gasps, grasping the letter so hard it leaves claw marks. Her eyes shake back and forth, reading and re-reading the whole acceptance ream. It’s weird, and I know it’s weird, but I’m standing there, looking at her and trying to make her make sense with the Lacy that showed up in my dream. That girl existed, and she was mystifying, in a horrifying way. A total reign of ice cold terror. But now, I’m staring at Lacy, who’s all short, weird angles and specific enthusiasm and… it’s hard to see how those two girls ever lived in the same body. 

She’s a little Whitman. She’s got those multitudes. And, actually, so do I.

“I knew it!” Lacy hisses, “And I want you to know that I’m not at all bitter. While I should be celebrating early acceptance with you, I’m glad–”

I grin at her. “You’re a little bitter.”

“Fine, I’m a little bitter, but I’m mostly excited. New York City, Ron! That’s transformative!”

“Yeah… speaking of. Lacy?”

“Yes?”

Dreams are meant to be prophetic and shit, right?

“Doyouwannagivemeamakeover?”

She cocks her head at me. She still hasn’t let go of that acceptance letter yet. “What?”

“Do you.” I take the envelope from her hands. I know she’s capable of identity theft. “Want to give me. A makeover.”

“Huh?” Her fingers stay curled around imaginary paper. Oh, my god.

“You heard me! And I hate repeating myself!” I flail a little. I get like that, quick to bug sometimes. “Look, you said it, New York is gonna be… transformative. I’m going to be a freaking lawyer, dude, fingers crossed, all going well.”

Lacy nods, not a hair out of place, with perfect confidence,“You are.”

“And when was the last time you saw a lawyer wearing fuckin’ overalls?! Huh? The people vs Howdy Doody?”

“I like your overalls.” I know she’s saying this because it’s the right thing to say, and she’s been practicing doing that really hard. She also might like them now, after repeated exposure, in a Stockholm syndrome sort of way. 

“But they don’t scream esquire,” I impress upon her. And it’s true. I truly do believe that I can’t set foot in New York fucking City looking like I just fell off the back of a turnip truck–nor do I want to. 

It takes a big fat beat, but her face changes. Lacy looks almost dastardly–dark, sparkling eyes like Lacy from the dream. She looks me right over, making the calculations of how to reupholster tragically unfashionable me in her mind. And then she arches her eyebrow.

“Well, remember… you asked, Veronica.”

[goldenpinof]

TEETSEES ASSEMBLE - 1 MORE SILVER TITKET AVAILABLE

Yes, yes, yes, sweet jesus indeed. Although I don't think jesus would want to do much with what is about to go down 🌶️ 👀

My friend whom I've met during WAD has a spare ✨Silver Titket ✨ to sell to you. Yes, YOU!

YOU'VE BEEN CHOSEN FOR THE INNER CIRCLE OF PHELL (yes, yes, the moistest of the moist out there), and it is here for you!!!)

In less flamboyant words, @dipandpiptit has ONE SPARE SILVER TITKET TO RESELL FOR BERLIN DATE 🖤

Titket is for 🪅Row 4 Seat 3🪅 (Pre-show and VIP Merch), and she would like to sell at an original price but can agree on a DISCOUNT

Since it's a silver one, you not only can take part in their wonderfully dark and inappropriate pre-show Q&A (like that is not reason enough pfff) but you can also hang out and vibe with other fellow teetsies that include:

@dipandpiptit - THE SELLER - The tag queen. Tags like crazy and it's not grafitti but Tumblr teetti (I should be sorry but I'm actually sorta proud). If you think it's lurking behind the OG posts, just ask any fandom related question and you will go into a Boss Fight of a Phub Trivia Quiz

@goldenpinof - me. Your go-to place for the freshest of the tit-pdates. (Jo's words, not mine)

@cardsagainstdnpg - The phournalist and trusted source of phews. Chronically online yet on top of her Sister Daniella's prayers. She'll recite you words spoken by D-teet or P-teet like they're carved on her ribs and serve you the freshest of the Titea

@nickbipanicnelson - A multifandom queen. You think you've got nothing in common, but just give her 2 minutes, and she'll whip out a common fandom language and persons you can both simp over. Respectfully (I hope not)

@baking-phan-in-my-mind - The unhinged one that tries to appear as though she's on top of the content but will speak in 2014 fandom at times. Try to quiz her on the new stuff, and she'll fail miserably but can offer information that is decade-old like it happened yesterday. She'll probably mention her cat more than one time in a way that will make you question whether it's a full sized adult, a toddler, or a brat sibling

📸 COME HANG OUT WITH THE TITQUE, WITH US 📸

Of course, if you don't want to socialise and just want to buy a Silver Titket, we will be respectful and won't be overbearing and/or can leave you alone (I promise they're not keeping me locked away to say this)

help

ANYWAY

Don't wait a minute longer and DM @dipandpiptit or @goldenpinof for your Silver Titshow Experience™. It's only an arm's length away (don't be freaky about that arm length, tho) (although Sister Daniella would beg to differ) (with emphasis on the beg 🥵)

I'll stop now and go back to my corner of shame

(copywriting by @baking-phan-in-my-mind)

[elizabeth-mitchells]

tagged by @virgoactias @baked-potatoes-rule and @thehollywoodnecromancer thank you so much <33

tagging: @annieofhearts @dufrau @lesbiantahani @rebeccamarinwife and anyone else that wants to do this!!

(warning i'll be posting all the tag games i missed last month soooo no pressure, sorry if you've been tagged before, let me know if you don't/want to be tagged, you can say i tagged you in any other you want to do, sorry for being awkward, etc etc)

[thatgayb1tchwhosimps4her]

Harlow's X-mas Fic Extravaganza Day 1/3

Summary: Poor sweet baby girl Lottie, can't cook or bake for the life of her, but wants to try. For you. Always for you.

@zhivaxo

What's up guys, welcome to Day 1 (and yes I'm going by UK time, cause that's where I am, and it's already December out here, wooh!!!).

*****

Cinnamon Kisses

💚Adult!Lottie Matthews x GN!AFAB Reader💚

Word Count: 586.

*****

"Hello?" You called out as you walked through the front door, pulling your beanie off your head, starting to warm up from the snow that had started falling around compound grounds.

Your nose was instantly filled with the smell of gas, burning, and a light dash of cinnamon, accompanied with the loud beeping of the fire alarm, as you made your way into the kitchen, taking in the image of around a dozen ingredients (and their contents), all over the kitchen counters, while taking in the image of a panicked and desperate Lottie;

standing in front of a flour-covered kitchen island, waving a dish cloth, trying to waft the thick, dark grey smoke coming from the oven, out of the previously opened window in front of the sink,

a metal, rectangular baking tray discarded on the counter next to it, with severely burnt circular cookies scattered on it, 'that's where the cinnamon came from'.

"Uh hey." You stated, moving a chair to under the fire alarm, carefully climbing onto it, and fiddling with the beeping electronic.

"Oh my god, no no no no!" Lottie frantically exclaimed, tucking the dish cloth into her pocket, rushing over to you, assisting you down from the chair.

"Hey hey hey," You cooed slightly, resting your hands on her cheeks, as your feet were planted back down on the floor. "What happened?" You inquired, wiping away various ingredients and stray tears away from her cheeks with your thumbs.

"Well you went out, to the um, the market, and I wanted to do something nice since you've been working so hard, and surprise you with the cookies, since you said the other day that you hadn't had Christmas cookies in forever, so I thought I could do it.

So then I searched it up, and I found so many different recipes, so I thought I'd try a couple out, and then none of them worked, so I wanted to try one more time, with the cinnamon ones, and if they didn't work, I'd clean up and wait for you to get back, b-but, they didn't, and the, they didn't, so I turned the oven up so they would be perfect before I iced them, and then they um-"

"Okay, okay, it's alright." You cut her off, running your thumbs along her jawline. "Accidents happen, we can sort this out, though I appreciate the gesture."

"I know, thank you. Just annoys me cause I still don't know what a fucking snicker doodle is." She grumbled, pouting slightly.

"That's okay, baby, neither do I." You giggled, leaning up and kissing her softly, before pulling away and tilting your head down, coughing harshly.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Lottie worried, running her hand up and down your back.

"Yeah, yeah," You answered, coughing out a little more. "it was just cinnamon. Christ that was thick." You added.

"That's what you said." The brunette muttered, smirking slightly.

"Charlotte!!" You exclaimed. That earnt her a swift smack on her arm. "You can clean this up by yourself for that."

"Awwwwwww, cmon, it was funny. Pleassseee." She pleaded, looking at you with those brown eyes of her.

"Fine, but you owe me. I love you." You answered, leaning up and pressing a kiss against her lips, and turning your face to the floor and coughing down at it.

"Jesus Christ," She cursed, knitting her eyebrows into a concerned expression, patting your back gently. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Fucking cinnamon kisses." You chuckled.

*****

This was honestly kinda short and idk if I hate it or not, but I'm happy with it.

Also this is loosely inspired by a fic by @lotties-ashwagandha which is tagged here :) purely cause I thought it was cute, and also the glue, like- poor baby girl is clueless, but we love her for it.

See you in the next one, love you guys.

-Harlow

[fanfics4all]

Practice Makes Perfect

Request: Yes / No List was made by @alpaca-clouds 

Requests are open only if its CHRISTMAS/HOLIDAY/ WINTER related <3 Have a nice day/night

Jesus Adams-Fosters x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 387

Warnings: Nothing! 

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s):

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

Masterlist 

If you enjoy my work, you could also show support by buying me a coffee! 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I was practicing for my baking final. I haven’t really left my kitchen in days. I needed to get this perfect before my final on Tuesday. I haven’t seen my boyfriend in a week probably, but he understands that when I get like this it’s best to just let me prefect whatever I’m working on. I heard someone walk into my house, but really didn’t think anything of it. It was probably Jesus anyway. 

“Y/N?” His voice made my head snap up. He looked over me and over my kind of disasterous kitchen. 

“When was the last time you weren’t in this kitchen?” He asked and I shrugged. 

“Um… last night when I was sleeping.” I answered and he sighed. He took a seat at my counter and watched me intently. 

“What are you even working on?” He asked and I smiled at him. 

“I’m making marzipan fruits.” I answered as I mixed up another batch. 

“How many have you made so far?” He asked and I glanced around. 

“Successful ones or just in general?” I asked. He looked around and shook his head. 

“They all look pretty successful to me.” He said and I rolled my eyes. 

“They’re not perfect, therefore not successful.” I said. He picked up one of the pears that didn’t come out quite right in shape and color. He took a bite and hmmed in delight. 

“They taste amazing, babe.” He said and I smiled. 

“I’m not super worried about the taste, it’s the likeness I’m worried about.” I sighed and placed the bowl down. 

“They look like fruits to me.” He said and I shook my head. 

“I know you’re trying to make me feel better and get me to take a break, but they need to be perfect so I can get a good grade.” I said and he shook his head with a smile. 

“You always get a good grade, babe.” He said and I returned his smile. 

“I know, but I really want these to be perfect, so just one more try and then I promise I’ll take the rest of the day off… after I clean my kitchen.” I said and he chuckled. 

“I’ll help you clean, then we’re getting your ass on your couch and watching some stupid T.V.” He said and I nodded.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @lover2448