#mike needs to stop feeling like he needs to be needed in order to be wanted and loved

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[beloveds-embrace]

brain empty only thought - TF141 are all dancers for magic mike in london and give their stage manager a private show

I love your brain anon 😩 taking free liberties with whatever a show manager does here fyi lol but i also tried to watch an actual magic mike show but i turned into a blushing mess and had to stop halfway. Fair warning tho, i’ve never written anything quite like this 😭 all of this is safe, sane and consensual

You are such a good stage manager to them, though, always ensuring everyone is on the same page, communications are going well, all props are set and the most important thing in your opinion; all the dancers are doing well. You always make sure there are plenty of drinks, they’re well-slept and ready and-

You do so much for them, such a good stage manager. It’s only right that they spoil you with a private show all carered to you, in a private room where they make you sit down on chair placed right in the middle.

Have you seen this choreography before? Yes. Are you in any shape or way ready to have Kyle kneel in front of you on one knee, gazing up at you like you are star, and spread your thighs open so he can nuzzle his face right between your tights? You aren’t.

“Smell so fuckin’ good, pretty.” Gaz mumbles, groaning low against your skin.

Your face is flaming red, feeling him kiss the soft pudge of your thighs before he slides up with a wink so Johnny takes place on your lap, leather jeans tight on his ass and bulge. He takes your hovering hands, and places them on his thighs while he grinds against you, hips pressing together.

You can barely bite your noises back, clenching your thighs shut.

“No staying silent, bonnie,” he croons, thumb rubbing your lips. You hadn’t even realized your mouth was slack and open until he pushes his thumb in for a few seconds, and you obediently, impulsively, suck on it. His eyes darken, and he leans to kiss the corner of your lips, hovering over your lap. “Good girl.”

It takes everything in you not to whine out loud, drenched between your thighs.

When he moves off with another kiss, it’s Ghost who kneels in front of her, the music slower now, deeper. He takes her hands, kissing her palms through his mask and guiding her hands to the buttons of his silk button-up that bared his defined collarbones already, scarred skin glowing the more you reveal of him.

God, you want to bite him so badly.

“Look at me, doll.” He orders, and you so easily obey you can see the crinkle in his mask. Like a snake, Ghost twists his body so his back is across your knees, shoulders and head on your lap, peering up at you with his legs spread and holding his body up.

“Si-“ you whine at last, resolve breaking. He pulls your hands down his shoulders, and you take the hint by caressing his pecs, his abs, the strong muscles taut under your exploring hands. Feeling just a little bold and knowing he doesn’t mind, your fingers tease along his belt.

“He’s so fucking handsome, isn’t he?” Captain Price croons behind you, big hands settling on your shoulders, dipping into your blouse to toy with your bra straps. “All my boys are. But you’re our girl, aren’t you? Our pretty, beautiful girl, always working so hard for us. My boys adore you, sugar.”

Your mouth dries up, staring up at him, hands still on Ghost. “I…”

“No words needed, doll.” he scoffs, smug the way only a man who knows how easily he can command a room can be. His hands leave your skin and before you can pout, he’s reaching under your thighs to carefully pull you up while still being mindful of Simon. He sits in your chair, you on his lap and Ghost still under your touch. “Let us spoil you, yeah?”

And who are you to even think about saying no to such a beautiful, tempting offer?

[artbiter]

wolf in sheep's clothing

art donaldson/reader nsfw summary: art falls for you first yet patrick gets the fortune of having you. what else is art supposed to do but play dirty? tags: stanford!art, stanford reader too, art is a borderline homewrecker, art donaldson is a SNAKE, patrick gets cucked right under his nose </3, oral, slight body worship, TBH idk note: hi this is my first time writing ff since .. 2021 .. and this is definitely a diff style from the ao3-approach i usually take to writing but please enjoy i really like art donaldson i really like challengers and i really like art taking what he wants (and i really like mike faist in blonde curls)

art donaldson is not a homewrecker, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for his chance with you.

he first meets you at one of his games, eyes flitting over the crowd and panting hard after a rather close singles win, before his gaze is magnetically drawn to your pretty face in the bleachers. smiling with your friends, you look so happy to just be watching this game, and when you make eye contact with art you wave excitedly like he's a celebrity, and whisper to your friends after he salutes back with a grin, trying to catch the breath your gorgeous smile has knocked out of him.

he wants to find you so bad after, and so he does. your friends are tennis groupies, hanging behind to flirt with any guy with a racket in hand, but you're just there for moral support. he chases after you just before you leave, just to say hi. an innocuous greeting and thanks for your support. and he sees how jealous your friends are that you tag along once with them and immediately get picked up by art freaking donaldson, but you seem to be oblivious, beaming at him and clasping your hands to your chest. you tell him he was great out there, that you've never "gotten" tennis but that you can feel he's a pro anyway. you part ways and he can't stop thinking about you.

when he tells patrick that he's met the prettiest girl he's ever seen at one of his matches, patrick thinks it's endearing and the epitome of dumb puppy love.

"did you even get her name? or were you just drooling over her?"

"nah, that would've been weird... right? oh shit, should i have? i was trying to be normal about it, i don't know." art beats himself up for not even picking up on your name in conversation, and resolves to seek out your identity and ask you out.

so when he finally has the fortune of seeing you again at a party, he's heartbroken when you smile and wave to patrick in tow.

"patrick!" you laugh and bound up to the pair. "didn't take you as a stanford party type of guy."

"i'm a plus one tonight. lucky i ran into you, huh?" patrick is eye-fucking you and doesn't even try to hide it, and art feels like doubling over in pure grief.

patrick notices but says nothing, only introducing you to art. "yeah, i'm here with my buddy art." he slaps art on the back lightly and art finds out that you and patrick met at another party before this. he remembers you from patrick's anecdotes over lunch, where patrick wouldn't shut up about the hottest chick he's ever seen who wouldn't go home with him, but has been texting ever since.

some other girl, presumably one of your friends, attaches herself to art's arm for the rest of the night, but he can't bring himself to notice or care when patrick kisses you and you lean into it.

patrick got to you first, and art hates himself for it. he won't admit it, but he feels the resentment festering inside of him as soon as patrick announces it's official.

the next best course of action for art is to play the best friend role, obviously. except like the unassuming snake art is, he's going to be your best friend, too.

he's your puppy, waiting on your beck and call — whatever you need, he's got it. your bio homework is impossible? sure, you can copy his. you got no sleep last night? he has your regular order from your favorite café committed to memory. patrick's being such a bad boyfriend? oh, tell him all about it.

"he's so inconsiderate," you whine, slumping over your pillow. "can you believe he forgot our six months? and when i brought it up, he didn't even say sorry. he was just, like, 'i didn't know we were still in high school.' i wanted to die, art, really."

art clicks his tongue in sympathy, criss-crossed on your dorm floor and nodding along to your laments. "no, he's definitely wrong here. i'm sorry he forgot something so important." for good measure, he adds in, "guys should be looking out for their girlfriends all the time. i'd be celebrating monthly anniversaries if i had a girl."

"ugh, right? i thought so, too." you flop back onto your bed, turning your head to gaze at art. he thinks you're so beautiful like this, clad in a t-shirt and shorts, bare faced with tears tinging your eyes. "you're a good guy. i don't know why you don't just date."

he doesn't want to date anyone if it isn't you, but he doesn't say this.

art watches you and patrick continue for another few rocky months, marked by arguments spawned from patrick's chronic nonchalance and your sensitivity to his perceived lack of care. and art gets the full report from both sides; patrick tells him all the time about how he's really trying to make you happy and support you, but he doesn't see why you value such small things. and you cry to art, sobbing that patrick never takes you out anymore if it isn't to fuck, that patrick is too friendly to other girls. art thinks to himself that patrick doesn't deserve you, but he rubs small circles on your back and reassures you that you need to do what's right for yourself.

(he's elated when you don't remove yourself from his touch.)

when you finally break it off with patrick, he hears it from his best friend first.

"dude, she dumped me." patrick's voice buzzes over the phone. "not gonna lie, i saw this one coming. but i thought i was doing good, seriously. fuck, what am i gonna do?"

"i'm sorry, man," art sympathizes before he hears a knock on his door. "yeah, it really does suck. take a breather for a few days. i'm sorry, but i really have to go right now." he peeks into the peephole and sees you standing outside. "let's talk more later?"

patrick is still rambling on the other end, but art hangs up and opens the door for you to immediately come spilling.

"art, i broke up with him. i really couldn't do it anymore." you tell art more things he already knows, like that you liked patrick a lot but you were just uncompatible in the end, and that you wished he listened. as always, art feeds into you, agreeing with your every word. something deep inside art tells him it's wrong to coax his best friend's girlfriend into breaking up with him, and that he's messed up for offering you his support when patrick technically should come first. but when you look up at art through wet eyelashes, sniffling and yearning for comfort, who is he to deny you?

art cups your face gently and presses his lips to yours. he doesn't miss how your eyes widen, but you don't jerk away. his heart pounds in his chest as he holds the small of your back with one hand while the other caresses your cheek. you smell so clean and warm, and your lips are so soft art wonders how patrick could ever give you up without a fight. it solidifies art's need for you, that if patrick won't make you happy, he will.

when you pull away from him, you're breathless, voice barely above a whisper. "art, i don't think we should—"

he can't contain himself from kissing your neck, relishing the soft, smooth expanse, inhaling your scent so deep into his lungs he finds it oxygen. "tell me you don't want this." he laps at your jaw, sucking light bruises onto the sides of your throat. "tell me you don't want me to treat you the way you should be, and i'll stop."

you moan his name involuntarily, and art takes it as the green light to carry you to his bed and kisses back up to your lips. "i'm sorry," he murmurs into your skin. "i'm sorry. i want you so bad."

"then show me," you sigh softly, hands rooting themselves into his blonde curls as his tongue probes your mouth.

like you even had to ask.

tugging down your sweatpants and feeling like coming just as the sight of your underwear, art immediately tears it off of you. he latches himself to your cunt, already weeping, and he looks up at you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide. "already so wet for me, baby?"

"mmf..." your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tighten their grip as you push his head forward, and he obliges.

he licks wide stripes, feeling you convulse and twitch every time his tongue comes in contact with your clit. his dick throbs in his pants just from eating you out.

"you taste so sweet. fuck, you're delicious," he pants, making out with your pussy like it's your lips. "don't know how i survived this long without you."

you buck your hips up into his mouth, mewling and spasming as he suckles and licks at just the right places. your cunt is soaked, but neither of you can tell whether it's from your arousal or how much art is slobbering over your pussy. "right there," you squeak out, a hot wave washing over your body as you cum on art's face.

and fuck, art almosts busts on the spot with you. his mouth doesn't cease, swirling patterns all over your vulva, grazing over your clit, dipping his tongue inside of you as you lock your legs around his head desperately.

"too much, too much!" you feebly try to pull his head up from your cunt, but he's so addicted to your taste he barely notices how sensitive you are now, how your clit twitches and aches for a break.

art can only laugh softly as he pulls himself back up to you, kissing you gently as his hands roam underneath your shirt and to your bra clasp.

"mm, you're so good," you gasp into art's mouth as his kiss becomes sloppier. "so good to me, art."

"it's what you deserve," he mumbles back, unhooking your bra and clumsily pulling your shirt off so your tits spill free. and even art is admired by his own self-restraint, just staring at your perfect body on display for him. he's been dreaming of this day for months now, jerking himself off late at night to thoughts of you sucking his cock, to pictures of you smiling on his phone, to the memory of your voice the day he met you. it's so wrong of him to fuck his best friend's ex fresh after the split, but why do you feel so right beneath him? "i've been waiting for this," he whispers into your neck. "been wanting to show you how much i want you. want to make you feel good. want to treat you so much better."

"fuck me, art, please," you beg him, relenting and palming at his boxers. you're so fucking easy, letting him touch you like this and being compliant as he undresses you, kisses you all over, shrugs his boxers off as you help him position his cock right at your entrance. it's not your fault that art has been nothing but kind and gentle to you. it's not your fault that he's been flirting with you since day 1, and now all his desires have culminated into head of a lifetime. and art finally has what he wants now: you.

and even when he barely pushes the tip in, he wants to cum inside of you so badly he feels dizzy. "so fucking tight, i'm gonna cum, gonna cum right now," he gasps in your ear as he unsheathes himself, stretching your warm, tight hole. "so perfect, holy shit. fucking made for me, baby, you feel so—" he can't stop himself from rutting into you, and he just about comes undone when he hears his name tumble from your lips in pained moans. it takes all the self-control in the world for art to not pour himself into your wet heat right now.

"slow down, art, fuck, you're so big," you sob, clawing at his back. he wishes he could fuck you nice and slow, the way he always envisioned his first time with you would be. he'd fantasized about nights with you full of languid strokes, making you scream his name with calculated, intentional thrusts straight to the spongy patch buried within you. but art is just a humble man, and when your walls, silky and warm, are choking his dick, he can't resist fucking into you like a jackhammer. you cry, moaning uncontrollably as your hands clutch tightly at him, letting his cock ruin you.

art's head goes fuzzy, and all he knows now is your pussy trying to milk him dry and that he can't say anything coherent besides strings of guttural moans telling you how warm, how tight, how good you feel on his dick, how your sweet cunt was made for him, how beautiful you look and sound at his mercy, how he wants you to be his so bad and that he'll do anything for you to be his. that his only regret is not claiming you first.

you keep crooning in his ear, honeyed moans that intoxicate him dizzier and dizzier as you tell him that he can have you. with a few more stutters of his hips, and a convulsing squeeze from your walls onto his cock, his head falls into the crook of your neck as he pulls out and shoots ropes all over your stomach, right as you cry out his name uncontrllably, heaving beneath him. a low, resounding grunt rips from his throat while his seed paints your abdomen, and he feels you shiver upon the warmth touching your skin.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes again like the gentleman he is. his breath still heaves at an uneven rhythm, staggering as he attempts to regain his composure, but every time his eyes fall upon you it feels like he wants to go for round 2. "i'll clean you up, pretty girl. you were so perfect." he presses his forehead to yours, sweaty and damp, and whispers, "you were made for me."

some sick sense of pride fills art from head to toe as your body trembles in an attempt to catch your breath, your hair disheveled and lips puffy, patches of skin blooming pink and red from art essentially making out with every inch of your body. and you blush when you catch him staring, covering your face and murmuring for him to come back to bed.

he did this to you. he made you such a picturesque image of ruined perfection, splayed out on his bed and stained with his cum, pleading for his embrace.

patrick would have to pry you from his cold, dead hands.

[courtingchaos]

I’ve been thinking about eddie who’s in the early pre relationship stages with you. but in his mind he’s married to you he’s been pining after you for so long. he doesn’t want to scare you though so he’s pumping the breaks and trying to take things slow.

you’re spending the night at his and he’s managed to keep enough distance from you that he deems respectful in his courtship of you. but when he wakes it’s to your hand high on his thigh, and you’re out for the count. and he’s hard as a rock and needs to move you before you wake up and see what state he’s in.

not wanting to wake you and alert you to his issue he thinks on his feet and decides he has to become soft asap, then he can move you. then if you wake up it’s not going to be to him feeling like a complete pervert.

so he’s reciting his favourite passages from all of the books he’s read.

only it’s not doing much. the pretty girl in his bed is winning this round.

he starts reciting them backwards to increase the difficulty and hopefully distract the ache away. but in his ingenuity to up the anti he’s inadvertently made it so tough that he’s now whisper shouting the words out loud. waking you. eddie still hard as a rock reciting poetry in a wicked order that makes no sense to man nor beast, is stopped abruptly in his tracks, gasping at the feel of your palm squeezing the meat of his inner thigh. Mortified and yet. Still painfully erect with no hope of going down anytime soon

sorry to vomit this at you but it seemed like fate that you’d asked for a request (this is far too long and detailed I’m sorry) and I was thinking about this at the same time

1. Don’t apologize, you’ve struck gold. You have not dug too greedily nor too deep.

2. You’ve written this really well so I could just post this with a bunch of reactions under it but, if you’ll allow me to expand upon this.

Picture this with me okay? He’s reciting Jabberwocky to himself. It’s a nonsense poem. He had an English teacher once give out a project for them to learn and recite a poem and of course he chose this. It has fun words in it like vorpal and borogoves. It’s become one of his bits actually when he’s trying to command a room.

“Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:”

Everyone will sigh. Jeff and Gareth and Frank will drop their heads onto their desks or over the backs of their chairs in long groans. Dustin still thinks it’s fun, he hasn’t gotten tired of it yet, and Mike likes it he just won’t admit it. Eddie loves it though, likes the way slithy toves slides off his tongue when he puts on that creaking voice he uses for warlocks durning games.

Now though he mumbles it to himself in the dark, his ludicrous attempt at bringing down his mood. Something had woken him at the witching hour, 3:07 shining a bright green from across his room. He wasn’t cold, his window shut against the chill earlier when you’d come over. He wasn’t overheated, quite content with you softly cuddled up next to him. No itch or ill folded sheet causing him discomfort. He had seven solid minutes of waking, a few he spared to revel in the heat of you lying next to him. To feel your shoulder lying on his as you pressed your face into his pillow. Your knee bent up and almost over his own and your hand planted firmly on his thigh.

Oh. That.

Those fingers he liked to twirl around his own and lick salt off of when you were done with your fries? Those fingers were under the hem of his boxers and a very much pressing into the meat of his thigh. You don’t move except to breathe but all he can focus on is that hand literal inches from his dick. The dick he’d kept in check for weeks now in the hopes he wouldn’t chase you away with the absolute need he felt. Kind of like right now where it lays heavy and hot against his thigh just like your hand.

So Jabberwocky it is.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

But in the dark with a hard on, slithy toves makes him chuckle. Almost full on giggle and he slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Slithy toves sounds like a euphemism for pussy and he can’t help the huffs of laughter pushed through his nose. He looks down in the hopes that this has distracted his dick but apparently laughter makes him harder and he files that away to look into at a later date. Borogoves floats through his brain and he immediately thinks about giving your boobs a new nickname and he has to put a foot down for himself.

Next verse.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

Bandersnatch has to be a euphemism, there’s no goddamn way, it has the word snatch in it. He rolls his eyes and before he can sigh you shift beside him in your sleep, closer with your nose in his curls on his pillow and that soft hand he’s thought about when his own is too boring in the shower scoots another inch closer to the problem.

Maybe if he whispers it out loud?

“He took his vorpal sword in hand;-”

Absolutely not. Nope. New plan when he feels your sleeping breath across the front of his throat. It ghosts over his adams apple and all he can think about is your lips on his neck last week and how he’d pulled at his hair after you’d left just because it drove him insane.

Maybe if he recited it backwards it would confuse him enough all the blood would need to race back up into his brain.

“Outgrabe…raths…the-no…mome the and…” He’s squinting hard in the dark, reading invisible words on the ceiling in this new attempt to circumvent disaster.

“Borogoves…ha. Damn it. Borogoves…the were…mimsy all.” A headache is all this is giving him but for a moment he’s forgotten your hand and where it was. He’s searching the next line in his head and trying to jumble it so it isn’t so halting in the early morning quiet.

“Wabe the in gimble and gyer did!” He almost claps his hands when he makes it through without pause but he stops himself for fear of waking you up. Instead he spends 20 minutes working his way backwards through his poem, whispering to the night about the Jabberwock.

O frabjous day indeed when he realizes his dick is half soft now, not such a nuisance and a terror after he’s distracted himself. He thinks about waking you gently, a hand brushing your hair away from your face or running lightly over your leg but then you move. You move of your own accord and hook your leg over his. Kneecap bumping your hand higher and if he breathed wrong right this second you’d be brushing fingertips over his balls.

“And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,”

He mutters without whisper. It’s not full volume speaking but he really doesn’t want you to wake up and find him hard and awake with your hand shoved up his shorts. As much as he would really love to feel your hands on him like that he’s been trying his best to be gentlemanly. Only necking on your timetable when you steal him away to a quiet corner. A little over the pants stuff, heavy petting but you’ve never pushed it and it won’t make you uncomfortable, no matter what his dick wants him to do.

“Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!”

Eddie sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hm?” You hum at him. A high note in the back of your throat that has him whipping his head to see you stirring. Adjusting to your side and dra-a-agging that hand. He doesn’t know what to do as you come around and blink up at him in the dark. He can see the edges of your expression from the light filtering in from outside, smooth brow and faint smile until it isn’t.

“Di’ yousay sumthin’?” Slurred against his shoulder where your mouth is pressed.

“Uh, kind of.”

“You okay?” You press up against him, your pelvis into his hip and he’s about to be caught. There’s no way you aren’t going to notice the outline in his boxers or the way he’s gotta be sweating gallons just in nerves.

“I…yeah?”

“What’s the ma-” You shift to prop yourself up so you can sleepily inspect him and he wants to subsequently die and sigh happily when your hand meets trouble. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh? Oh yeah, no big deal, it’s just his dick showing up to ruin the party like the world’s worst frat guy. “Look, I was trying to make it go away and I-“

“Why?” Having just woken up your voice is soft in a deep way. Scratchy from dry air but it fits the mussed hair and the rucked up t-shirt you have on. His gaze falls on the sliver of stomach that you’re showing off between the covers and he’s having a hard time coming up with an answer.

“Why?”

“Is there an echo in here?” You laugh and slide your palm over his stomach that tenses. “Yeah, why.” Your pinky catches the hem of his thin shirt and pulls it up to reveal his own section of underbelly. “We’re alone right?”

“Y-yeah.” It comes out like a hiss though because your nails scratch across that newly revealed skin and right over the trail of hairs below his belly button. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t uh, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Your fingers move back and forth over his stomach before you let them dip back down to the waistband of his boxers, fingertip seeking under the elastic ever so slightly. “You’ve been very patient Eddie.” The rings on your hand are body warm but hold a child to them when they glide over skin. “I think we just had a little misunderstanding at first though.” Fingers comb through wiry hairs on their search for their prize. “I’ve been trying to do this since you asked me out, but I thought you wanted to wait.”

“Oh my god, no. I mean yes, because I thought that’s what you wanted but I read into things too much sometimes bec-ause fuck.” He was running his mouth but then you’d grabbed him. Wrapped that dreamy hand around his cock and sighed into his cheek like you were the one experiencing earth shattering euphoria.

“Eddie I’ve wanted to do this for months.” A slow tug to the tip and you do something with your fingers that makes his mouth hang open in a silent plea. Another twist before you run your thumb over his slit and he grabs your wrist.

“This is gonna be over so quick if you keep that up.”

“Well that’s not so bad, I was still a little tired.” Highlights pick up the line of your lips and that sleepy smile that’s all for him. Heavy lashes flutter when he lets you go and shoves his shorts down to give you room to work. “You can get me back when we wake up.”

He throbs in your grasp at the promised idea of getting you back and all that entails. He can’t help himself but think of wet and warm places while your hand moves in languid strokes. Hot puffs of air across his chest where you lay your head to watch and then he’s watching you watching yourself and falling into a vortex of horniness. He wants to weave his fingers into your hair for some reason. Wants to feel the softness between his fingers while you rub velvet skin through your own.

“Eddie?” You pant into his shirt, lips catching and dragging on the cotton.

“Yeah?”

“What were you reciting?”

It almost pulls him out of his pleasure it’s jars him so. Briefly he thinks about lying and saying Shakespeare but you’re already giving him a 3 am handjob so he thinks he might not have to fib. “Jabberwocky.”

“Alice in Wonderland?” Your hand leaves his cock suddenly but he doesn’t get to whine about it before he’s whining about you licking your palm and getting back to work. He nods above you like you could see him but it earns him a chuckle from you and a stray few fingers that tug at his balls.

“God damnit yes.” He does push his hand into your hair then, the other fisting into the sheets beside him. You make a passing remark about reciting it then but he honestly might not even know his own name. The way his legs move restlessly against the bed and his fingers grip into your scalp. The damp slide of your palm over the head of his cock, the twisting motion you keep doing, it’s all rocketing him towards his finish. The burn of it in his belly clouding his senses and making him buck his hips up into your touch. The air of your breath keeps breezing over his overheated skin and your panting laughs are shoving him closer and closer until he’s squeezing his eyes shut and going stiff.

Warm lines splash up his stomach and he knows in a minute or two he’ll feel shame unmatched by man heretofore known but right now he couldn’t care. Soft hands drag him through the aftershocks while you make praiseworthy noises into his chest. You coo at him for a job well done and he can feel the heat rise on his cheeks. Sitting up again to look back at him your drag a finger through the mess he made and when you take three seconds to inspect it he doesn’t expect you to bring it to your lips.

“I-“ He what? What can he say while he watches you suck on your index finger like he does? When a slick grin hooks the corner of your mouth up into something devilish and he has an awakening at almost 4 am.

“How was that, huh? Glad we got that over with?” You drop your cheek to your shoulder to give him a smolder but Eddie needs to taste your lips after you’ve tasted him. It’s a need not a want so he rushes you, pushes you back into the bed and gets his mess everywhere but it doesn’t matter. He kisses you deep until you both have to come up for air and then he’s peppering your neck in them until your giggling is too much.

He uses his shirt to wipe himself off, promising a shower in the morning, and pulls both of you under the covers to conspire in the afterglow.

“Do you think reading that poem is gonna Pavlov you now?”

“How so?”

“I mean,” your laugh cuts into your explanation, “slithy toves kind of sounds like a name for-“

“Pussy! I know!” He laughs with you. “And Bandersnatch!”

[kayhi808]

Please feel free to ignore this if you have done this already but your recent post made my day that it’s got ideas HAHA. Thank you for sharing us this Bucky and his family!

Anw, what if it’s the reverse? Abby doesn’t really understand much of her mama and bucky’s dynamics but she knows, Bucky is her’s and mama’s. AND her mama is HER mama and bucky’s Doll. They belong with eachother. What would happen if there are scenarios where men or even young adults find her very attractive (she’s a milf like that) and/or talk abt her and flirt with her? Will she confront them like what she did with Megan’s mom? Or call help from Bucky? Or Both?

Thank you for this Ask! Abby doesn't like other men giving you attention either. In her brain, the 3 of you need to be together. No one is going to bust that up. Haha! Bucky may have to step in.😉

You and Abby are at a coffee shop waiting for Bucky. His meeting is running long and The Tower is just around the corner. You order yourself an iced tea and a juice for Abby. The young barista included a lemon cake when you picked up your order. "Oh, I didn't order this."

He winks at you and smiles, "It's on the house."

Blushing, you thank him and walk Abby to the benches outside. You catch Abby frowning at you. "What's wrong?"

"Who dat man?"

"A worker at the coffee shop "

"Why he winks at you like dis?" She blinks.

"I don't know, maybe because he was being sneaky and gave us a lemon cake."

With raised eyebrows "Did he steals it?"

Probably. "No, I'm sure he bought it for us. If you don't want it, I can eat it myself."

"No! I wants." Abby laughs and does a happy wiggle.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" You look up and a man is asking to sit on the the other side of the bench. You look around and you and notice most of the seats are taken. "Sure." You gather Abby closer to you.

He looks down at Abby, mouth sprinkled with crumbs. She just stares at him."That looks really good." Abby nods and wipes her mouth off on her arm. Looking back at you, "She's adorable."

"Thank you," you smile down at Abby.

"Like mother, like daughter." Abby frowns at that. "I'm Mike." He hold his hand out to you.

"Stranger danger, Mama!"

You bite your lip, holding back a smile. "You're right, baby."

Mike laughs, "Sorry. Smart girl. We can still talk and get to know each other so we aren't strangers."

"Bucky not liking that."

"Who's Bucky?"

"He's my Papa & he's big and strong and angry."

You laugh, "Baby! I'm sorry, I am seeing someone." To Abby, "Finish your cake."

Mike produces a business card, "If you change your mind."

"Mama not changing mind!" Abby mumbles around a mouthful of cake.

In the blink of an eye, the card is snatched out of Mike's hand. "Change her mind about what?"

Abby's face lights up with a smile, "Papa!" She launches herself off the bench before you can stop her. Bucky effortlessly snagging her mid air. The Winter Soldier glare never leaving poor Mike.

"He talk to Mama & she said she seeing someone so he try give her card. If she change her mind."

"is that so," looking at the card, "Michael?" Bucky flicks the card back at Mike and he flinches.

"S...sorry. It was a mistake." He quickly gets up to leave.

Abby cackles at his retreating back.

"Was that really necessary?"

Bucky leans down to kiss you, "Evidently it was." Turning to Abby, "Did you just call me Papa?" The Winter Soldier glare is no where to be found, but in its place is a look of joy and wonder.

"Yous my Papa Bear. Growly and scary," squeezing his face between her palms, "but I no needs be scared cos you my Papa. You scared them nots me."

"That's right, my girl. You never have to fear me." Bucky hold her close and presses a kiss to her forehead.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood

[willowsnook]

Gin and juice (orange Gatorade) in a tall glass. Ft. Jealous orange Gatorade if you catch my drift 😉

joe burrow x bsf!reader

watch your fucking mouth

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

"Cheers to another Bengals win led by our guy Joey B!" your friend Mike called out, raising his shot glass as everyone joined in. You tapped the table and downed the tequila, wincing as the burn settled in your throat. Joe took your empty glass from you and set it back on the bar.

"Want another drink? Vodka water?" he asked knowingly. You pretended to think about it before nodding in agreement.

"You know me so well," you exclaimed dramatically, and he chuckled.

"Considering it's the only thing I’ve ever seen you order in the four years we've known each other, it's pretty easy to remember," he shot back, a playful smile on his face. You accepted the drink he held out to you, feeling grateful for his presence.

You had been one of Joe's academic tutors back when he was at Ohio State, and you’d managed to stay in touch after he transferred to LSU. When you landed a job in Cincinnati, you brought him into your friend group, ensuring he had a life outside of football—though Jamar, who always seemed to be around, was the only exception since he had a thing for your friend Jaelen.

You watched the two of them now, Jamar animatedly telling Jaelen something as you sipped your drink.

"When are they finally going to get together?" Joe mused, pulling your attention back to him.

"Hopefully soon," you replied, and he nodded in agreement.

As the night progressed, the crowd began moving to the dance floor, and you happily joined in. Your hips swayed to the music, and you felt hands on your waist from behind you. You turned to find a guy you had noticed at the bar earlier, his dark shaggy hair framing a handsome smile. Oblivious to Joe's growing tension, you began dancing with him, fully caught up in the moment.

"You alright, man?" Jamar asked Joe, who was glaring out at the dance floor. Following his gaze, Jamar snorted. "Ahh, I see."

Joe didn’t respond, seething quietly as he watched the guy’s hands roam lower and lower. He gripped his beer tightly, trying to keep his cool.

You had turned around with your hands around the guy's neck, accepting it when his lips met yours.

"Come home with me," he whispered in your ear. You looked up at him, surprised.

"I want to stay a little longer, though. I can't ditch my friends yet," you replied.

"I don’t care about your friends," he said, his tone making you squirm. "Let’s go."

Not liking this sudden switch from charming to demanding, you pulled back.

"No, I don’t think I want to," you said, crossing your arms defiantly.

"Don’t be such a cunt," he shot back. "You've been throwing yourself at me all night like a little whore."

"Watch your fucking mouth."

You didn’t even know where Joe had come from, but he was suddenly in the guy's face, shaking with rage. You reached for his bicep, trying to pull him back, but he shook you off.

"Who are you, tough guy?" the guy sneered at Joe. "She’s not going to suck you off for defending her. She’s just a tease."

Something snapped in Joe that you had never seen before. With a fierce shove, he sent the guy stumbling back before his fist flew, connecting with the guy's face. He didn’t stop until Jamar pulled him off, the guy now bloodied on the ground. Jamar dragged Joe outside while you explained the situation to security, assuring them that police involvement wasn’t necessary.

As you stepped outside, you saw Jamar looking panicked, watching Joe walk away from him.

"I've never seen him snap like that," Jamar said, his voice full of disbelief. "Not even in college; he’s always Mr. Cool. I need to find Jaelen. Can you deal with him?"

You nodded and pulled out your keys, the alcohol having worn off hours ago. As you drove up beside Joe, he climbed into the passenger seat, silent and brooding.

His hands were bloodied, and he cradled them in his lap to avoid staining your car. Once home, he followed you through the garage into the kitchen. You turned on the faucet, running his hands under the water to clean off the blood before bandaging him up.

"You scared me," you said softly, avoiding his gaze as you fiddled with your hands. "I've never seen you like that."

"I'm sorry," he said gently, his eyes reflecting genuine remorse. "I don't know what came over me."

You looked up and met his gaze, sensing his nervousness as he fidgeted.

"Why, then?" you whispered.

"He was hurting you," he replied, his voice steady. "I couldn't just stand by and do nothing."

"I don’t understand how you could get angry so fast like that," you said, thinking it over. "I thought you were in a good mood."

"I was, until I saw you dancing with him," he admitted, and your heart raced. "I didn’t like his hands on you like that."

"Joe, I’m 25 years old," you said firmly. "I’m allowed to dance with people at a bar."

"I’m not saying you can’t," he countered, his gaze intense. "But..."

"But what?" you urged him to continue.

"But it should only be with me," he finished, and your breath caught in your throat. "I want to be the only one you dance with like that."

"You know you could have just told me this instead of... well, committing assault," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"It wasn’t assault," he grumbled, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"I like you too, Joe," you confessed, lifting your chin to press your lips against his. "But no more fights, okay?"

[willthewiz]

Will's Arc Ties the Whole Series Together

"Will really takes center stage again in [season] 5," Ross Duffer told Variety. "This emotional arc for him is what we feel is going to hopefully tie the whole series together. Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected. So part of his journey, it’s not just sexuality – it’s Will coming into his own as a young man."

So in other words...

Will Byers will receive more attention in season 5 due to his importance in the story. His goals, motivations, conflicts, and decisions will make Will’s story an emotional arc. Instead of Will keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself, he’ll become more open and honest not just to others but also himself. Instead of needing protection and being treated like a child, he will stand up to fight to protect others and make his own decisions instead of doing what others want him to do. To come into his own, Will must face challenges such as going against numerous enemies and trials along the way (internal and external conflicts), and emerge stronger and wiser at the end. Once Will overcomes these challenges, he’ll be able to:

Utilize his strengths and unique qualities to his fullest extent.

Become more self-assured and comfortable in his own skin, no longer needing to defer to others or hold himself back.

Establish a strong, independent sense of self, rather than relying on others' perceptions or definitions of who he is.

Fully showcase his talents, skills, and perspectives, without feeling the need to conform or blend in.

Reach new heights in his career, personal life, or other endeavors where his true abilities can shine.

Will’s story is about self-discovery and growth. He will grow into the fullest expression of his authentic self and potential. His emotional arc will tie the whole series together because in order to defeat Vecna and save Hawkins, Will must stop clinging to his childhood and use that support from others as a stepping stone toward finally growing up and becoming a young man.

And we know Will will always need Mike. Mike is part of the key to Will's self-discovery. Mike makes Will feel like he's not a mistake. He feels better for being different because of Mike. He can be himself because of Mike. And that gives him the courage to fight on. The courage to finally defeat Vecna once and for all. That support from others will play a part in Will growing as a person, thus leading to Will becoming a young man and facing against Vecna.

As I said before, Will’s arc is about self-discovery and growth. He has that acceptance from others such as Jonathan and Mike, and that support will help him grow as a person and become fully comfortable in his own skin. However, Mike isn’t the key because of his acceptance, but rather part of the key to Will coming into his own. Becoming his own person. Will having support is important, but that’s not his story. After coming back from the upside down, Will has been clinging to his childhood. Will’s arc is not about acceptance from others, it’s about him growing up and finding out who he is as a young man. That acceptance and support will lead Will in the right direction toward self-discovery and growth.

"I think Mike is trying to be as normal as possible and try to keep on a normal path." —Finn Wolfhard

"How is he (Mike) this clueless right now? With the Will scene in the car, I remember asking the Duffers, why would he not know this? And they're like, don't worry it'll pay off in the end." —Finn Wolfhard

"I can just tell you that I'm very very excited for what's to come. I think they did a great job with Will's character this season, and beautifully addressed everything they needed to. The way they closed the show is just perfect – the story started with Will, and it’ll end with Will."

—Noah Schnapp

"Our show is an anthem for the marginalized and imperfect, precisely because the Duffer brothers know from experience that the popular and easy road is rarely the most interesting one, and that character, grit, connection, and soul are bred in the same moments that challenge us the most." —Shawn Levy

With Mike and Will becoming a team in season 5 and Will taking center stage, it could only mean one thing...

Byler Endgame

[harveysweakness]

hi! do you think you could make a story where harvey’s wife gets really sick at work after working on a case non stop and he has to take care of her? i loooove a good domestic harvey story :))

A/N: i love domestic fics and i loved this request!!!!! I’ll write more in the future I’m sure :) also the gif didn’t load before i chose it so we’ll see what random one we get

You cleared your throat, signing the final documents for the case you’d just won. You’d been working non-stop and everyone in the office knew it. This case was personal, meaning you hadn’t trusted your personal associate with it. And that had meant you were the one working without sleep.

A knock at your glass door caught your attention.

“Congratulations are in order,” Jessica smiled.

“Thank you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You worked yourself into the ground, didn’t you?”

“I’m fine.”

She laughed lightly. “Harvey won’t let that go like I will.”

“Well, he can suck my-“

“Feel better, Y/N,” Jessica interrupted, laughing. “And congratulations, again.”

You sighed after she left. The annoying need to sniffle every five seconds from your running nose and the constant itch in your throat was a sure sign that you had indeed run yourself into the ground.

———————

A few hours later you were freezing, one of your comfy blankets wrapped around you while you focused on finishing up last minute little jobs you hadn’t done due to preparing for trial.

“Someone told me you weren’t feeling well.”

You looked up from your computer, unable to stop the smile that formed, the same smile anytime you saw your husband.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, watching him walk around your desk to sit on the edge right next to your chair. You kept your face neutral while he analyzed you.

“You’re flushed, I can feel the heat radiating off of you, I can hear your breathing which means you have a stuffy nose, and your voice sounds hoarse.”

“So?” You retorted, crossing your arms. He rolled his eyes.

“So, you’re coming with me and I’m taking you home.”

“No.”

“Don’t argue with me, Y/N. You won your trial and now you need to rest.”

“Harvey-“

“Sweetheart, please.”

You sighed, giving in. You muffled a cough into your blanket, your husband brushing his hand across your forehead before tucking fallen hair behind your ear.

“What about your work?” You asked.

“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” he shrugged. “Mike can handle it.”

Your heart warmed. It wasn’t often your husband took a day off of work, especially not for something as simple as this.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied, shaking his head, before he stood. “Come on, let’s get your coat.”

You stood, shrugging off your cozy blanket and moving right into your wool coat Harvey had open and ready for you. He grabbed your scarf, wrapping it snugly around your neck. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and grabbed your bag, letting his hand rest on your lower back as he guided you out of your office and down the hall towards the elevators.

Donna caught up with you on the way, giving your arm a brief squeeze, mouthing ‘feel better.’

“Donna, canc-“

“All of your meetings for the day are canceled, Mike has been made aware, and he asked me to pass along ‘feel better and congrats on the trial.”

Harvey nodded his approval.

“Thanks, Donna,” you smiled. She winked before moving to stand directly in front of Harvey, stopping you both effectively in your tracks.

“If you don’t nurse her back to full health, I will personally make sure Louis ends up alone in your office and touches all of your records.”

Harvey gave a pointed look. “I swear to you, Donna, I will make sure she gets back to full health.”

“That’s what I needed to hear.” With that, she left.

“Ever since you came to this firm, people suddenly prefer you to me,” your husband wondered aloud.

“Can you really blame them?” You teased.

“No, I can’t,” Harvey answered simply, hitting the elevator button.

—————

“What is that smell?” You questioned, wandering into the kitchen.

“I’m surprised you can smell at all,” Harvey replied. “It’s soup.”

“I can smell a little bit, and that is one good-smelling soup.” You sat down at one of the counter stools, watching your husband stirring the large pot on the stove, his laptop open on the counter next to him.

“Harvey, if you have work, you don’t need to stay here and take care of me.”

He turned, wiping his hands on the towel next to the sink. “It’s just the recipe.”

He turned to remove the pot from the hot burner before coming over to you.

“You’re not as flushed,” - his hand came to rest on your forehead- “and you’re fever is down.”

“So why do I feel worse?” You asked quietly. His brow furrowed before he moved closer, his arms circling around you, letting you burrow your face into his chest.

It wasn’t easy for either of you to show vulnerability, something you were both trying to work on since you both cared so much about the other.

“Why don’t I get you a bowl of soup and then we can cuddle in bed and watch whatever show you want.”

You nodded, hesitantly pulling away from him. Before he went back to the stove he hooked a finger under your jaw and lifted your chin up, leaning down. You put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“You’ll get sick.”

“I don’t care.” He closed the gap easily, your hand moving from his chest up to his neck. His lips met yours for a moment before moving to your cheek and your forehead and your nose.

“I love you, Harvey Specter.”

“I love you, Y/N Specter.”

[steveshairychest]

Let's pretend that the upside down doesn't exist for a second.

Eddie still befriends Mike, Dustin and Lucas at school, but he doesn't meet anyone else. He knows of Steve Harrington, knows that he used to rule the halls of Hawkins High but, despite Dustin's constant begging for Eddie to meet him, he never really does.

Sure, Steve waved at Eddie whenever he dropped the kids off at hellfire and he offered to change Eddie's flat tire once, but that's it. After Eddie graduated, their paths never really crossed again.

Not until years later when they're both older and wiser and a little bit drunk in a bar far from the prying eyes of Hawkins.

Eddie bumps into a tall woman at the bar and the countless apologies he had ready instantly died on his tongue when she turned around and gave Eddie a dazzling smile. "Hi, Eddie. Didn't think I'd run into you here." She says with a light laugh. She has a really pretty laugh, and smile, and eyes and her hair looks so soft.

It takes Eddie's brain three business days to reconnect and realise that this gorgeous woman knows his name. He hadn't introduced himself, and yet she is smiling down at him like they're old friends.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" He waves over the bartender and orders himself and the mystery girl a drink.

She thanks Eddie for the drink and leans in closer to be heard over the music. "We went to high school together but I've, uh, definitely changed since then." She laughs and it's clear there's some joke he's not getting but he laughs anyways. He doesn't want her to walk away. He needs to know everything about her and he's trying so hard to remember everyone he went to high school with.

"Did we really go to school together? I think I would remember someone as gorgeous as you." He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear so that he can see her face properly. Her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of red, and she steps closer to him. "What's your name?"

"Stevie." She says softly, her voice a little shaky. "Harrington. My name is Stevie Harrington."

Eddie furrows his brows and takes a step back to really take her in. "I didn't know Steve had a sister."

Stevie throws her head back and laughs, it's a gorgeous sound. Eddie's scared he's fucked up by not remembering that Steve had a sister but then she meets his eyes and there's something there that feels oddly familiar.

"I don't have a sister, Eddie." She says and takes a sip of her drink, her eyes watching over the rim of the glass for Eddie's reaction.

"What -" And then everything finally clicks in his alcohol clouded mind. "Oh. Oh."

He can see it now, he can see that the ghost of someone he hardly knew clings to parts of her; the moles, the pouty lips, the kind hazel eyes. They are all features he used to find himself staring at during school, features he can’t stop staring at now.

"Is that a good oh?" She asks quietly, her hand fiddling with her bracelet nervously.

Eddie motions the bartender for another round of drinks and moves closer to Stevie, a gentle smile pulling at his lips as he says, "Definitely a good oh. I was actually, uh, Edwina before I was Eddie." He pulls his leather jacket aside to point at his bare chest underneath, at his top surgery scars. Stevie's mouth forms a soft 'oh', and the tension in her body leaves as she realises that she's safe, she's with someone like her, someone who understands.

He's never told anyone his dead name before, but he could see the fear in Stevie's eyes, fear that she'd said too much to the wrong person.

All that fear is gone now as she smiles, really smiles, down at him.

There's an excited energy radiating off her as she takes another sip from her drink and bumps her shoulder with Eddie's. "I'm glad you bumped into me tonight." She admits.

"Me, too." Eddie beams up at her, her heels making her tower over him, and he's honestly never been happier.

He hopes that this time, they can maybe be more than just acquaintances.

Maybe even more than friends.

[jaegerisim]

Vent post y'all are gonna hate me for.

I viscerally hate how the Duffers treat most of their non white or queer characters and I hate even more viscerally, how y'all big byler blogs in your circle jerk of other 5 big byler blogs casually like to ignore many red flags the show has.

Y'all like to say: "tHe DufFeRs ArE gReAt WrIteRs" and it's like girl, who are you lying to??? They aren't top shit writers at all. The Duffers are pretty mid imo. Yeah, they run a good show that's fun to watch and theorize abt , but that doesn't mean they're good writers cuz they're not.

1. they completely side lined Will during s3 for the sake of their straight romances: lumax, jancy, mlvn, duzie and partly stobin (even if stobin wasn't endgame, thankfully, Steve's intentions were clearly wanting to date Robin and they gave it a lot of screen time). Will was sidelined bc he didn't fit the straight romance plotline bc they planned to make him gay or whatever. Now in s4 Will and his feelings have been used as mlvn toilet paper. Yes, we like to say this is build up for byler but canonically, Will's feelings have been used to clean the shit mlvn leaves behind.

2. Billy was sympathized a lot during the last 2 seasons. They gave him the sad backstoryTM in order for ppl to feel sorry for him. Billy's backstory is literally Jonathan's but whatever.

3. El's anger issues are constantly girlboss-ified. They down play her bullying situation and literally just use it for El to be a ''girlboss" without realizing how triggering that is. As someone who has lived bullying, seeing it be ignored by canon and fanon is super sad. The whole Rink-O' Mania experience must have been so traumatizing for her yet, everyone absolutely forgets abt it 🤷🏻‍♀️

4. Robin, Erica and Argyle are stereotypical characters. Robin is the quirky lesbian with social anxiety, Erica is the badass black woman and Argyle is the Latino stoner that sells weed to white kids and works as a pizza delivery guy.

5. Altho Argyle and Eddie both do drugs, (Eddie actually sells K-12 to a minor and nobody batted an eye. He has a huge fan base). Eddie is held in a pedestal bc "poor thing 🥺 he lives in a trailer with his uncle 🥺". Tell me a single fact you know abt Argyle that isn't "he smokes weed", "he is Jonathan's only friend", "drives a van" and "he works at a pizzeria". Exactly, Eddie is given a useless backstory and Argyle isn't.

6. Dustin stopped being important to the plot sometime around s2 and s3. He is only there to curse and be mildly funny. My guy needs to hangout with ppl his age cuz he only hangs out with seniors.

7. El needs to stop having so much "I'M THAT BITCH" screentime like I need in s5 for El's arc to not just be her becoming more powerful and falling in love with Mike. I need the Duffers to explore her trauma and problems.

8. Angela should have been run over by the van.

9. Patrick should have been given a backstory that isn't the basic "strict black parents that hit their kids cuz they are a disgrace". Patrick's backstory is actually racist af, fight w the wall.

10. As Lex already said, they didn't trigger tag the ep where Jason and his friends assault Lucas and Erica. Like wtf? Why was that necessary? Why did I have to see a black boy being held at gunpoint by some white guy?? Was it relevant to the plot?? I don't think so. And then I've got to see ppl online be like "Jason wasn't that bad. He was just mourning" like bitch you can stfu. This is what happens when you make the racist assholes conventionally attractive.

Also the fact that Lucas's arc is fulfilled by him fist-fighting Jason and "embracing his weirdness" aka accepting he is black. His arc was not fulfilled at all cuz that ending spoke so loud to me. It showed how little empathy ppl have towards the struggles poc ppl living in the Midwest have. Y'all circle jerks can only see racism when it's super obvious.

Furthermore, parents complained when ST showed "an excessive amount of smoking" yet nobody batted an eye when Billy tried to run over Lucas, when Erica (an 11 y.o ffs) was chased by white kids or when Lucas was held at gunpoint by Jason.

All of this happened while they focused on Max's guilt and mourning that, yeah, are important but certainly not less important than racism!!!

11. In s3, they gave us that whole Nancy vs The Bigots arc that was honestly just triggering and useless. It didn't help Nancy's character at all, quite the opposite it put unnecessary angst.

12. Lonnie being presented as an abuser just for him to never be spoken of again. Can we please get to explore the trauma he left the Byers's with?

13. The fact that both queer relationships are considered "sloppy seconds" is extremely sad. Both Vickie and Mike are rebounding from their failed relationship with Robin and Will. These 2 ships have caused more commotion than Jancy and Jopper together! (These last ships are technically sloppy seconds too but everybody forgets that. Shocker!!)

14. Last but not least, ppl blame Argyle for being the one to get Jonathan into smoking weed as if Jonathan probably wasn't the one looking for it. Let me tell you, that you only find weed if you look for it.

[adoresmiles]

His Concealed Obsession

Chapter one.

"I just don't get how you two still have a job when you're both always at my place."

"We just came by to check in on you since the news about your neighbor broke out in the news this morning."

"Oh yeah , I saw it on the news. I feel so bad for her kids. She was always spoke to me whenever we come would come across each other . Invited me over to dinner , go out for lunch and hell she even invited me to spa dates with her and her daughter."

"You talking about Nicole?"

"Yea Jax , the same Nicole you slept with before you married your wife."

"Jaxon Tyree!"

"It was an accident Nani and I don't even know why KP brought it up."

"I hope and pray that my nephew doesn't turn out like you as he gets older."

"With all the amazing women in his life , he's going to come out a thousand times better than me."

"Anyways you need to be careful Kanani, your neighbor who was a well known attorney was murder inside of her."

"Maybe you should come and stay with one of until KP and them get everything done. Cause I be damn if my baby sister gets murdered next."

"I understand you are worried about my safety but if mom and dad haven't said anything about it yet to me then you guys shouldn't either. I'm safe here and I have an alarm system and cameras inside of my apartment."

"Now you know damn well them cameras and alarm systems ain't going to save your short ass."

"You need a guard dog and damn gun. I keep telling you to go ahead and get a gun and take classes on how to use it properly."

"Nope , I refuse to get a gun. You know how I feel about them ever since that damn party."

"Kanani you're killing us right now right now."

"I know and I'm sorry. Look how many who have guns out here and they don't even use it properly?! You have kids going to school shooting their teachers , grown ass adults who went to school coming back for revenge, young black men taking each other out."

"Hate to say this, but it's this shit happens everyday and everywhere Nani."

"Yes but also if we stop giving the wrong people guns and do a fucking throughly background check then it wouldn't be problem. Lock your guns away from your children. It's more  gun violence out there than love and I just refuse to be apart of it."

Kanani stated to her two older brothers as she walked around her kitchen counter to get herself a glass of juice.

"Think about it from our perspective. What if you were in that situation? Would you have fought back ? Call the police ?"

"Calling the police and locking them inside the closet. The closet doors lock from the outside and plus in order to even get inside you need my finger print and the code to get inside the door."

"Not saying I'm on her side here but trying to break down these doors are heavy as hell."

"It sounds like to me you're on little KP side right now. I don't suppose to say this but this per- hold on ... hello? Wassup uncle Mike?"

"While detective KP over there chatting away. Let's talk about where you are going to be staying."

"I'm not leaving my house because of some killer is on the loose. If I feel like I am in great danger then I'll show up on either yours or KP door step."

"You're going to give me gray hairs before Jordan even turns eighteen."

"That sounds like a personal problem Jaxon. Why are you trying to control something that you're not able to control yourself?"

"Because you're my baby sister Nani. If anything were to hap- if someone were to hurt you , I'll gladly sit behind bars for killing them. That goes for KP too! I'm yall older brother and it's my job to make sure that you both are good at all times. Yeah KP a detective and all but that don't matter to me."

"Jaxon I appreciate you and I know you're concerned about my safety but you have to trust me. If I feel as if my life is in jeopardy then you'll be the first one to know. Plea-"

"Aye Jax we got to go , uncle Mike and uncle Marcus need some help with this case. I can drop you off back the fire station or you good?"

"I'm good , Nani can drop me off back at the station."

"Nope , sorry can't do it. I have to go get ready before my friend comes over for our lunch date."

"Damn it's like that?"

"Sure is , now can you guys go so I can go get ready? I need at least two hours to mentally prepare myself."

"We didn't even finish our conversation."

"I'm staying home and that's final. Please don't forget that one of you has to pick up mom and dad from the airport tomorrow afternoon."

"Well I can't do it since this is my weekend it work."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I'm the one who dropped them off and plus I have back to back meetings for my store grand opening."

"Oh yeah I forgot , yeah I'll pick them up tomorrow then. I'll have Jordan tag along with me to keep me entertained on the way there."

"Aight now, we out! Be safe and don't be out here grown. We locking the door behind us since yo ass wants to walk away without giving hugs and shit."

"And share your location too, love you big head!"

"Love you too, now bye!"

Kanani expressed to them both as she walked down her hallway that lead into her bedroom. She loved her brother's but after dealing with them for long , she needed a mental reset. Their conversation regarding the circumstances of her neighbor was not necessarily needed. Yes , the situation is sad but it doesn't involve her. She could see if she was there and witnessed it but she wasn't.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock on her door. A look of confusion displayed on her face as she looked down the hallway of her home. Kanani wasn't expecting anyone until the next couple of hours. So she was confused on who or what could it possibly be . Dropping her unfolded blanket onto the ground , she decided to go and see who it could be.

"This better not be one of these neighbors kids knocking on my dam- oh hey David, what brings you by?

"These are for you señorita Kanani."

"My favorite flowers, they're so beautiful. Do you know who sent them in?"

"Frangipani plumeria. I unfortunately don't but they did leave a note for you. I have to get going , the other set of flowers are placed on your table."

"Thank you David!"

"Anything for you señorita Kanani. It seems like you have a keeper in your hands."

"That it does , hopefully this note tells me who it is."

"Have a good day."

"....hmmm who the hell sent me two sets of frangipani flowers. Dile si al cielo dime si a mi. Well that is cute of them to put my favorite song on there. Seems like this person really paid attention to me."

Kanani smiled once again as she smelled the freshly picked flowers. Frangipani flowers were simply her favorite since they reminded her of Hawai'i , where she was originally born. Now cheesing ear to ear Kanani quickly arranged the flowers to her liking before rushing off to prepare for her day.

"Today is going to be a really good ass day for me."

Translation

"dile si al cielo dime si a mi" : say yes to heaven say yes to me

[theyluvlyss]

𝐬𝐨, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞...

I literally just came up with this little drabble, and I'm sorry, but it's funny to me, so-

but anyway, two more shazam fics are on the way pretty soon (one freddy, one billy), and then I got a stranger things/mike wheeler request after that, so be on the lookout :) !

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝

《 ♡ 》 oneshot/crack-fic

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 :

reader loves it when billy showcases his power. billy loves showing off to his girlfriend. it's a win-win situation, to be honest.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

fem!girlfriend!reader x billy batson - she/her/hers pronouns!

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞 :

post shazam!: fury of the gods

𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 :

yelling/screaming (in a good way, dw) - lots of begging from reader lmao - billy being easily swayed bc he wuvs you🥰 - dang, this is kinda crazy sounding outta context, huh? - anyways - this whole thing is just very berry cute, methinks - good vibes only, supa good vibes only✨️ - shrek reference

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

"Do the thing!"

It was a sudden squeal, almost as if you'd been holding it back for a while. Not to mention, the walk back to his place had been comfortably silent the whole time before, your hand in his with both stuffed off in his coat pocket in order to shield them from the cold, winter weather.

Although, the squeezes you would give occasionally should've been somewhat of a warning sign. Billy just figured it was a silent, "I love you" of some sort, returning the action every time with butterflies in his chest that kept him warm.

He never would've guessed them as a sign for an incoming fangirl moment. And so, to be sure...

"What thing?"

Not that he wasn't genuinely confused, of course.

"Ya'know... the thing that I like?"

He looked down at you, met with your beaming smile back up at him that brought on one of his own. Still unsure, though, merely repeating the words you had jingled to him all of the sudden back to you in a tone of skepticism.

"The thing you like?"

"Yeah!" You chriped, waiting for him to catch on excitedly, only to be mildly disappointed when that moment never came and he shook his head in dismiss.

"...I don't know, I'm still lost."

"Billy, noo..." You whined, nudging him a bit with your side as the walk continued. "Pleaseeee?"

"What thing?!"

And before you could fully explain yourself, you saw a look in the emerald of his eyes that told you he was faking, the boy having caught on by this point and leaving you to huff and turn away.

"...Stop, you know what I'm talking about, you're just being mean."

Deep chuckles came from his chest, Billy nodding to himself in amusement after you had realized he was teasing you. And, because it was in his nature, he continued to do so until you would ask properly.

"You're right, I do know. I just wanna hear you say it."

"Mncht." You clicked your tongue but didn't give in to the vexing feeling of your boyfriend complicating the process, keeping strong at your pleads in hopes to simply just wear him down.

"Billyyy...please do the thing? Please?"

"C'monnnn..." He urged, nudging his shoulder with yours, and was satisfied with the roll of your eyes and his implied directions followed.

"Hmff... Can you pleaaase say the word? Please?"

"You want me to say the word~?" He repeated, this time with a tone of flirtatiousness that you willingly succumbed to, snuggling up to his arm almost too cheesy for your own liking as you gave an eager, "Yes!"

"Mmm, I dunnooo'..."

This boy and his need to taunt, you swore, would be the death of you...! And yet, it was charming enough for you to let it slide.

No, he was charming enough for you to let it slide. Shaggy brown hair and gorgeous green eyes and those cute dimples whenever he flashed you that winning smile...

Plus, you had been on the verge of geeking out the whole day out with him. Your boyfriend is a superhero for Christ's sake! Of course you'd want to randomly see the magic of it all from time to time! And it's not like you ever knew him to shy away from amazing you whenever he could. So...

"Please-please-please with a lot of maraschino cherries on top?"

Billy laughed at your specifics, already in the midst of guiding you towards a secluded area away from crowds and bystanders.

"Okay, okay, but only because you asked so nicely."

"Yes, yay-yay-yay...!!"

Your cheers and giggles of excitement went hushed by your own hands, waiting in anticipation as Billy took some safety steps back away from you and gave one last look around the area. When he was sure he was in the clear, he granted you your wish. Did just as you asked...

He said the word...

"SHAZAM!!"

...and with a thunderous crash of lightning and a blinding light for only a moment, he was transformed into his older, super-self, and you were laughing wildly through jagged gasps of amazement.

"AHAHAHAHA!!!"

A little bit of a crazy laugh, you'd admit later, but not the point-

"Yeah? How was that?!" Billy-... Shazam asked, his arms spread wide open as he walked closer to you.

"Super loud and scary!" You squealed, hopping around like a little girl who was seeing a fireworks show for the first time, the glowing emblem on his chest casting you and the entire alleyway in gold.

"Yeah?!" Shazam nodded in confirmation with a grin just as wide as your own.

"But it's so hot!!"

"Yeah, it is...!"

Billy's ego? Boosted.

Your fangirl levels? Off the charts.

Hotel? Trivago.

"Okay, now do it again, but back to you-you." You demanded requested, doing a small spin move with your index finger while Shazam dropped his arms to his side.

"Dude-"

"-Please?" You cut before he could provide any light scolds or reasons as to why he shouldn't. You were his girlfriend, and you were so cute looking up at him, expecting to see her boyfriend, now, and not some grown man version of him she... liked... but didn't truly care for.

"...Okay."

"Yay!" You clapped, moving yourself back this time to avoid a second lighting strike.

"SHAZAM!!"

And with that, he was back to himself, your Billy Batson, standing with his arms still open in hopes he'd impressed you the way you had assumed he would.

And god, did he go above and beyond.

"AHAHAHA, YOU'RE SO COOL, I LOVE YOU!!!" You nearly screamed, voice rasping over from the sheer amount of pressure you were putting on your throat.

"I love you, too! C'mere...!" He laughed, admiring your excited figure and the way you were already running towards for him to catch you in his arms in a warm hug.

It lasted for longer than you both expected, but was clearly needed as you enjoyed each other's presence and touch.

"You know what you reminded me of, lowkey?" Billy murmured, no need to be any louder when he was right by your ear.

"Hmm?" You hummed, face pressed into the crook of his neck, cold nose tickling his skin.

"...Do the roar."

You pulled away very slowly. Your face went about as cold as your feet were right now, staring deep into Billy's eyes with a look of pure disbelief.

He stared back. Grinning, head nodding as if to say, "Yeah? Right?" like a puppy.

"You know what?" You hummed gently, returning the smile softly while your vision trailed his features and then down to his chest.

"Yeah?"

You pointed directly to his heart.

"You...are amazingly talented..."

":D!?"

"...at ruining nice moments between us."

":0..."

You nodded, satisfied with yourself at the light tease.

"Mhm, yeah :)."

𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐬-...𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭...𝐢𝐬- 𝐈-...

is it obvious I have such a BAD crush on billy, and this is lowkey shamelessly self-indulgent, or nah🧍🏽‍♀️?

you said nah?

awesome, cool, thanks /ᐠ-⩊-マ.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 :

me🤭

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :

1,132 words

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 :

none :(

[jealousjersey]

⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚ make your eyes roll ⋆ ˚ ꩜ ｡ ⋆୨୧˚

✩°🎧✮ mike schmidt x perv!reader✩°🎧✮

a/n ★ this is pure porn idk what to say

mentions & warnings: reader is afab, fem. reader has a praise kink, p in v unprotected (wrap it)

!!!MINORS DNI I HAVE A BAT !!!

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

fucking mike schmidt is always the best part of your day. it’s no secret he’s a sex freak, using you for your best parts and watching his cum leak out of you while your eyes are painfully rolled back into your head.

mike wants things “casual” and you’re fine with that, until you realized your utter obsession with him. you wanted him all the time but you knew he had to work. thank god he gave you the spare key when you begged for it.

you use your key and decide to invite yourself in, you knew mike was at work but that didn’t stop you. you slowly creep into his empty bedroom and sit on his bed, and almost immediately just from the atmosphere you feel warmness going from your stomach to your cunt. since mike isn’t here you think “fuck it, why not?” and start lowering your hand down your stomach and into your panties.

after 3 minutes of you finally playing with yourself. “fuck mike” you moan loudly as your fingers are pumping in and out of yourself, mike enters the house, he runs straight into his room as he hears your moans.

“needy aren’t you?” he interrupts. you see him peering at you through his door frame. “oh you’re just fucking precious, breaking into my house to play with yourself on my bed, thinking about me.” he scoffs, trying to hide the grin on his face.

“m’sorry mike i just need you” you say pathetically. the sound of it coming out of your mouth is embarrassingly needy. even for you. you spread your legs out and mike swiftly takes off his jeans, exposing his cock to you. the sight of you has him rock hard and ready to fuck you. mike teases your cunt, only putting the tip in, almost like he’s punishing you.

“mike please need you s’bad” you mumble as he circles his fingers around your clit. “be a good girl and we’ll talk.” he says as he stops completely. you’re so desperate for touch you attempt to play with yourself since he won’t. “nope. do what i say and you’ll be able to cum today.” he says as he grasps your wrists

“okay okay, what do i need to do” you stop fighting and ask him. “get completely naked.” he orders. you take off your shirt and bra immediately. “now spit on your hands and play with yourself for me baby” he instructs. you draw a line of spit from your mouth onto your ring and middle finger and resume pumping your fingers into yourself. as mike looks down at you and smiles. “good girl, now move those fingers and let me properly fuck you.” he says. and you swore you never wanted to hear those words more now than ever

mike inserts himself completely into you and you yelp at the thrust of him hitting your gspot on the first shot. “fuck baby you feel s’good. s’fuckin wet for me” he groans. him talking to you like that makes you soak his dick in your wetness. he pumps in and out of you until you’re seeing stars “faster mike please- i’m gonna cum” you yell out. mike starts pumping faster and spits on your pussy as he’s pacing himself, almost to his release as well.

you hear him groan out and feel his dick twitch inside you. “cum inside mike i need you to fill me up” you mumble as your eyes roll back into your head. his view of this makes him explode inside you. you’re about a second after him, orgasming with him.

after 10 minutes pass, both of you are back to the present, mike cleans both of you up and looks at you smirking, “i love when i make your eyes roll”

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────────

[oh-stars]

Unspoken Habits

Love Is Silently Passing Them A Pickle Because You Know It’s Their Favorite.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 733 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

--

It’s been forever since they all got together. Steve’s got an arm slung over Robin’s shoulders and is leaning toward Max to talk shit about Mike, while Eddie’s squished between Dustin and Nancy on the opposite side. The rest of the party surround the table, laughing and talking so loudly he’s not even sure if you could call it that anymore. 

As nice as it is, Eddie feels a little bad for how rowdy they are in the middle of a restaurant. Thankfully, it doesn’t last too terribly long once the food comes out. 

“Okay,” their waiter says as he brings out two others with big trays of food, “help me out here.” 

It’s an ordeal to get everyone’s orders where they need to go, but once it’s settled, they all start to tuck in. 

Eddie’s squirting ketchup all over his fries when he looks up to see Steve’s plate has a pickle on it. His chicken fingers didn’t come with a pickle. Dammit. 

Steve’s not even looking, still listening to Lucas’ story about the game he had the other day. He just picks up his plate and holds it out for Eddie. 

Fuck yeah! Eddie plucks the pickle off Steve’s plate and takes a big bite, then sets the rest down on the edge of his basket. 

“Can we please talk about the new player’s handbook that came out?” Dustin says, muffled around his straw. 

“I haven’t picked it up yet,” Eddie admits. 

Dustin groans, then launches into a full comparison of the last version and this new edition. Which brings Mike and Will into the conversation, too, and soon they’re all debating about the merits of all of the editions, which one is superior and the best in both the standard and advanced games. 

He’s so lost in the topic that he nearly misses Robin handing Steve her pickle. 

Eddie’s got a mouthful, chewing faster so he can correct her mistake because Steve doesn’t like pickles. He doesn’t like a lot of things, he’s almost always handing Eddie something at every meal, whether it's olives or pickles or green skittles. 

But then Steve stops him in his tracks and takes the biggest bite out of the pickle. 

What the fuck is this?

Eddie turns away from the nerd talk to lean forward, mouth finally free to talk. “What was that?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow and puts the pickle down on his plate, hanging off the edge so it doesn’t touch his remaining fries. “What was what?” 

“That!” Eddie points to the pickle.

Robin looks like he’s lost his mind and she may have a point, but the input isn’t necessary. “Is he not allowed to eat? Jesus, Munson.” 

“Not pickles, he’s not,” Eddie says. “You hate pickles.” 

Steve’s cheeks go pink as he shakes his head, fringe bouncing on his forehead. He’s bashful when he meets Eddie’s eye. “No, I don’t,” he says softly. 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. It’s like the world has turned upside down (no pun intended) and he’s left marooned on an island of imposters. The fuck is this?

He shrugs and leans forward a little, mirroring Eddie’s posture as they rest their crossed arms on the table and try to get a little closer despite the distance. “I like pickles, Eds. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie says half-heartedly. “Since when?” 

“Always?” Robin interjects. “You guys have been together for almost a decade! How do you not know that he loves pickles?” 

Steve’s face gets even redder. 

Eddie feels like he’s been shot, the ultimate betrayal playing out before him. He clutches at his chest. “Stevie?” he squeaks out. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, reaching a hand across the table. 

“Then why do you…” 

Steve just smiles. “You love them.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s all that matters,” Steve says softly. 

“Can you two stop being all sappy for like two seconds? Some of us are trying to eat,” Max says, nearly snarling with disgust (even though her eyes are all gooey so it doesn’t land the way she’s hoping for). 

Steve laughs and takes his hand back. He winks at Eddie from across the table before turning back to Robin to talk in their weird twin language. 

Dammit, he really loves this man. With his stupid winks and silly sacrifices. If that’s not true love, Eddie doesn’t know what is.

--

Thanks to @lady-lostmind for betaing!

Ao3 Link

[kenananamin]

Nanami watching a reality show

a very short list of hcs about nanami kento watching a reality show bc i was watching jersey shore, the hills, and sister wives and wondered what he would think about those shows and reality shows in general lol enjoy!

always avoided watching them bc gojo gave him enough drama and he did not want more

passes you the control and tells you to put whatever you'd like since he was gonna finish his report and read his newspaper for a bit

you put on a reality show, and he doesn't do it but he feels like groaning just from hearing the cast speak

he's a quarter of the way in one section of the newspaper when he hears some of the juiciest comebacks he has ever heard in his life

he doesn't lift his head the whole way but he watches the tv for a bit under his eyebrows

the thing is, nanami is a lowkey chismoso aka nosy

he skims through the rest of the newspaper and closes it and leans back w you to watch. you ask if he wants to change it and get ready to pass him the remote but he stops you and says to keep watching it bc he's getting up in a bit to make lunch anyways

does not get up to make lunch, y'all end up ordering in and nanami asks who each person is 10 times before finally (kinda) remembering names and understanding the dynamics

he'll shake his head and quietly mumble, "damn, that so messy" or "why would anyone in their right mind do that?"

is very shocked at half the things they do or say, but tries to hold in his laughter when someone says something ridiculous

quickly has nicknames for the cast and has his favorites

strongly dislikes the instigator and sits on the edge of the couch when someone stands up to them... but also looks forward to what the instigator does next

watches 90 day fiancé w you and grunts about the episode length but quietly watches... and enjoys

watches 90 day fiancé the other way and enjoys the way americans complain

can only watch a bit everyday and compares reality shows to medication, can only do so much at a time

will later ask which shows you've watched and looks them up when he's alone

will give you updates on the casts after looking them up on social media. "did you know she got married? i think they'll cover that in the next season?"

takes mental notes of contradictions and reminds you of these contradictions during the reunions

feels himself getting irrationally upset at some of these people and has to remind himself it might be scripted

will eventually ask if you'd like to watch a more wholesome reality show to balance out the dramatic ones

later falls into the hole of survival shows

gets a bit sulky if you watch the shows without him

hates to admit that he wants to get back home and watch one of these shows

quietly asks if you'd like to have a weekly reality show day w him where you can relax all day (or most of it at least) and have snacks, order in and just watch watch and comment on these shows

these end up being one of his favorite moments of the week w you, snuggling and enjoying brain rotting television

extras about certain shows:

prays that angelina is removed from the shore house, that sammi and ron separate for their own good, and mike gets the help he needs (is happy when it all happens except for when angelina comes back in the family vacation spin-off)

lowkey wants to rewatch the hills after the ending leaves him wondering how scripted the entire show was (you go back to explain the drama behind that and how it was mtv poking fun at it all)

has given up on trying to learn the names of the kids in sister wives. knows their faces, not their names. feels like he has personal beef with kody. wants to catch up on all recent drama.

[willthewiz]

Mike's Truth

Mike: “I didn't… I didn't know what to say.”

Will: "Sometimes I think it's just scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel. Especially to people you care about the most. Because, what if… what if they don't like the truth?”

Mike: "I… I care for you… so much.”

El: "Care." But you don't… you don't love me anymore?

Mike: “What… Who… Who said that I didn't?”

El: “You never say it.”

Mike: “I say it.”

El: “You can't even write it, Mike. "From Mike." "From Mike." "From Mike." "From Mike." "From."

Mike: “Okay, okay. Eleven, you're being ridiculous. What, like… What is this? You know what I think of you. You're the most incredible person in the world. And you can't let these mouth breathers ruin you. Ruin us. I mean, they're nobodies. They're nobodies. And you're a superhero.”

El: “Not anymore.”

Mike didn't know what to say. He knew El wanted him to tell her he loved her but he didn't. Instead, he told her that he cared about her. And because he cares about El, he scared to say how he really feels. Because what if El doesn't like the truth?

Mike didn't know whether to say the truth about how he feels or to lie about how he feels. Telling El the truth about his feelings, opening up, is scary because he doesn't know if she will be okay with the truth.

But she already knows the truth. She knows Mike cares about her, but she also knows he won't say or write about how much he loves her. As Mike said, "You know what I think of you."

Mike: “I am scared that one day you’ll realize you don’t need me anymore.”

Mike: “But the truth is, El, I don’t know how to live without you.”

Mike: “And… I can’t lose you. Okay? Do you hear me? I can’t lose you.”

Mike is scared that he will lose El if she knew the truth. He's scared she wouldn't need him anymore once she found out. It's not that he can't live without her, but that he doesn't know how to live without her. He's kept the truth about his feelings hidden for so long that he doesn't know how to stop hiding because of that fear of losing her.

El: “I saw what I did. I am a monster.”

Papa: “You speak of monsters, superheroes. That’s the stuff of myth and fairy tales. Reality, truth, is rarely so simple. People are not so easily defined. Only by facing all of ourselves, the good and the bad, can we become whole.”

People are not just monsters or superheroes. They are not just bad or good. Because there is more to them than just being totally good or totally bad because we all have a reason for being those things and we all have a little good and a little bad in us. This doesn't mean we're all bad people. It just means that we aren't perfect because we have flaws. And we should embrace that. By facing not just the good things about us, but the bad things (the things that make us imperfect) too, we’ll understand ourselves on a much deeper level. A half, becoming whole. By facing all of ourselves, we become whole. We become whole by finding the other half of ourselves that we ignore and hide from.

“A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.”

El: “What if I don’t wanna become whole?”

Papa: “Then that is a choice. Your choice. The door is always open. This place is not a prison. This is. You chose to trust me once. I’m asking you to trust me again. Journey with me into the past one last time. Stop hiding, Eleven.”

In order for Eleven to get her powers back, to face all the good and the "bad" parts of herself to become whole, she must journey into the past. Step out from hiding in the shadows and step into the light. But no one can do this for her. She must be the one to make her choice to open the door to the past, come out from her hiding spot, and face all parts of herself that she has ignored and hid from.

I believe other characters will also have to stop hiding and journey into the past. For them to grow, they must become whole. There is another character who still chooses to hide and ignore the other half of themselves. And that is…

Mike.

Mike will need to say how he really feels. The truth needs to come out. Will a journey to the past help Mike face himself, all the good and the bad, and become whole?