#oh jesus a thing for the school paper

[splatoonpolls]

I can't really take "media literacy is dead" that 100% seriously ever since it became like a "pop psychology" term. It just sounds like everyone one day woke up for forgot the most basic of basic things. “Media literacy is dead” and they don’t add a because or due to. They show an example and sometimes refuses to expand on why it is dead. It shows the consequences but not the cause or the action.

Because like. It is already dead. It has been dead for a long time for a certain group of people. People always had shitty opinions on media. As long as it has existed. The thing was, they didn't just have access to express their opinion you know. Before it was mainly professional critics and academia. Now with social media, everyone can say shit. And that includes people who have shitty takes. It is no different than a nonartist trying to insert themselves in an artist centric situation. Most people will never be an expert unless they have spent hours upon hours learning about something. And that is where i think the problem comes from. Beginnner hobby artists saying "Klein's blue" is nothing special and they can do it. People have always joked about people viewing themselves as Scott Pilgrim or Patrick Bateman, and do not forget about how every year, a myriad of young inexperienced authors go "i don't like reading but I am creating a next Harry Potter" while storming writing forums.

I think the problem isn't inherently "media literacy is dying". But rather it has become increasingly harder for people, especially those new to a certain field to properly differentiate between a "good" and a "bad" analysis. It is the exact same reason youtube has put literal banners saying "hey, this news station is a public broadcasting company beloning to XZY" and "this is a registered medical professional from XYZ". Why you can look up to see if someone has a masters or PhD in something. Humans are gullible creatures and they like to just think the best of things. Why do you think so many beginner artists fall for Kooleen's art "tutorials" (oh yeah, Kooleen is a troll everyone)? Because sometimes, we are just too quick to trust anyone.

The problem isn't that media literacy is just died one day. But rather that media literacy is a zombie apocalypse and many are listening to the zombies instead of the doctors when it comes to opinions about media. And that the antidote (actually looking deeper into things in an academic level) is seen as "boring" or "not needed because i have youtube/tiktok/instagram" or whatever. And if people trust the zombies, they are going to become zombies. Media literacy is still alive, the problem is just amatures, beginners, whatever you may call it acting like professionals and trying to act like they have the same agency as everyone else.

So yeah, before you see like a take by a random person called "childesfangirl" or whatever using a random anime clip in the bakgrund while having text to speech read up their bad take. Remember that they don't have an essay in english, art history, film, and biomed. They are probably a 14 year old who will think about this take in about 4 years and just cringe.

What should worry us is how people are turning away from actual experts in a field. People becoming lazy and rather taking a cheaper option to affirm their thoughts rather than listen to someone who has the credentials to prove it. People would rather watch 4 youtube videos on something before checking in on what a professional has sad. Social media has allowed people to be lazy when seeking stuff. And that is the scary part.

TLDR: people have always had shitty opinions. But in a field of experts and a sea of inexperienced idiots. In a dopamin chasing landscape like social media. People will seek the quicker and faster option. The one that fulfills their biases. One that pits them against them vs us. Which is a problem that has existed even before social media, think the satanic panic where people would read a novel by a random paster on how DnD made your son worship satan than actually see how the game is played. The problem is, SHITTY OPINIONS ARE MUCH MUCH MORE AVAILABLE. And some people do in fact believe that YouTube is a replacement for school (I could make a whole rant about how children's entertainment has been ruined by youtube but that is for another day). Which it isn't please give some love for for teachers and librarians in these trying times okay.

[wonderjanga]

Biblical Marvel

This is connected to the Revival post. If you don’t want to go find that, let me give a quick summary of it. In that post, Mary and Freddy die a lot in their Marvel forms. As a result of this, Billy has to revive them a lot. It honestly stresses the poor boy out too because at the end of the Revival post, Billy finds some grey hairs. So, yeah.

Anyways, so people think Marvel is god sent in human form to protect them. (Let me also connect this to the Billy is Really Old post too. In that post, Billy has been a hero since 1940.) It explains why he hasn’t aged over the almost 80 years of him being a hero. Not only that but once, a homeless person asked him to turn water to wine, and he did, though that’s more a of Jesus thing.

Speaking of Jesus, some people think Mary and Junior are Jesus split in two. I mean, Mary has blue eyes (from C.C.) and brown hair (From Marilyn) for Christ’s sake. Not only that but her name is Mary. Maybe Jesus/Mary is honoring his/her mother. And as for Junior, maybe Mary took the looks and he took the gender?

Marvel: *sorting through letters and replying to a bunch of fan mail while sitting at a table in the kitchen.*

Wonder Woman: *Sitting next to him, eating ice cream*

Flash: *zips over and is now leaning on Marvel’s shoulder looking at the fan mail* “Dude, is that fan mail?”

Marvel: “Yup.” *finishes replying to a letter and putting it in the ‘done’ pile*

Flash: “How do even get fan mail? Do they know your address or something?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid.” *picks up a super fancy looking letter*

WW: “Pardon?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid. He gets them, and then he gives them to me.” *opens fancy letter*

Flash: “Wait, that little dude who does the radio show?”

Marvel: *Doesn’t like being called little but thinks it would be weird for him to defend himself while in Marvel form* “…Yeah… That ‘little’ dude.” *Takes out letter and reads it before sighing*

WW: “What’s wrong?”

Marvel: “The pope asked me to dinner again.” *sighs again and puts letter down on table to slouch and spin in his chair like a depressed little kid* “Now I gotta think of another excuse.”

WW: “The pope? As in the Catholic pope?” *eats bite of ice cream*

Flash: *looks to WW* “You know who the pope is?”

WW: *looks to Flash* “Yes? Flash, I may be from Themyscira, but I’m not completely ignorant of man’s world.” *looks to Billy* “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go?”

Marvel: *shrugs as he slows his spinning to a stop, having came up with an excuse. Picks up letter and starts replying* “I don’t know. Do you want to have dinner with a guy you’ve never met?”

WW: “I see. I suppose not.” *goes back to eating ice cream*

or

Mary: *Watching a show on a TV in Mount Justice*

Robin!Tim: “Mary? Could you help me with something?”

Mary: *pauses show* “Huh? Yeah sure.” *flies over to Tim* “What’s the problem?”

Robin!Tim: *sitting at the kitchen at the counter with a laptop* “Can you tell me everything you know about angels? I’m writing a paper about it for school.”

Mary: “Oh. Uh, sure?” *Proceeds to talk Tim’s ear off for the next 15 minutes about angels and their different types and personalities and such*

Robin!Tim: *finishes paper* “Thanks a lot.” *closes computer and hops off chair*

Mary: “No problem, but why’d you ask me specifically? Why not use the internet?”

Robin!Tim: “Aren’t you like the primary source?” *heads back to his room*

Mary: *confused*

or

*Captain Marvel flies down and asks to pet a woman’s dog when all of a sudden, a mother holding a child runs up to him*

Mother: “Please cure my child!” *holds child out to him* “You can perform one of your miracles, right? Please!”

Marvel: “What?” *looks between Mother and child.*

Child: *looks really sick*

Marvel: *gets concerned at the sick child* “You haven’t taken him to a hospital?”

Mother: “It’s too expensive! Please! Just this once.”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh…” ‘Solomon! Help me!’

Solomon: ‘Repeat after me, Billy’ *proceeds to rattle off healing spell*

Marvel: *repeats spell and heals child*

Mother: “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” *hugs child tight* “I’ve never been much of a religious nut, but now I’ll have to start believing more. Thank you so much!”

Marvel: *Little confused by sudden mention of religion* “Your welcome? Have a good day, miss.” *floats off the ground, giving her a little wave before flying off*

or

*Freddy is hanging outside one of a meeting rooms in the Watchtower because he wasn’t allowed in due to the face he looked like a kid. He’s now talking to someone on the phone.

Junior: *talking on a phone he magicked from God knows where while floating a foot or two off the ground*

Kid Flash: *bored out of his mind, leaning against a wall, standing next to him cause he also wasn’t allowed in for the same reason*

Junior: *ends call*

Kid Flash: “Who were ya talking too?”

Junior: “My friend, Cain.”

Kid Flash: “What, like bible Cain?” *was joking*

Junior: “Yup.” *didn’t realize he was joking*

Kid Flash: “What seriously? The Cain from the Bible? The Cain that stabbed his brother? The Cain that’s immortal because he stabbed his brother?”

Junior: “Yup.” *starts typing on phone, a little too nonchalant about the conversation*

Kid Flash: “And Cap just lets you be friends with him?”

Junior: “Uh yeah? Why wouldn’t he? You know he’s friends with him too, right?”

Kid Flash: “Wait really? Shouldn’t they hate each other or something?”

Junior: “No? Cain’s pretty chill.”

Kid Flash: *blinks a couple times at that* “Huh.” *he seems a little surprised*

*The meeting ends and the heroes file out of the meeting room before Kid Flash can ask another question*

[fuctacles]

you guys are feral for silly wereshifter Steve AU and I love that

Some meatheads are calling Eddie names again. The dog that's been tailing him appears out of nowhere and makes eye contact with him as it struts over to the group and lifts his leg, pissing all over the fresh wax on their BMW with the determination and focus of a dog that hasn't been outside for the whole day.

"Hey, get your fucking dog off my car!" One of the guys jumps up, but the warning show of canines stops him from shooing the dog away himself.

Eddie shrugs, though he's restraining a smile.

"It's not mine."

Later the dog finds him again as it always does, and he makes amends.

"You are my dog though, right? My good doggie. Who's my good boy?" he asks, scratching the overjoyed dog all over its furry body.

At home, Steve asks Robin to call him a good boy when he shifts, to see if it feels as good. It doesn't. Well, it does, but not in the same way.

It comes to the point when dog Steve spends more time with Eddie than human Steve. To soak in the happiness and love Eddie shows him.

"Is Steve okay?" Eddie asks one day, petting the dog beside him while they take a break from band practice. The rest of Hellfire is hanging out in the garage, with Mike jumping on every opportunity to learn guitar from Jeff and the rest usually following.

"Yeah?" Dustin cocks his head. "Why wouldn't he be?"

"I don't know." Eddie shrugs. "Haven't seen him in a while and you're never mentioning him anymore."

Dustin looks at the dog.

"He's fine. You're overthinking it."

Eddie thinks that might be it, but...

"I know we're not friends-friends but I don't even see him in passing! Hell, Buckley is there to hang out, and he's not!"

Dustin throws his hands up in the air, annoyed with the questions.

"Don't ask me, man! Ask him yourself! And, to be honest," he crosses his arms, glaring at the dog, for some reason. "I don't understand what's going on with him either."

Eddie frowns, looks at the dog that huffs loudly, and looks away with a grunt. He pats its fluffy fur.

"How am I supposed to ask him if he's never here?" he sighs. "I don't want to just corner him at his place."

Dusting looks at him like he failed elementary two times, not high school.

"There's this thing called phones?"

"Oh. Right."

"Jesus it's like you'd die without me."

"Well..."

"Not what I meant!" Dustin goes pale instantly, mortified by his own words.

"I know, kid." Eddie pulls his head down in reassurance and leans into a side hug. "Don't worry."

-----

"He's not picking up," he tells the dog while biting at a hangnail. "Maybe he's at work?" He wonders out loud and goes to the magazine pile on the coffee table. The dog struts behind him. He rummages through the papers under its watchful eye until he finds the Family Video pamphlet. He runs back to the phone with it and dials the number on the back.

"Hi, I'm looking for Steve? Oh, hi Buckley. Do you know if he's home? Okay. Can you tell him to call me when he's free? No, I just wanted to ask him something. Thanks. Bye."

When he hangs up, he's alone in the room.

"Buddy?"

There's a bark from the front of the trailer.

"Sure, sorry!"

He runs up to open the door for the dog already waiting there. But before it leaves, it nuzzles up into his hand, the wet nose and hesitance to leave reassuring Eddie that he'll be back sooner or later. He smiles at the dog, giving him one last scratch between the ears.

"Such a good boy. See you later, buddy."

----

Steve calls him not even an hour later.

"Eddie?" He sounds out of breath.

"Steve, hi!" He's relieved to hear him and suddenly realizes he doesn't remember the last time they actually talked. "Has Buckley talked to you already?"

"No?"

"Dustin then?"

"No- ah, yeah! He's mentioned you wanted to talk."

He's a bit disappointed Steve hasn't thought to reach out himself but it's better than nothing.

"Yeah, I Haven't seen you in a while, man. What have you been up to?"

"Uh, you know, just... This and that. Doing a lot of... Running. Exercises. You know."

Eddie doesn't know, but he's willing to nod along to keep the conversation going.

"Yeah, totally, you've been busy. Do you want to hang out maybe? Movie night, or, or..." He tries to come up with anything they could do together. "I got a new strain of weed we could test?" He offers.

Steve laughs at that, genuine and relaxed and Eddie relaxes at the sound himself.

"Sure, why not? Is tonight alright? I have a day off anyway."

Eddie's not prepared mentally and neither is his room but he agrees immediately.

"Sure, come over anytime."

"Okay I'll take a shower and I'm off."

When they meet up, everything seems normal. For about fifteen minutes.

Steve jumps whenever Eddie touches him, and his face is red, making Eddie look at him worriedly and ask if he's alright.

But all Steve can think about is “good boy” and belly scratches. When his leg twitches when Eddie touches his shoulder, he jumps off the couch, mortified by his body's reactions.

"Do you have a dog?!" he almost yells, looking around in panic.

Eddie blinks at him.

"Uh, no?" But then he frowns. "I mean, there is a dog," he corrects, and his brows crease in worry. "Wait, are you allergic?"

"Yes!" Steve points his finger at him. "I gotta go, man, sorry, I'm itching all over," he spits out fast, walking backward toward the exit and almost running into a wall. "But it was great seeing you, uh, bye!"

The doors slam shut and Eddie's left alone and confused, the reality show host still yelling from the screen.

[lordprettyflackotara]

noise || ben drowned || maid!reader || (𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓵𝔂pasta au)

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: switch!stoner!ben, orgasm denial, thigh riding, face fucking, weed use (duh)

You awkwardly jogged down the main hallway, arms full of cleaning supplies. You had accidentally caught Jeff at a bad time, the pale killer soaked in blood and unhappy with his new wound that came from his victim. Pissing him off was not an intentional act, but it was one you were certainly going to pay for. Apparently tending to the blood soaked floor before him was insulting. You found this absurd considering you were the mansions maid, not doctor. Nevertheless your attention being focused elsewhere pissed him off, resulting in your feet pattering against the floor as you ran down the hall.

Your bottles full of various cleaners swished around as you turned the corner, your body ramming straight into an all too familiar blonde. A wave of marijuana invaded your nostrils, bong water splashing out of his glass piece and landing on the both of you. “Oh shit i’m so so sorry,” You say. Awkwardly you ripped off a paper towel, trying to dab at Ben’s shirt. Ben wasn’t much taller than you, a joint loosely hanging from his lips as he looked down at you. “Dont sweat it princess. Say uh, is there a reason you’re running a marathon?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. It was then the loud pounding stomps interrupted your conversation, your face turning red. “Where are you?! You little bitch!” Jeff screeched. Frantically you grabbed his army green hoodie, pawing at the fabric.

“Hide me!”

Ben may have been too high to fully comprehend your request, but that didn’t stop him from shoving you into his bedroom and shutting the door.

You gasped, a couple of your cleaning bottles falling from your arms. It was then you slapped your hand over your mouth, determined to keep quiet as Jeff’s storm raged on. “Where is she?” You heard him hiss, presumably at Ben. Unknowingly to you the blonde stood on the other side of the door, unfazed by Jeff’s absurd antics, “Where’s who?” Ben asked nonchalantly. Jeff angrily paced back and forth, his blood soaked boots littering the floor with footprints. “That little maid. You know who i’m talking about,” Jeff barked. Ben shrugged, taking his lighter out of his pocket. “Couldn’t tell you dude. Want a hit?” Ben asked, gesturing to the joint that he was now relighting.

Jeff dramatically threw his hands up, stomping away. “Jesus everyone in this mansion is fuckin useless,” He grumbled, continuing his hunt for you. You jumped as Ben’s door opened, the blonde stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “You look like a scared bunny, relax pretty princess. Here, try this,” Ben offered. You watched him inhale the joint, his pointy ears twitching as he did so. He hoped you couldn’t notice how much he was staring at your exposed breast in that slutty piece of clothing you were forced to call a work uniform. Somehow the lanky man’s calm demeanor made you feel somewhat relaxed. He seemed so much more down to earth than the others. So much so it almost made you forget he was a killer just like the rest of them. Almost.

Hesitantly you reached out, grabbing the joint and taking it in between your fingers. “I haven’t smoked since high school,” You admitted sheepishly, bringing the joint to your lips. You inhaled briefly at first, allowing the smoke to circulate around your lungs. “You’re gonna love this then. I get that premium shit. If there’s one thing you’re gonna know about me, you should know my green is always going to be out of this world,” Ben replied, confidence lacing his words. You looked so cute to him, awkwardly sitting on your knees on his bedroom floor. Band posters and neon led lights covered the walls, while groovy lava lamps and incense burned in the background. It was the cleanest creep room you had ever seen. As you exhaled you began to cough, your eyes watering as you handed Ben back the joint.

“Noted. Holy fuck that’s strong,” You gasped, trying to cover the sound of your coughs with your hand. Ben reached over to his mini fridge, digging past the unholy amount of monsters and handing you some bottled water. “Thanks,” You say in between coughs, tears flooding your waterline. The blonde sat himself down beside you, raising his hand and tenderly wiping away a line of tears falling down your cheek. You chugged the water, the icy cold liquid combating the fire that had engulfed your throat. “You’re cute when you cry,” Ben mumbled. If you weren’t so focused on your coughing, his suggestive comment would’ve made you incredibly flustered. You swallowed, regaining some form of composure after you wiped away your other tears.

“You too,” You managed to pant, referring to the stray drops of crimson blood that fell down his cheeks. Ben seemed unfazed by it, a mischievous grin creeping across his lips. “You’re a witty one. I can see why everyone likes you so much,” He chuckled. You watched, completely mesmerized as he exhaled the smoke through his nose. You let his comment slip past you, wanting to focus on the man before you and not all of the previous ones that had kept you up late at night. “Holy shit that’s so cool. Teach me,” You say, grinning lazily. Ben shook his head, inhaling and exhaling through his mouth this time. He pointed it towards the ceiling, the hazy smoke disappearing into the air. “Not this time pretty princess. I give it two more hits and you’re gonna be cooked,” He explained, causing you to roll your eyes. You became more relaxed as you inhaled this time, your coughs minimal and cleaning supplies long left discarded at the blondes doorway.

You leaned back against the closest wall, Ben sitting in front of you. He was so enchanted by your beauty, watching you hit the joint like a goddess. “What are you looking at?” You asked shyly. Ben leaned forward, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. “You. You’re awfully pretty,” He mumbled, his words only audible enough for you to hear. You could feel your face turn red as you exhaled, the blue led lights concealing your blush. You weren’t sure what to say, the blonde making your stomach do unfamiliar backflips. “So, you save me from Jeff and now let me smoke your premium weed. How can I ever repay you?” You asked, nervously twiddling with your hair. Ben grinned, leaning forward. “Kiss me,” He murmured, desperation lacing his words.

You leaned forward, your nose brushing against his before you fluttered your eyes shut. You could feel your lips press against his, your high making every move seem much more longer and calculated. You pulled yourself closer to him, straddling his lap as you kissed him deeper. Ben was just as eager as you, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist as your hips slowly grinded against him. You mumbled a curse against his lips, your core growing wetter with excitement as he lowered both of you back against the floor. You leaned over him, kissing down his neck as he shuddered underneath you. “Someone’s desperate,” He teased, smirking as you grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“You’re one to talk. Your porn addiction doesn’t go unheard you know,” You countered. Shoving his shirt over his head you threw it elsewhere, kissing down his chest before reaching his jeans. “Watch yourself pretty girl. Porn has taught me a lot of things. Things that’ll make you cream your pants,” Ben snickered. Cockily he propped his hands up behind his head, watching you teasingly drag the zipper down with your teeth. You maintained eye contact with the blonde, relishing in the temporary sense of control. You then roughly tugged his pants down, desperate to suck his cock. Once he was exposed you eagerly began to suck him off, Ben kind enough to grab your hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck, just like that,” He whimpered, biting his lower lip. You took him down to the base, allowing his tip to abuse the back of your throat as you deep throated him.

Ben was a whimpering mess, strings of curses with mixtures of your names falling off of his lips like a mantra. You continued to suck him off, watching as he grabbed a fresh joint from his pocket, lighting it. You hated to admit how attractive it was to have him smoking nonchalantly as you put your heart and soul into getting him off. “Such a good girl. My pretty princess,” He purred, shoving you down further on his cock. You gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of your throat more aggressively. “Fuck, you’re so fuckin hot,” He grumbled, exhaling the smoke before face fucking you. Your nails dug into his thighs, the pain only bringing him more excitement as he abused your throat. Your gags and whines were heavenly sounds to him, the blonde in a pure state of bliss as he inhaled more of the joint.

Just when you thought you were going to run out of oxygen Ben pulled you off of him. A string of saliva connected you to his tip, your lungs grateful as you gasped for gulps of air. Ben smirked at the sight, dragging you towards him. He sat against the side of his bed, propping you up against his thigh. You whined as his jeans brushed against your clothed cunt, your panties damp from arousal. You went to move to straddle Ben properly, his large hands stopping you. “Go on pretty princess, ride my thigh,” He ordered. His sudden switch made you as a loss for words, your hands gathering handfuls of his hoodie. “Go on, don’t get all shy on me now. I’ve heard those cute noises you make for the others. Just wanna hear you make them for me,” Ben cooed. He smirked as he inhaled more of the joint. He pulled down your dress, your bare breast bouncing out before him.

“No bra? Naughty naughty girl,” He snickered. You whimpered as his hands guided you to grind down on his thigh, your small whines becoming louder moans. Ben leaned down and grabbed your breast, bringing it to his mouth as he guided you to ride him faster. You tilted your head back, moaning as his tongue swirled around your nipple. “Ben,” You groaned, your wet slick covering his jeans. You felt his hand slither to your panties, pushing them to the side so your clit had better access. You bit your bottom lip, unable to control your sinful noises as Ben released your nipple with a pop. “Oh that feels good doesn’t it?” Ben asked mockingly. Frantically you nodded in agreement, the cord inside of your stomach tightening. “So fucking close Benny, so close,” You panted. You were so close, your thighs beginning to tremble.

You were almost over the edge, before abruptly the blonde flipped the two of you over. Your back hit the floor, a gasp escaping your lips. Desperately you rubbed your thighs together, attempting to create friction. “Awe you didn’t think I was gonna let you cum that easily, did you?” Ben gloated. He nudged his way in between your thighs, grabbing your wrist and pinning them beside your head. “You’re gonna beg. You’re gonna beg me to fuck you. You’re gonna beg me like the little bitch you are to make you cum,” Ben commanded devilishly. Leaning close to your face he gave you a sadistic grin, your pathetic desperation only making his cock harder. “And if you don’t, you can go ask Jeff to get you off instead,” He countered. You licked your dry lips, your hips bucking upwards. He set the joint aside on an ashtray, awaiting your answer.

“Ben please, fucking please, I need you. I need you so fucking bad. Please,” You whined. Your pleas were shameless, your core throbbing in desire. Ben grinned at the sound of your begging, the words music to his ears. Quickly he aligned himself with your entrance, shoving himself inside of you. You gasped at how fast he bottomed out, your gummy walls clinging to his cock. “If you’re out here taking EJ’s dick I know you can handle mine. Now let me hear those pretty noises you love to make,” He grinned. Slowly and teasingly he dragged his hips out of you, before roughly slamming them back inside. You couldn’t control your unholy noises, Ben’s whines and whimpers almost as loud as yours. “Fuckin, shit-, fuck. Such a tight pussy,” Ben panted, ramming his hips into yours.

His cock abused your cunt as he pleased, your wrist burning under the carpet he held you down. His soulless eyes stared into yours, watching every micro expression you made as he pounded into you. You were seeing stars, your high combined with your body shaking from the pleasure bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re so good. Feel so fuckin good, fucking shit,” Ben grunted. He leaned forward, burying his face into your neck as he fucked you mercilessly. His whimpers and whines sounded like heaven, your sinful noises bouncing off of his colorful bedroom walls. “Ben- i’m close. So close,” You warned. Ben then held himself up, his sadistic gaze staring right into your soul. “Hold it,” He barked. You tried to close your legs, Ben’s hips stopping you.

His thrust didn’t slow down by any means, the cord inside of you threatening to snap. “I-I can’t,” You stuttered. You bit your bottom lip, avoiding the blondes stern gaze. “You can and you will,” Ben growled. You threw your head back, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you came on Ben’s cock. The euphoria was heavenly, your vision temporarily turning white. As you came down you babbled apologies, Ben’s thrust now halted. He was still balls deep inside of you, his lips curling upwards into a sadistic grin.

“You shouldn’t have done that. I think I need to call reinforcements.”

Ben leaned over to his bed and grabbed his phone, putting it up to his ear. He grabbed his previous joint, relighting it as he dialed a number. You nervously listened to the dial tone, gulping.

“Hey Jeff, I got your little maid and she’s in need of a punishment.”

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Microfic

Let Down Your Guard

November prompt: guard

532 words

Rating: G

No warnings apply

@steddiemicrofic

“So, brave traveler.” Eddie sends Steve a shit-eating grin. “What do you do?”

Steve narrows his eyes at Eddie, then glances down at the table. He looks back at Eddie to say, “I flirt with the guard.”

Eddie blinks. “You- alright. Roll for initiative, I guess.”

Steve peers down at his dice, then grins up at Eddie. “Twenty.”

“Jesus fuck,” Eddie mutters to himself, then louder, “Before you say a word, the guard notices you. In a deep, gravely voice, he says, ‘I’ve seen many come around in search of the treasure. I’ve never seen anyone who outshone the treasure all on their own.’”

Steve blushes, but perseveres. “Then maybe you’d like to come with me for a bit? Find out what it’s like to have your own treasure.”

Eddie checks his papers, rolls a dice. Sighs. “‘Perhaps I will,’ the guard says, and allows you to lead him away. Henderson!” Dustin jumps. “Your turn.”

“Uh.” Dustin blinks. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

“Language,” Steve and Eddie chorus.

Dustin rolls his eyes. “Oh, lay off it, I hear you say worse than hell. Perception check?”

Eddie nods. “Roll.”

So the game goes. It finishes with the party finding the treasure and defeating the orc protecting it. The Party cleans up their bit of the mess and bikes home, while Eddie stays behind, cleaning up his part of the game and helping Steve in the kitchen. “I’ve gotta say, I didn’t expect that move from you.” He smirks at Steve.

Steve smirks back. “What can I say? I’m a man of surprises.”

Eddie snorts. “A dork of surprises, maybe.”

“Hey!” Steve says, affronted, and splashes him with water. Eddie immediately splashes him back, then jumps out of the danger zone. Steve laughs and continues washing dishes.

A few minutes later, he quietly continues. “I’ve been… talking some things through. With Robin.”

“Oh?” Eddie takes a plate from Steve and starts drying. 

“Mhm. About…” he sighs, nibbles his lip.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“But I want to. I want to say it.” He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again. Turns to Eddie. “I think- no. I like guys and girls.”

Eddie smiles encouragingly. “That’s cool, man. Thanks for telling me.” They’re silent for a second before, “What made you think about all of this?”

Steve glances at Eddie. Murmurs, “You.”

Eddie blinks. “What?”

Steve shrugs, won’t look at Eddie. “Yeah. It started with Spring Break, I think, and it just… continued. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Didn’t want to, half the time. And I know that just because we both like guys doesn’t mean anything, and I know you don’t feel the same, and this doesn’t have to change anything-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Eddie covers Steve’s mouth with his hand, eyes wide. “Slow down on the catastrophizing there, Steve-o. Let’s take this one thing at a time. First,” Eddie chuckles, “dude, I’ve had a massive crush on you since high school. I do feel the same. And it doesn’t have to change anything, you’re right, we can take it slow if you want-”

“Hell no,” Steve says, grinning, and kisses him.

Eddie gladly kisses him back.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 4- The Chase

Summary: You can only keep running from Frankie Morales for so long. At some point, he'll catch up to you, whether you like it, or not.

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Do I spy a hint of... ✨feelings✨??? Yearning, a hint of teenage violence (Santi deserves it, it's okay), the appearance of the Miller Brothers, Frankie basically looking like this 🥺 for the last half of this chapter, banter because I live for it

A/N: I'm convinced that teenage Frankie and the Frontier Boys are the best characters to write for, period 😭 I never thought I would live to see the day where my chapters are less than 5K (?!?) but I'm really trying to be better about posting on a schedule- If you would rather have them be longer and wait two weeks between chapters instead of once a week, let ya girl know 🤷🏼‍♀️ Thank you for all of your kind words about this story, your kind comments literally fuel me and make my heart explode, ily 🥹💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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Frankie, Fall of 2005, Age 16

For as much as he hates school, there will be two classes Frankie knows he’ll always pass with flying colors- Gym and Math. 

When he and Santi went to pick up their 11th grade class schedules before the start of the school year, you would have thought they’d won the lottery when they looked down on the crinkled half sheets of paper to find they were both in the same 6th period gym class. 

Five weeks into the start of Junior year, Frankie’s now convinced that Santi and his new friends, Will and Benny Miller, are in on some sort of scheme to make him fail the one class he’s guaranteed an “A” in. 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, for the love of God, will you please slow down?!” 

Santi’s all but huffing at the pace Frankie had set for the four of them to run the two miles they’re supposed to finish by the end of class, only three of the eight laps they need to run around the track completed. 

“We’re not even going that fast, Santi, you’re fine.” 

Frankie can’t help but laugh at the way his friend is laboring behind him. Sure, Santi’s got football to thank for keeping him looking less like a gangly string bean than Frankie does, but even at 16, the boyish satisfaction of knowing he’ll always be faster than his friend is undeniable.

“Do you do like, cross country or somethin’, Frankie?” 

“Yeah man, I thought Santi said you swam not ran.” 

The Miller Brothers were a new addition to his and Santi’s long standing friendship duo. Will and Benny moved from North Carolina over the summer and had befriended Santi after a few weeks of preseason football camp that the high school held before the start of the school year. Of course, that meant Frankie became friends by proxy shortly after. 

Frankie was fond enough of the two, but the group was still stuck in the awkward dating phase of friendship where everything was just enough of a pissing match to prove that they were worthy enough of each other’s company. 

“Yeah, I’m on the swim team, I don’t do cross country or anything like that.” Frankie shrugs, rounding the curve of the track with ease as he leads the pack to their halfway point. 

“Then how the hell did you get so fast?” Benny pants, the straw blonde hair matted to his forehead with sweat scrunching as he pinches his brows in a mixture of confusion and unadmitted pain. 

“‘Cause he likes to go running with MacKenzie.” 

Santi’s lips curl to a devious smile as he watches Frankie’s face grow red from his sing-songy taunting. At least with the Millers, Frankie could pretend to chalk the hot, pink sting in his cheeks to the mile he’s been running. Unfortunately, he can’t assume the same with Santi. 

“Shut up, Santi.” Frankie grumbles, picking up his pace to the point he knows it’ll make Santi’s lungs strain just enough to keep him from rambling. 

“Oh shit, like, MacKenzie Anderson, MacKenzie?” Will’s face lights up, his less than lengthy friendship making him blissfully unaware of the history between you and Frankie, “She’s hot.” 

“Ew, n- no, she’s not. That’s weird.” 

The other three are surprised Frankie’s pants have yet to set on fire after such a bold lie. 

“They go run together every weekend.” 

At this point, it’s pure mockery the way Santi is teasing him, pushing Frankie to his limits to see how much he can get away with before his friend breaks. 

“So like, are you guys, dating or something?” 

“What?! No! No- She’s like, my best friend. I just- She plays soccer, so I go run with her to help her train and stuff. It’s good cardio, anyways.” 

Frankie doesn’t mean to snap at Benny for his question. It’s a secondary response to the way his chest is tightening and heart is racing as the eyes of all his friends stay peeled to him, like a guilty suspect in a courtroom everyone is waiting to catch in the midst of their lie. 

“Running’s not the only kind of cardio he wishes he was doing with MacKenzie, huh Frankie?” 

The boys are too busy snickering at each other to realize that Frankie’s completely stopped in his tracks ahead of them, turning around with arms outstretched to greet Santi with a brute shove to the ground as they collide. 

“I said shut UP, Santi!”

Frankie doesn’t intend for it to draw as much attention as it does, how the way he’s practically screaming at his friend he’s pushed to the ground has garnered the attention of everyone else in his gym class.

“Jesus, Frankie, it was just a joke! Chill out!” 

Will and Benny help Santi off the rubber of the track, leaving him and Frankie in a silent stare down of flared nostrils and gritted teeth, bodies boiling with teenage testosterone. 

Despite his rage, Frankie has enough self control to keep from saying (or doing) anything else he’ll regret, forcing himself to take off running in a frustrated huff of silence, heart in his throat and fists clenched, leaving behind his group of friends.  

“Shit. Is he always like that when you talk about her?” Will asks, still slightly stunned by the altercation he’s just witnessed, considering Frankie’s usual calm and quiet demeanor. 

“Yup.” Santi replies, popping the “p” at the end of his answer, “Well, not always this bad, but still,  ya know?”  

“Why?” Benny chimes in, the three of them slowly beginning their trot back around the track, lengths behind their fuming friend. 

“‘Cause they’re like, secretly in love with each other. They say they’re just friends, but they act like they’re fucking married.” Santi pretends to gag as he forces his eyes to roll as far back in his head as they possibly can. “He’s been extra pissy because yesterday he found out this guy, Nick Walsh, who’s some senior on the boy’s soccer team, tried to ask her to Homecoming.” 

“Did she say yes?” 

“No! That’s the thing! I don’t know why he’s got his fucking granny panties in a knot about it. Whatever, man. Not my problem.” 

The Miller brothers exchange intrigued glances, wondering how much more they can pry out of Santi as they mope around the track, hoping they can at least make the second half of their two miles entertaining. 

“If he’s mad about it, why didn’t he just ask her?” Will shrugs, offering up what seems like a reasonable solution to his new friend’s problem. 

“Ask him, dude. I have no fucking clue. They’re going with the same group of friends, so they’re gonna spend the whole night together, anyways. Honestly, if you want my opinion, I think he knows he doesn’t have the balls to nut up and ask her himself ‘cause he’s worried she’s gonna say no.” 

Despite the 23 other kids in the class who are also being forced to run circles around the track, there’s only one who makes the three of them freeze as he passes by, feeling the hole he’s burning through the back of their heads. Santi knows he’s too loudmouthed for his own good, and that there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Frankie didn’t make out what he had to say as he snuck up behind him. 

And he's right. Frankie hears every word.

If he wasn’t at school, he wouldn’t think twice about punching Santi so hard in the gut it would knock the wind right out of him. But right now, all he can do is keep running, faster and faster, one foot in front of the other. 

Maybe if he runs fast enough, no one will be able to see the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, or the disappointment that’s drained every ounce of color he’s got left in his face. 

Maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the cold, hard truth of the way Santi’s words ring in his ears and put bricks in his chest. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he runs fast enough, somewhere along the worn high school track he’ll find the courage to prove himself wrong. 

You, Present 

You’re convinced he’s following you. He has to be. 

All you wanted to do this morning was to go for a run to clear your head, to blow off some steam after the shit show that had been yesterday’s first interaction with Frankie in the past three years. You were confined to your room for the better half of the day, your dad keeping Frankie hostage in your home far too long for your liking. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to deny a dying man whatever he wants, even if it’s Frankie Morales’s unwelcome presence in your living room. It also meant having to listen to your dad ramble about Frankie for the next several hours after he’d left, politely nodding at all the compliments and praise your father had to give him while your blood boiled in silence. 

Now, all you wanted to do was to run until your head was free of Frankie for just a little while.

It seemed like Frankie had other plans. 

You gave him the benefit of the doubt the first quarter mile, hell, you even tried to just play it off as unlucky timing at the half mile point. But now, you’re a mile into your run, turning on to Fuller Street with Frankie still trotting behind you. It’s clearly not an accident he’s chosen the same path for his morning jog. 

“There are other ways you can go run, you know.” You shout at Frankie without even turning your head over your shoulder, thinking that maybe he’s assumed you hadn’t noticed him and your not so subtle suggestion will get him to turn around. 

“It’s a free country. I can run where I want.” 

Part of you wishes you would have turned to look back at him so he could see the way your eyes met the back of your skull from rolling them so hard, but you keep your gaze glued to the pavement in front of you. You won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.  

“Can you please just go run somewhere else? I’m just trying to enjoy my morning and you’re not helping, Frankie.” 

“Not trying to bother you, just trying to run. I didn’t have anything to say until you started talking to me.” 

You know if you turned around right now, he’d have that stupid little smug grin hiding in the corner of his cheeks. A battle of wits is his favorite game to play. He’s learned how to strategize, to stay calm, cool and collected in the midst of your chaos, waiting until you hit the breaking point of his crazy you can’t bear to tolerate anymore. Your jaw tenses with the long exhale you take as you prepare to go head to head. 

“I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t been following me the past mile.” 

“How do you know I’m following you?” 

“You’ve literally been running ten feet behind me for the past twelve minutes.” 

“Who says I wasn’t planning on running this way to begin with but you just got a head start?” 

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, please just go pick a different way to run.” 

“Who put you in charge of the running police? Do I have to sign a permit before I go jog now?” 

“Go. Run. Somewhere. Else.” 

“No. You don’t get to tell me where to run. This is the way I wanna go, so I’m gonna keep going until-” 

“No! I know you don’t want to go this way!” You’ve accepted defeat, swinging around to storm towards Frankie, stopping dead in his tracks as he realizes the ferocity you’re approaching him with, “I know for a fact you don’t wanna run this way. You know how I know? Because you hate running down Fuller Street. You would run five miles out of your way before you even considered running down this street on your own free will. There hasn’t been a single time we’ve ever run down this street where you haven’t complained the entire way because of how much you hate the hill at the end of the road before we turn onto Wilson way! That’s how I know, Frankie! So stop pretending like you just happened to choose the same way as me by accident, and just leave me alone! Ugh!” 

You’re positive there’s a trail of steam streaming behind you with the way you’re absolutely fuming, turning back around to take off as fast as your body will let you. You can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but straight ahead, too afraid that if you turn around, those stupid, sad brown eyes will make you feel guilty enough to give him the last word he doesn’t deserve. 

Your feet are flying so fast across the pavement, you’re convinced he’s given up, shocked into submission by your anger that he’ll at least let you finish the rest of your run in peace. Your eyes are still locked on the horizon ahead. It’s the arrogance of your self-reassurance that doesn’t even let you contemplate the thought that several yards behind you, Frankie lets out a quiet “fuck me” before letting his hands drop from their place on his hips to chase behind you at full speed. 

“What the fuck are you doing!?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

It’s a stupid question. It’s obvious Frankie has said a prayer to hope his knees don’t give out on him as he runs as fast as possible to try and catch up to you. The rhythmic thump of his sneakers pounding against the concrete catches your attention enough to see how quickly he’s gaining on you. It only makes you run faster. 

“Jesus- fuck this hill- MacKenzie, will you fucking slow down?” 

You won’t admit you’re probably just as exhausted as Frankie from the way you’ve been sprinting up the steep incline at the end of the road, but his exasperated huffs are enough to keep you pushing through the pain, mental and physical. 

“No. Run faster.” 

You’re hopeful it’s early enough that no one is awake to see the comedic game of cat and mouse you and Frankie are playing in the middle of the road, chasing each other like you’re on the playground in a childish round of tag. You’d never admit to his face that you know he’s stronger, even faster than you, but the grip he settles around your arm as he finally catches up to you lets you know you’ve lost. 

“Let go of me, Frankie!” 

If the street wasn’t already awake from your wild game of chase, your scream certainly would have gotten their attention. 

“Jesus Christ, MacKenzie, will you just let me talk to you for two fucking seconds?! Please, just- fuck- please just let me fucking talk to you, okay? Please.” 

Even if you wanted to keep running, there was no use. Truth be told, it wasn’t the grasp he had around your arm that was the thing keeping you from sprinting off into the distance. What had you frozen in place was that pathetic pout you knew was splayed across his face, burning a hole in the back of your head. What’s worse, was that you could feel it burning a hole through your chest, too. 

The all too familiar pain that came with holding onto the same, shriveled shred of hope that maybe this time, he’d prove you wrong. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t let you down. 

“Fine.” You barely mutter the word loud enough to hear as you turn around to face him, eyes still looking everywhere but directly at him. 

“I’m sorry, Kenz. I'm sorry, okay? I fucked up.” 

Somehow, his second apology stings worse than the first. It still doesn’t mean you won’t deny how much it hurts. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

You let your gaze lift just enough to see the way he’s gnawing at his bottom lip, chewing at it like he’s trying to digest his own thoughts before they come out of his mouth. 

“What I said that night at Santi’s wedding, I just-” He pauses, knowing you can hear it clear as day in your head too.

“Fuck you, MacKenzie. Fuck you for ruining my life. It’ll be better off without you fucking in it.” 

“I- I- Fuck. I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I regret ever saying it. I think all the time about how much I regret it. I just, I was in a bad place.” 

You’re not sure what to say. Fuck, you’re not even sure what to feel. Part of you wants to scream at him, kick him in the crotch and berate him for how badly the past three years have hurt you. Part of you just wants to stand there and cry, to say nothing and let your tears flow and spill your emotions down your cheeks. Part of you wants to hug him, to believe him, to have him hold you so tightly against his chest that his apology seeps into your skin until you’ve forgiven him. 

But none of those parts are strong enough to win out alone. Instead, they’ve formed together to create a strange sort of storm that brews in your belly, swirling it so violently, it makes you want to vomit. 

“But you still said it, Frankie. You still said it. If my dad weren’t dying, would you even be here? Would you have ever apologized? Or are you just choosing to apologize now because it’s convenient and you feel like you have to?” 

It’s the first time you can bring yourself to look him in the face. You can see how his brain is churning with the same type of vicious waves that are in the pit of your stomach, drowning out the brown of his eyes. You both are lost in the midst of the storm, but you’ve got a lifeboat. He’s sinking below the thrashing tides, looking for you to let him board your ship. You won’t let him on unless he fights his way through the current to get to you. 

“I should have apologized a long time ago.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“I don’t- I don’t know. I was scared you’d never forgive me.” 

You swear you feel the grip he still has on your forearm tighten just for a moment. Now that he has you, he’s too scared to let you go. 

“Just- Jesus- Just because you apologized doesn’t mean I have to forgive you now, Frankie.” 

“Will you ever?” 

“Ever, what?” 

“Forgive me?” 

Your brain wants to say no. God, with everything in you does it want to say no. But that same stupid pain in your chest that lives and dies by that stupid shred of hope you’ll always hold onto just won’t let you. 

“I don’t know. I- I don’t know, Frankie.” 

You can’t ignore the way he’s still holding your arm. The shred of hope doesn’t want him to let go, even when you scowl at the way his fingers wrap around your skin. You scowl because of how his touch burns your skin, the way it ignites a fire in your gut from how tenderly he touches you. It makes you scrunch your face in frustration and confusion, trying to block out all the times he’s touched you like this before, fingers grazing against your skin in a desperate plea for affection, not forgiveness. He’s holding onto your arm to see if you’ll let him in the lifeboat- if you’ll offer him a chance to save himself. 

“I get it. I’m sorry, Kenz. I hope you at least know I mean it.” 

“I do.” 

You’re not sure what makes you want to offer him a last chance at survival. You’ve been separated by different sides of the same storm for so long- You can’t attest to the way he’s had to fight through it to stay alive, but if it’s anything like the side of the squall you’ve been stuck on, there’s a strange relief in finding in finding someone who knows the hell you’ve faced to keep from drowning in the undertow. You can’t seem to bear letting him drown right in front of you without even trying to help. 

“I still hate you, ya know.” You sigh, a defiant cry to prove to him you’re not happy about the path you’ve chosen. 

“Yeah, that’s fair. I deserve that.” 

It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh in so long. Even though it’s a muffled huff, trying to hide behind the raise of his eyebrows and nod of his head at the ground, you know it’s there, in that same corner of his smirk he gets when he knows there’s no point in arguing with you- there’s no denying it’s there. 

There’s no denying it makes you do the same. 

“You gonna let me finish the rest of my run in peace, Morales?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Only ‘cause I still hate this fucking hill.” 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[fallbhind]

DO BETTER, FOR FATHER.

synopsis : after finishing a review paper, you need father mayhew to observe it, and you didn't quite expect to catch him at such bad times, especially when he just got out the shower.

➤ warnings .ᐣ smut. p in v. unprotected sex (wrap 'fore you tap. no little nun babies yet). fingering. kissing. virgin / lost of virginity. virgin!reader. sucking readers come off charlie's fingers prep before sex. DUBCON. blasphemy. tw blood. charlie likes reader bleeds. based off this bot that was req by anon. probably butchered the freak out of this scene but i didn't have the energy to rewatch the seen. please don't come after me. &&. idk anything abt how nuns dress. wc﹔1.5k

NOBODY KNEW how sinful father mayhew was actually. underneath the 'good young-forwarding preist' cover, was almost like a middle-school boy who hadn't yet grasped the understandment of be faithful to the religion. but oh, the only difference is father mayhew punished himself for giving into his urges, like masturbation towards the pretty little nun (you), he met not to far back when he first joined the church as a preist.

in fact, his sinful persona was so well hidden he carried a great following throughout the community, from the blog posts about the recent killings going around discovering they were more surrounded by religion than your every day killer, to having great listeners listening to him bike and preach. especially you.

you watched from the corner as he pedaled on the bike, that red tank top stretching across his chest, it was just oh so sinful. in your eyes. while he mumbled things towards the camera that was he was filming on, when he went to bring his arms up and clap, he closed his eye, relishing in the fact he could hear you scurry away to hide out his view. for the remainder of the time on the bike, you left him with a smirk that was planted by you.

later, you stood in the doorway of his bedroom, waiting patiently as you watched him step out the bathroom, wrapping the white towel around his waisted, the v line to his cock clearly visible, he showed little care (clearly), after all he stepped out the shower with his bedroom door wide open. of course most people can do such without people lurking but that was beside the point. when father mayhew turned round, he greeted you almost joyfully. "sister." he said. "what brings such pleasure?"

you were so ashamed to have been caught staring, you used the newspaper held loosely in your hand to face plant yourself. has he stalked closer, you passed him the new review for that blog that has been going viral due to the connections to the serial killers and religion. he greeted you inside the room, shutting the door as he walked back over to his small mirror that he almost towered over. disappointment covered his face, "i'm not saying your a bad writer, sister—" he paused, "but where is the bloodlust?" his hand smacked against the paper numerous times, dramatically showing what he meant.

"do better." he said, walking over to you, "i know you can." charlie released the paper from his hand. the paper had a slow descend to the floor, and you kept quiet as father mayhew dropped his towel to the floor without another word. it was like a fever dream. your eyes sinfully trailed down to the v right before his cock, it was a sight, and you were drinking it right up from the cup.

"like what you see?" father mayhew said teasingly while you held your lips taught together refusing to say anything to the tease. he leaned towards your face with a smug look, "say yes." he demanded of you.

"yes, father.. i like what i see." you said, almost ashamedly, bowing your head towards the ground, wishing no disrespect on jesus and god himself. father mayhew did something no catholic pastor would ever do to their nuns. remove their veil. as father mayhew pulled the veil away from your head, your pretty hair falling freely, watching your hair spread away from each other, father mayhew did something, he let out a groan of shear pleasure.

he cupped your jaw relishing in the fact you say before him, veil off and you didn't even fight him about it. "you look so good." father mayhew pushed his lips onto yours, enlightening something in your body were you just couldn't push away. and it was sad, really. you spent practically devoting yourself to staying pure for your future husband, but with charlie in the way, you didn't believe that would stay a true, unless you married him, of course. which that was definitely not happening. has he pulled away from your lips, a satisfying 'pop' filled the room, along with your slightly heavier breathing.

within the blink of the eye, you found your self being pushed up against the wall, right underneath the cross. without a chance to protest, he was bunching up your gown, pulling down your pantyhose before ridding you off your panties and pantyhose, discarding them on the floor. you were pinned in such an uncomfortable position, you let out a grunt, hinting at your discomfort. he rubbed a thumb over your clit impatiently, wanting to just destroy you, but poor thing, he knew you were a sweet thing, saving her self for marriage.

he massaged the bulb in a soothing circle, drawling a soft whimper from your lips, the stimulation was new to you, and it felt good, but you felt oh so sinful while it was happening. you should've said no. but it felt so good. you wanted to say no, but you clearly wanted this. he pushed his lips against yours, "father mayhew—"

his voice cut you off. "call me charlie." he whispered in against your lips, going back to pushing his lips against yours, his tounge swiping across your bottom lip, clearly hinting at what he wanted. you opened your mouth allowing him to enter. he pushed his tongue in your mouth, your tongues 'wrapping' around each other. with how well your tounge moved against his, people think you weren't a virgin.

charlie's thumb pressed against your bud once more, before slowly pushing a finger into your tight hole. you let out a soft whimper, rolling your head against the wall, hitting the cross ever so slightly. "fuck—" you moaned out, feeling his finger move in and out of you, picking up pace as he found it easier to move in and out. he slowly eased another finger into you, your whole body tensing as he did so. you could've burst on the spot.

"go ahead." charlie whispered hoarsely, like all the saliva in his mouth had dried up. "i know you want to." his tounge swiped across his bottom lip, wetting his lips. he slowed his pace as he noticed your body locking up, and as your body did so, you came, on his fingers, the thick white cream coating his fingers with a shiny cover. he brought his fingers to his mouth, using his teeth to eat the come. "it's so sweet, sister." he praised, "you did good."

he tapped open your mouth, sticking a finger in your mouth, "suck." your mouth worked skillfully around his finger, sucking the salty come off it. after cleaning your mess off his finger, his cock was painfully hard. he picked you up off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as you wrapped your legs around his hips, whilst keeping you pressed against the wall. he aligned himself to thrust into your tight hole, pushing the tip in.

when he pushed his cock in all the way, slowly easing it in and out of you, knowing it just had to hurt you so bad. you squeezed around him. charlie started to thrust into you, losing sight of what he said he was going to do, doing quite literally the opposite of what he said to himself. "feel so good around me." charlie praised. he slowed down his pace slowly when he felt his balls tighten, but there wasn't any way he was going to come unless you came first.

so, with little care, he sped his pace back up, bottoming you out. when he pulled himself back out, a small ring of blood cover the base of his cock, "cute." he muttered, "but 'm not finished yet." before pushing back in again. he was so happy. he was the one that got to deflower you, and you didn't say yes, but you didn't necessarily reject. your hands went to feel of his back, the fresh lacerations from the whip he used on himself a few days ago. as he moved in and out, occasionally re-bunching up your dress that would slip, he'd run soft circles on your cunt to speed up the process of making you come.

he loved the way he felt around you, the tight virgin. "father." you breathed out, grabbing onto his shoulders tighter for leverage. "'m so close." you said admittedly, your back arching away from the wall, feeling your body become looser as you came around his cock.

"that's my girl," he whispered, "i thought you'd never come." following a suit a few minutes after, he came as well, filling you with his warm, beautiful semen. of course that was when he started to daydream about you birthing his children, about being married happily ever after with you, and two beautiful kids. to be able to touch you without sin, but that was all a daydream. for now, at least.

he pulled out, allowing you away from the wall. he walked over the sink, wiping of the blood from the base of his cock, grabbing the white towel, wrapping it around his waist, watching you pull up your panties, then putting your pantyhose back on. he watched you slide on your high heels, standing up. "i should go fix the uh— review for you." you trotted out his room, quickly heading downstairs as you left charlie with a smile.

TAGS @mattsdolll. @sematarygirls. @beausling. @pr3ttyf4wn.

[angelcakestarlet]

salvatore

richie jerimovich x reader - richie makes carmy regret hiring the cute young waitress

wrote dis quick, messy, nd did not look over it but enjoy! :>

"so um look, natalie is going to be training you this week alright" carmy informs you as he sifts through a pile of papers scattering his desk. "you ever serve before?", "for a few months yeah, it's been getting me through college so" you twiddle your thumbs nervously. the restaurant was certainly... intimidating? going to school in chicago you had stopped by a couple times for lunch or drunk off your ass after the club. even while slurring your words you could remember how fucking good that sandwich was. even if most of it was puked up in the bushes out front.

"yo, cousin!" an abrasive voice comes stumbling through carmy's office door without warning, "sugar is out here telling me some bullshit about you hiring servers? look we don't need that shit. a sandwich comes out i fucking hand it to them, boom. why are you gonna pay some dipshit to do it for me?". you turn around to face the loud voice, being met with a tall, tan, buzzcut typical line cook with a deep accent. "jesus fucking christ, one of these 'dipshits' is standing in front of you richie." carmy yells back, obviously pained to have you witness that. "ah shit-" richie steps back to get a full length view of you, taking you in. his gaze felt like an intrusion. "i'm sorry, doll, richie jerimovich." he envelopes your hand in his calloused and rough one, introducing himself. "you know what i'm sorry, cousin, anyone with a set of eyes would hire her too" he snickers, with his hand still atop yours he takes his eyes away from you to acknowledge carmen. "cousin, get the fuck out, you fucking creep!" signaling for the door. "oh my god" richie sighs dramatically, "i'm stating the fucking obvious alright, you need marcus to come in here to tell you the same thing? yo, marcus!" carmen rushes to shove richie out the door, "i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself! look, you're beautiful, sweetheart!" he lets out one last compliment. you giggle to yourself and the man making a spectacle of himself.

carmen shuts the office door and sighs, rubbing his forehead with his tired hand. "i'm sorry, he's... he's a fucking jagoff." you appreciate the apology, but having worked in a restaurant has you accustomed to the snickers and comments from line cooks and customers alike. most of the girls usually brush it off, leaving them disgusted and a distaste for the job for the next few hours. but, your guilty pleasure has become using it to your benefit. free food from cooks, more money from tips, etc. you're sure you could work richie to your benefit just the same. "don't worry about it, he seems... nice" your ease settles carmy and he snickers, "you could say that i guess".

you follow natalie around the restaurant for the next few hours as she takes you through the front of the house and back, introducing you to everyone and all the standards. when five o clock hits, she lets you go, handing you an apron, a t-shirt. and a name tag. thanking her and setting out to find the back alley for a quick ciggy. you find richie lighting a cigarette in the dimly lit alley, "can i bum a cigarette?" you sit down beside him, smelling the smoke clinging to his shirt. "its your first day and you're asking me for shit?" he looks over at you and you notice his evident wrinkles, veins in his neck, and tired eyes. "pretty please?" you look up at him, turning your whole body to face him with a sweet smile on your face. he rolls his eyes playfully, "you know what you're doing huh?" he says as he pulls one more cigarette from its box. "open." you scrunch your eyebrows, confused at his request. his eyes shift to your lips, taking two fingers and tapping your cheek signaling for you to open your mouth. "come on," you separate your lips and he places a cigarette between them, lighting it swiftly. you feel your cheeks get warm, from the cigarette or from his words you don't know (yes you do). "thank you" you say quietly, still stunned a bit. "you know you're gonna ruin that sweet face smoking" he coughs through the lit cigarette. "oh are you telling me what to do now, richie?" you lean back, eyes entranced by the way his hands make the cigarette almost look like a lollipop stick. "a girl like you is probably looking for someone to tell her what to do, sweetheart". as you're trying to figure out whether that just pissed you off or turned you on, carmy bursts through the back door. "cousin, what the fuck are you doing?! we need you in the kitchen, now please! and leave the new girl alone, jesus" carmy yells as richie stomps on what's left of his cigarette and puts his hands up in defense. "i'm coming, fuck off. it was a pleasure, babe" he shakes your hand and makes his way inside. you peer at the closed door, listening to the muffled argument carmy and richie have in front of it. great first day.

[littlemissclandestine]

Soft!Adler Headcanons: (Girl)Dad! Edition Part 2

⭐ A continuation of this post

He'd try his best to be there for any award ceremonies at school, sneaking in at the back just in time to see his daughter on stage. As soon as she makes eye contact, he'll give her a thumbs up and a wink, mouthing 'I love you'

I wanna say he'd be that dad who stands up and claps loudly, telling everyone that that's his daughter on stage. He's so supportive bless.

Oh and photos where he stands behind her and has his hands on her shoulders and smiles for the camera. Yup, quite a few of those stashed away.

When she'd have a presentation to give on her biggest inspiration and/or hero in her life, it would be about her dad. It would end up in tears for her as he'd be away...or would he? Adler would come in, standing off to the side, watching her recite from a piece of paper saying how much she looks up to her father, how she misses him etc. It almost brings a tear to his own eyes. Everyone's heads would turn and his daughter would run up to him, Russell scooping her up and hugging her. Missed you my lil spaghetti

During downtime, his priority would always be his daughter. No ifs and no buts. Even if he hated the idea she proposed.

One of those was testing makeup. Russell would always straight up say no, asking her to call her mother for that but when he saw how upset it made her, he'd sigh and grumpily sit down in a chair by her dresser and let her do whatever she wanted. -> "Jesus, kid, watch it, you always this rough with your friends too?" He'd ask with a chuckle as she blends the foundation. He could sit there all day and listen to her explain how to use each product and proceed to yap about whatever crosses her mind

When she'd put on eyeliner and apply it to his waterline, he was genuinely scared -> "Don't poke my eyes out, the only thing I got going for me. God, can't believe I'm letting you do this, missy." He'd pinch her side and tickle her.

As soon as he's allowed to look in the mirror, he does a double take, wondering how the hell he looks like such a diva but he downplays it. -> "Good job, kid...good job indeed."

When she hurts herself, he can't help but kneel down and help her. He knows he should stop and that she needs to develop her independence but it's hard for him. -> "Got a boo boo, sweetheart? Let me see. Aww on the knee, huh? Come here, let's get you cleaned up and get a plaster on it, yeah? Shhhh you're okay."

Baking with his daughter? YES. They'd make a mess of the kitchen for sure, not really tidying up as they go. Every time his daughter would come to him with a new recipe, he's out the front door with her in an instant, ticking off their checklist of ingredients in the store and thinking of ways he could add their twist on it

Her drawings would be on display with personalised fridge magnets that spell her name etc

There's a wall or archway where he measures her height every year and marks it on with pencil. -> "Heh, you've had a hell of a growth spurt, sweetheart. Would you look at that."

If his daughter was a trouble maker, he'd be that parent that would refuse to see what was wrong. It was self defense as far as he's concerned. He doesn't really need to do much of the talking. He's genuinely surprised seeing her stand up for herself, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile as he watches her rant to the principal. Did he teach her that? To not play by the rules? Guess he's rubbing off on her. A little worrying but eh -> "Put that in your pipe and smoke it." High fives as soon as they get back into the car after the meeting with the principal is over is a given.

If there's something you should know about Russell Adler, it's that he loves being spontaneous. One day, he might take his daughter out fishing, teaching her the ropes, the next they're at a painting class together, his daughter being impressed by his hidden talent or cycling in the summer during the sunset, Russell asking her what her goals are in life and telling her how proud he is of her and that he wishes he could be around more. Bonding time is so important to him.

There are certainly times where he struggles. Apart from the emotional side of things and his job getting in the way i mean. Possibly control. Like we know he has strong leadership skills he's developed over his career. I'd like to think that seeps into his parenting a little too much. He tends to ramble and tell his daughter how to do something and talking her through it, hovering over her even though she knows already and has been doing said thing for years.

Maybe it's just a part of him wanting to feel useful and needed. Still wanting her to rely on him even in her 20s or 30s, partly in denial that she's not that young girl who'd sit on his lap anymore. It really hits him when he's walking her down the aisle.

And maybe he'd be over-critical of himself as a parent and her as a daughter, especially since he sees the cost of mistakes in the world of espionage and the military

The only people that have seen his daughter from work are Sims, Woods and Mason and maybe Park but it isn't a regular thing, wanting to keep her as far away from the CIA as possible. Park had a shock when she saw him like that for the first time. -> "Never thought i'd see the day, Adler. You, a family man? Rather ghastly I must say but you do look happy."

[tvgals]

OH MY GOD

THIS VIDEO IS SO GIRL DAD ONY

this is the saga of ony and his daughter growing together

-

age: newborn.

ony sat next to you in a brown chair while you rested with your newborn daughter on your chest. “she’s so pretty.” ony says in awe. you smile a bit, turning to him. “wanna hold her for a while? i’m getting tired..” you offer. your husbands face lights up in excitement. he gently takes chlóe from your chest and hold her against his own. you grin and eventually fall asleep.

-

age: 12 months

you’re in the kitchen fixing chlóe’s plate, she’s giggling and babbling at whatever ony is doing. soon he gets a little closer, deciding to have a heart to heart with his baby.

“you’re gonna grow up to do beautiful things, baby. i’ll be here to support you and love you, no matter what, okay?” he asks, his daughter cocking her head to the side, her big brown eyes filled with curiosity. “i love you, chlóe.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i lub you!” she repeats smiling.

you turn to face chlóe and ony to make sure you two heard the same thing. onyankopon’s face is filled with shock and happiness. “good job! you’re such a smart girl!” you grin, rushing over to chlóe to engulf her in a hug. you notice ony’s been quiet, you turn to face him and his eyes start to well with tears. “are you okay?” you ask, pulling a chair up to sit next to him.

“i’m more than okay.” ony says, tears falling out his brown eyes, almost identical to his daughters. “jesus, we have a fucking family, y/n.” ony sniffles, rubbing his eyes. “we do.” you grin.

-

age: 4

chlóe was in her room pouting. she had a dance recital in an hour and ony just couldn’t get her puff right. he tried slicking it back with water, that didn’t work, then he tried using a rubber band which just popped. “baby, daddy’s trying his best.” ony says, walking into her room. “i want mommy to do it!” chlóe kicks her feet in rebellion.

“mommy’s not here, you know that. now are you gone be a big girl and let daddy try to help you or are you gonna miss your recital?” ony asks, his hands on his hip. “i’ll let daddy help me.” chlóe mumbles.

“good.”

although it took only many tutorials and a few popped hair ties, he finally did it. chlóe’s smile was a perfect reflection on how she was feeling. “i love it daddy!”

-

age: 8

it’s chlóe’s first day of 3rd grade and she has on a fresh pair of j’s along with a freshly braided ponytail. at first, you were afraid of what she was gonna think in a new environment, but what you really should’ve been worried about was your husband.

“and don’t get into no trouble, ya heard me?” ony lists off the rules and regulations chlóe must follow while at school. you can tell she never takes them seriously, but serious enough to know he wasn’t playing.

“yes sir!” chlóe nods her head. “well, have a good first day, baby.” you smile, giving your daughter a kiss on her forehead before she got out the car. ony stepped out and smiled, picking her up and engulfing her in a hug. “have a good day, you’re smart and loved.” ony reminds his daughter. “bye daddy!” chloe smiles, waving and running to her friends.

-

age: 12

“jesus…” ony groaned. he looked at chlóes report card, filled with c’s and very low b’s. he knew his daughter was capable of better, so why isn’t she doing so?

“chlóe! get yo ass down here!” ony called from the kitchen where he was sat with her report card. chlóe came downstairs and sat in front of him. “yes?” she asks.

“what’s going on?” he asks, sliding the paper towards her. there’s a few minutes of silence, chlóes head hanging low. she just shrugs her shoulders, not wanting to talk about it.

“my teacher is so rude…” chlóe whispers, fiddling with her pajama shirt. “oh? how so.” ony asks, wanting a real answer by his standards. “everytime i ask her a question about the work she just goes, ‘ask yo daddy since he know everything’ chlóe frowns. “and i thought i could do it by myself because i didn’t wanna bother you and momma…”

ony sighs, rubbing his face. “baby, if you need help it ain’t nun to ask. it’s okay to ask questions, you’re never bothering me and your mom.” ony comforts his daughter. “so tomorrow, i’m gonna talk to her after school, yeah?” ony asks, knowing if chlóe said no he was gonna do it anyways.

-

age: 16

it’s chlóes 16th birthday and she decided she wanted to do something cute. all she wanted was to hang out with you two for a while, then go out with her friends just to reunite with you guys for hibachi.

“i’m glad everyone’s here!” chlóe smiles, taking pictures with her friends. “okay, okay, i think it’s appropriate to open gifts now?” she asks, turning to you. “do whatever you want.” you smile, knowing the gift her father got her was gonna top everything else.

“hmmm….” chlóe taps her chin. she eventually settles on a big pink bag, bringing it into her lap. she goes through all her gifts through random selection until ony comes up to her with a smaller box. “happy birthday.” he smiles. “thank you daddy!” she grins. chlóe opens the box up and almost passes out at the sight of car keys. “y’all!” she almost screams at the top of her lungs.

“i got a car! i got a car!” chlóe says, jumping up and down. all her friends laugh at her reaction, following her to her car outside. it was a beautiful aston martain db9, white with pink interior like she asked. chlóe’s name was spelt out on the hood with pink balloons. chlóe turns around to meet you and onys eyes. she pushes past everyone to give you two a big hug. “thank you, thank you!” she chants, crying. “you deserve it baby! gone ahead and take it for a test drive.” you say. chlóe nods and invites her friends into the car with her.

“we’ll be back!” and that’s exactly what she said when she left for college two years later.

-

sorry the ending is BOOKIE i didn’t feel like writing anymore

[featherandferns]

day 5/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘He’s the little boy that Santa Claus forgot, and goodness knows, he didn’t want a lot’ - Nat King Cole, The Little Boy That Santa Claus Forgot | angst-fluff

There’s a wonder-like joy that overcomes every girl and boy on Christmas Eve and Day. A round bellied old man with a beard white as snow and suit as red as rubies, who rides a magic sleigh that flies through the air, piled high with presents of all shapes and sizes. Quirky reindeer guide him through the night, their hooves never once touching ground, with rhyming names and shiny red noses at the head of the group. You write a letter and list all the things your heart desires, and send it off to the North Pole. You hunker down in your bed and will yourself to sleep despite the pounding excitement in your chest knowing that he’s on his way! 

JJ loved Christmas. He loved the glitter and the glitz of the lights and decorations. His dad never did much bother with it but the department stores in town, especially those in Figure Eight - boy, oh, boy, did they go all out! The town centre had a huge tree decorated from head to toe and at school they’d make crafts and cards. JJ had worked tirelessly on the one for his dad, made out of red and gold crinkle paper. He loved the food and the feasts. The turkey and the stuffing and the pies and cakes. His dad never did much bother with it but Pope’s dad went all out! It was mouth watering, the smells the kitchen filled with. Leftover sandwiches were part of the holiday, to JJ. He loved the music and the movies. His dad never did much bother with it but John B insisted on watching the Snoopy Christmas Special every year, without fail. They’d indulge in popcorn and candies and make their way through all the classic holiday flicks. Yes, it was safe to say that JJ loved Christmas. 

Whilst JJ’s dad didn’t care about the traditions, he was always there Christmas morning. There were gifts under the tree and his dad would lounge on the sofa and watch JJ unwrap them, nodding in approval and grunting in acknowledgement. On really good years, he’d show an interest in trying out some of the toys. One time he even bought JJ a fishing rod of his own. That was the best Christmas ever. 

On Christmas Eve on JJ’s eighth year, he followed the rules. He’d written his letter plenty in advance and mailed his off with Pope and John B’s. He’d gone to Church and said his prayers and sang the hymns for Jesus. Finally, he’d laid out two biscuits (they were a little stale but he was sure Santa wouldn’t mind all that much!) and a carrot for Rudolph (though he hoped the other reindeer might get a nibble too), and a glass of milk as per requirement. Then, he’d scampered off to bed and pulled the cover up to his chin, and squeezed his eyes shut until sleep willed him under. 

When JJ woke up on Christmas Day, he shot up like he’d drank fifteen cups of coffee. It was light outside and his blinking alarm clock told him it was morning. He threw the blanket off him and jumped down onto the floor from his bed. His bare feet smacked loudly against the hard wooden floors as he raced into the living room, grinning, brimming with excitement. 

Then, he slowed to a stop. 

The milk was still there. Not a drop missing. The biscuits were too, as was the carrot. JJ’s heart sank deep into his stomach. His eyes scanned over to the tree, barren of decorations, wilting at the leaves. Nothing. Not a single parcel or present. Not a giftbag or toy. No fishing rod. Only the handmade Christmas card JJ had made his dad. 

Maybe…Maybe Santa was just running late. He had the entire world to get too, of course. Yes, yeah, that’s what it’ll be. His dad will know. 

JJ walks to his dad’s bedroom door and pauses outside for sounds of life. No snores. He knocks twice then eases the door open on creaking hinges. The bed is empty, devoid of any sign that his dad had slept there at all. Maybe he was out collecting food for dinner. Yes, sure, they were going to have a proper Christmas dinner! 

Despite his attempts for optimism, JJ feels his spirits sagging with every step back to his bedroom. He dresses in silence. Pulls on his shoes and fastens his jacket. He can’t bare to look at the tree and biscuits and milk in fear of crying. Instead, he heads out the door in search of his father. 

There aren’t too many people out on the streets of Kildare this early on Christmas morning. Those who are, are family. Mothers walking hand in hand with their daughters. Little boys playing catch with their dads. Siblings comparing toys and trying out new bikes and tricycles. JJ shoves his hands in his pockets and swallows the envy. An unnatural feeling simmers deep inside of him. Something like frustration. Something like anger. 

Somewhere in his walk, he gives up on the hunt for his father. He gives up on reasoning that Santa was running late. If he was late, how did all the other children in Kildare have their presents? As JJ walked, he came to the sick, solemn, sad realisation that he was the little boy that Santa Claus forgot. 

“Hey! JJ!”

JJ freezes in the street at the sound of his name. He looks around and finds you rushing out the bakery. He recognised you from school. You were the pretty girl at the front of the class. You always wore you hair the same way, complete with a bow, and it seems today was no exception. You were known for being the peacemaker among fallings out and the girl who lingered after class to help tidy up. Smart and savvy, you were top of the class too, but you didn’t kiss ass in the way that would usually irritate JJ. Instead, you’d help your tablemate finish their work too. 

JJ’s surprised you even know his name. He’s even more surprised when you practically tackle him in a hug. JJ stands like a statue for a second before he hesitantly wraps his arms around your dainty frame, hugging you back. 

“Merry Christmas, JJ,” you say warmly against him. 

Tears spring to JJ’s eyes. You were the first person to say that to him today. 

Pulling away, JJ stares at you in shock, unsure of what to say. Your mouth parts with a gasp. “Wait here!”

JJ does as he’s told. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, afterall. You rush back into your parent’s bakery - Kildare’s Cakes - and waits for a short while until you reappear. In your hand is a warm chocolate chip muffin, wrapped in a snowman covered napkin. You hold it out to him. 

“Your present!” you beam. 

JJ stares at it like he’s never been on earth before. Steam rises off the top; the sponge breaking temptingly at the top, showing the gooey chocolate chips inside. Its sweet smell drifts into the fresh air of December. JJ slowly reaches out and takes it from you. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs. His first Christmas present and, what would later turn out to be, his only Christmas present that year. 

You linger and seem unsure of what else to say. So, with a nod and a smile, you hurry out, “well, I better get back inside. I hope you have a wonderful day though!”

Then, quick as dasher, you dart forward and press a warm kiss to his cheek. JJ blinks after you as you wave farewell, returning back into the shop and closing the door. That small act was the catalyst to JJ’s feelings for you, that only grew as time went on. Now, married, with children of your own, no matter how many gifts and how many dinners and how many songs and movies: JJ decided that his eight Christmas was his favourite Christmas of all. Santa might have forgotten about him; but you surely didn’t.

[munsonluhvr]

THE DEAL

pairing: drug dealer!eddie munson x reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of drugs/dealing, cussing

author's note (!): I don't know if it should be a nsfw part 2 or sfw? Let me know what you guys would want, please!!!!

installments: part 1 | part 2

You cross your arms across your chest while you sit on the picnic bench. Out in the distance, you see the baseball team making their way onto the field that you sit behind, in the wooded shade. School has just been released and you’re waiting for your weekly appointment. 

You huff, bending over to conserve some of your body heat; the weather had suddenly dipped into a solid chill, which is emphasized by the gusts of wind that whip around. “Why does he always have to be late?” you mutter to yourself, annoyed by having to wait. 

Off to your left you hear the cracking of sticks, and you see the figure of a person walking your way. It was Eddie Munson, the person you were waiting for. 

You stand up, arms still crossed. “Jesus Christ, Eddie. You sure know how to make a girl wait.” The wind blows, tossing your hair around you. Your fingertips dig into your arms as a chill drives through you. 

Eddie coos, shaking his head. “Sorry, y/n. Hellfire Club stuff.” Eddie steps over the roots of trees that are pronounced on the ground, and he makes his way towards you. His eyes grazes over your body and you take notice. “You didn’t have to wait for me.” 

“What was I supposed to do? Leave? You’re the one with the lunchbox full of drugs.” You say sitting back on the picnic bench, tucking your legs in to face the other side. Eddie comes around the picnic benches other side and sits down, placing his black, metal lunchbox on the tabletop with a clank. 

Eddie laughs, unlatching the lunchbox. “That’s right, I know you love what I have.” 

You laugh sarcastically, ignoring his slight sexual reference. “I only like your drugs, let’s not get things twisted.” 

Eddie pauses, putting a hand to his heart. “I’m so deeply hurt, y/n. I thought we were heading places.” 

“The only place I’m headed is home with some weed, now show me what you have today.” You say, lifting up to peek inside his lunchbox. You hadn’t smoked in several days, having run out of your stash earlier than anticipated. You were stressed with school, and you just needed to relax. Today was the only day Eddie could meet you to do your weekly exchange. 

“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, plucking a few small, plastic bags from the container. “How much do you want?” 

“An ounce, maybe two?” You say, watching Eddie’s ring-covered fingers fiddle with the bags. 

Eddie looks at you, frowning. “That’s more then you usually get.” 

“Yeah, well I have more stress then I usually have right now.” You say, propping your elbow up on the tabletop. Eddie combines one bag of weed into another, estimating that there was close to two ounces in the small, clear bag. 

“Want to talk about it?” Eddie says, looking at you curiously. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Did you go from drug dealer to therapist? Not a chance. How much?” 

Eddie eyes the bag, lifting it up into yours’s and his eyesight. “How about thirty-five, I added a little discount for all your stress you’re going through.” 

“Don’t patronize me,” you say, leaning forward to slide your hand into your pants pocket. “Some discount, by the way. You took off, like, three dollars.” You pull out the money Eddie requests, splaying out the bills in front of him. 

“I’ll raise it back to nearly forty if you want since my discount means nothing to you. I also gave it to you because you happen to be my favorite customer.” Eddie says, putting his elbow on the tabletop and resting his chin into his palm. 

You roll your eyes again, moving the paper bills towards Eddie. “Oh, I’m sure. I count down the days until I see you again.” You say, taking the plastic bag from Eddie. “Isn’t Chrissy Cunningham one of your clients now? You’ve always liked her.” 

Eddie closes his metal lunch box, locking it swiftly. “Oh, y/n. Chrissy Cunningham has nothing on you.” 

You scoff, tucking the plastic bag into your jacket pocket. You swing your legs over the bench seat, moving to stand up. “Goodbye, Eddie,” you say, tossing a glance at Eddie. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Eddie says, leaping up from his seat to follow you. “I actually had something to ask you.” Eddie slings an arm over your shoulder, bringing your side into him. 

You look over at Eddie, slightly amused by his confidence to get physically close to you. “And what is that, Munson?” You walk side-by-side out of the woods, Eddie’s arm still around your shoulders, and you catch his scent which smells lightly of cologne and cigarette smoke. Your eyes flutter at the scent. 

“I was thinking,” Eddie says with a pause. You hum for him to continue. “-That we should do our little weekly deal at my house next time. Perhaps you could stay longer afterwards, and we could hangout or something.” 

You feel a smirk coming across your mouth. You and Eddie had been somewhat friendly, always taking pleasure in sarcastic, playful banter but by no means were you friends. You had friends in common and had been in the same classes at some points. When you picked up smoking, you were referred to Eddie by your friends and you began to frequently meet Eddie to buy from him. Seldom did you dive deep into conversation with Eddie, you only delved into surface level conversations, the common simple pleasantries. Only recently did Eddie begin to linger a little longer, silently requesting for you to stay in his presence a little longer and share little pieces of information about yourself. 

“Or something?” you say with a laugh. “Are you trying to fuck me, Munson?” 

Eddie lets go of your shoulders, his eyes growing wide and his cheeks growing pink. “No, that’s not what I meant.” Eddie catches himself becoming embarrassingly flustered and tries to regain his composure. “Unless that’s what you want.” 

You playfully shove Eddie with another laugh. “You wish, Eddie.”

Eddie laughs, coming back to stand next to you. “No, really, I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other outside of the few minutes we meet a week. If you’re interested.” 

You hum again, folding the thought over in your head. Eddie seemed like a nice enough person. He’s edgy and interesting, always seeming to have a flock of freshmen that admire him. Sure, there’s rumors about him and what his club get up to but aren’t there rumors about everyone? You decide to see what Eddie Munson is all about. “Sure,” you say. “Next week, same day and time?”

Eddie nods, glancing at you with a smile on his face. “Yeah, I can drive you over to my house if you want.” 

You nod, glancing over at him too. You catch his eyes and for the first time you really look into them; they’re pretty and brown. “Great. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” 

[munsonfamilyband]

In Everything But Blood

Alright, I finished the giant paper I had to write (40 pages jesus christ) and then grad school kind of kicked my ass for a while BUT I AM HERE, back from a months long hiatus to finally write the claudia henderson thing I wrote weeks ago. Enjoy, there will be more but this was so long and I only got to like halfway through it but I wanted to post this.

TW!!!! Seriously TW, graphic descriptions of gore and injuries, medical talk, THIS IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE GRAPHIC ON PURPOSE

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve wasn't fully aware of how he was still moving but he wasn't going to question it as he sprints into the hospital behind Nancy and Robin, Eddie draped over his back and getting blood everywhere, Dustin limping as fast as he could behind them. He would probably be panicking more if he couldn't feel the little puffs of air Eddie was breathing out every few seconds against his neck.

The nurses all turn to the doors when Nancy slams them open and while there are already plenty of people who look worse for wear in the waiting room, no one looks quite like the group that just walked in. They're all covered in dirt and ash and sweat and lake water and blood blood bloodbloodblood-

Okay, maybe Steve is starting to panic a little.

Nancy yells for help when no one immediately moves and the gun she's holding definitely helps encourage any nurses and doctors to get over any issues they have treating Eddie.

Robin has to pry Steve's hands off of Eddie's pants. He didn't want to let him go, too scared that he would die and Steve wouldn't be there to help. She manages to gently guide him away from the doors they took Eddie through and she sits him down in a chair before sitting next to him and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Stevie. We got him here, he's okay."

Steve knows that she's only saying it to help calm him down, and probably to calm herself down too, but he appreciates it all the same.

As they sit there Steve feels the adrenaline starting to fade and he gets a very stark reminder of how his sides are stinging and every breath makes his shirt rub against the scrapes on his back and arms. If he hadn't been in a state of panic already, worried about Eddie and Max and Lucas and Erica and-

He takes a deep breath and leans into Robin's weight at his side. He can't get help yet, not until he knows everyone else is okay.

(If he were feeling braver he might also admit that he's been a little scared of doctors since Scoops, but he's not feeling very brave at the moment.)

A little while later Steve sees Lucas and Erica and forces himself to stand, hurrying over to check on them, to find out where Max is. He instantly knows that something went wrong when Erica slams into him and holds on tight. He only gets more concerned when Lucas leans in to hold onto Erica and Steve at the same time. And then the pit gets bigger when he feels tears hit his shirt.

"Lucas, hey, you're alright. Hey, look at me- hey. What happened? Where's Max?" Steve stares at Lucas's face as he speaks, trying to get an idea of how he's feeling.

Lucas takes a shuddering breath in before he answers, "She-she-.. it was going fine and then... Jason-Jason fuckin'- he crushed her Walkman and I couldn't-she was floating and Jason had-had a gun and I-She was-was dead, for a minute, and then she-she just started breathing again and I dont-"

Steve pulls Lucas closer again, a hand on the back of his neck to give him support as he spoke quietly. "Okay, alright, you did good. She's here, right? She'll be okay. She's gonna be okay." Steve stayed there with them for who knows how long, only separating when he heard a familiar voice gasp from the door.

"Oh thank god, Erica, Lucas!"

Both of them turned to see their mom in the waiting room and ran at her, where she met them in a crushing hug. As Sue held her children close she looked up, tears falling and made eye contact with Steve. Steve saw her mouth 'Thank you' to him and it made his stomach fall to his feet. Sue had always adored Steve for protecting her kids, first from Billy and then in the "fire" at the mall. But this time, Steve was the reason they got hurt. He let them go off on their own and they got hurt.

He nods and walks back over to Robin and Dustin where they're sitting, suddenly remembering his injuries again as he moves away from the Sinclairs. He has to force himself to walk normally just to make it to the chair, only to nearly collapse back into it.

~~~~

"Alright, time to go, Dust. Now that your foot's been treated I really need to get you home. Claudia is going to start calling morgues if I don't," Steve grunts out as he helps heave Dustin out of his seat and get settled on his crutches. Robin stands once Dustin is steady and she follows them out of the hospital and climbs into the passenger of Steve's car. (Nancy had left once Eddie was taken to stash the RV somewhere and she came back with his beemer. Steve isn't going to ask.)

The ride to Dustin's house is quiet, Steve can tell each of them is silently asking anything out there that the Henderson house was spared. Thankfully when they pulled into the driveway the house was in one piece and only seconds after parking Claudia is yanking open the front door and running out to meet them at the car.

She runs up to Dustin who had managed to stand up using the car as support and they both cling to each other in tears. Steve watches them for a moment before he has to look away or he'll start crying. He spaces out for a bit, just holding Robin's hand when he get startled by the harsh knocks on his window. Looking up, he locks eyes with Claudia and he can't quite read her expression but he can hear her say, "Get your butt out of that car, Steve, I need to look at you. You too, Robbie."

He and Robin make eye contact for a split second before hurrying to comply. As soon as Steve is standing fully he finds himself being yanked down into a hug, Claudia's arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Steve has to take a deep, shaky breath and blink very quickly to stop any tears. He loves Claudia's hugs, they feel like birthdays and Christmas and being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket with hot chocolate all at once. When he hears her mumbling about how glad she is that he's okay, well, maybe he cries a little.

After he and Robin are both fully looked at by Claudia and then each given at least 3 hugs, they climb back into his car and pull away form the Hendersons.

"Am I taking you home or are you coming with me?" Steve glances over at Robin as he says it. He knows the answer without he responding, just because her face pinches in the way it does when she's afraid of making Steve sad.

"I know last time we went to yours but I just... I need to see my parents. I'm so sorry-"

"Robs, it's okay to want to check on your parents. I'm not upset. Can you just.. keep your walkie on our channel tonight?" Steve glances at her again, getting hit with another Robin look that says she can see right through him.

"Always, Stevie. I am sorry though, I hate the idea of you in that house alone."

"I'll be okay, Robbie. I'm just gonna sleep as soon as I get home anyways."

Robin stares at him for a moment longer and then nods, grabbing one of his hands to hold in hers for the last half of the drive. She only lets it go to give him a tight squeeze before hurrying out of the car to her front door.

Steve waits until she's safely inside before he pulls away and goes to his own house.

The moment he shuts the door behind himself it feels like all of the energy in his body has been drained away. He can barely keep himself standing, only the pain that shoots down his spin when he leans back onto the door keeps him upright.

He forces himself to trudge upstairs and goes right to the bathroom. He starts with getting the clothes off, deciding to just cut them off so he doesn't have to lift his arms.

Then comes the cleaning. He first tries to shower but he can only handle standing with pressured water pelting his back and soap stinging his feet for a minute at the most. When he gives up on the shower he figures he should at least try to clean the bites.

One second he's standing in front of the mirror and reaching to pull off the fabric, the next his whole body is covered in sweat and he's sitting on his ass on the tile floor. His hands are shaking at he wants to vomit from the pain.

No changing the bandage then.

Steve forces himself to at least wash his face and hands with a washcloth before he collapses directly into bed and falling asleep in seconds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claudia is worried. She had already been a little concerned when Steve showed up two days earlier for lunch with a flushed face and too pale skin. She watched him and he didn't act any different but she kept note of it so that she could watch him. But then, when they were supposed to have lunch at 12 and Steve still hadn't shown up or even called by 1, well, Claudia was concerned. Steve always insisted on being on time, claiming it came from all the sports he had done (but she had heard him mumble about his parents harassing him about being late before when he had a head injury, so she just nodded along to his excuses). Being an hour late was entirely out of character and something in her gut, the same feeling she had experienced multiple times over the past few years about her Dusty, told her that she needed to go see him, and soon.

Dustin was thankfully not at home, spending the afternoon with the Wheelers, so she didn't have to tell him what was happening before she got into her car and drove to Steve's house.

What greeted her when she parked only made her more nervous. Steve, she had noticed, had strange habits relating to many things. He had to sit close enough to touch the person next to him, he tried to hide it but he never kept alcohol in the house anymore, he kept the curtains closed facing the backyard, and he always, always leaves the porch light on.

But that afternoon in early April, the porch light was off.

Claudia parked quickly and hurried to the front door, not even bothering with knocking. Instead she pulled out the key Steve had made for her and Dusty after the previous summer and let herself in.

The dread that had been growing in her gut only intensified when she entered the house and a very familiar smell hit her nose.

Body odor, sweat and salt and morning breath.

Bodily fluids, urine and vomit. And blood.

Infection, sickly sweet rot mixing with something like ammonia.

Time seemed to freeze as Claudia ran up the stairs, calling Steve's name all the while. She knew those smells, she had dealt with them at work too many times to not know them, and to smell them in relation to Steve made her blood run cold. She needed to see him, this boy who cared for her Dusty so much, this boy who had wormed his way into her heart, this boy who was her son.

Rushing into Steve's room she was greeted by her worst fears. Steve was lying on his bed, the sheets clearly kicked off and tangled around his ankles. He was only wearing his boxers and they had clearly not been changed in a few days, stained with his sweat and urine. His skin was covered in sweat, his chest and cheeks were bright red and the rest of his skin was a waxy yellow. He was shirtless, vomit covering his chin and chest and staining the pillow and sheets below him. He had what looked like scraps of a sweater or shirt wrapped loosely around his stomach. It was filthy, saturated with sweat, blood, dirt and pus. The smell in the room was much stronger than by the front door, her eyes watering briefly before she forced herself to focus. She was a nurse, she could handle this.

Claudia moved to the bed and gently kneeled onto the mattress. As she moved closer she could hear Steve mumbling to himself but it was so quiet and so slurred that nothing was legible. Claudia placed a hand on his forehead and jerked back in shock at how hot his skin was. Glancing around frantically for anything to help she saw the phone at his bedside table and grabbed it, punching in 911 before cradling the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she continued to check over Steve.

The next moments all passed in a blur for Claudia as she explained who she was and where she was to the dispatcher before they hung up and she waited for the ambulance to arrive. The ride to the hospital passed in what seemed like a blink of an eye and suddenly Claudia found herself in the empty waiting room at Hawkins General and she became aware of two equally important facts.

Her sweater and hands were saturated with Steve's sweat and blood.

She needed to call Robin.

The blood would have to wait, because she knew that Robin would want to be there for Steve so she managed to wipe her hand with some tissues before dialing the Buckley's house.

"Buckley residence, this is Robin," Robin's voice came through the receiver and Claudia let out a loud sigh.

"Robbie, honey, thank goodness you're home. I have some bad news. I'm at the hospital right now sweetie, it's about Steve." Claudia paused after she finished speaking, waiting to see what Robin would say. Unfortunately for Claudia, rather than saying anything, she had to listen to a gut wrenching gasp and sob from Robin, so she chose to keep talking. "I went to his house and found him in his room. I think he had been hurt and it got infected. If your parents are home, I think you should come here, he would want you here."

Robin mumbled a few okays, clearly through tears before she hung up. In the silence after Claudia had no choice but to go clean herself up, allowing herself a minute to collapse onto a toilet seat and cry. Her boy was hurt and she couldn't help him, he was so hurt he didn't even know she was there and she didn't know what to do.

Robin arrived about 10 minutes after they ended their call with a surprise in tow.

Jim Hopper, thinner and without a mustache, but somehow alive and marching into the hospital like he was going into hell. Knowing about his daughter, he probably felt like he was in hell.

Robin spotted Claudia first and ran over to her, arms open and Claudia pulled her right into a tight hug, rocking her back and forth the way Steve always loves. Robin held back just as tight and cried into her shoulder while Claudia whispered to her, "He'll be okay, he's going to be okay."

Jim didn't say anything, just nodded - as if she hadn't thought he was dead until that moment - before he collapsed into a chair, head in his hands and knee bouncing with anxiety.

Hours passed, Robin had curled herself up in a chair next to Claudia and was leaning into her side. Jim had moved to sit on the other side of Robin and surprisingly she reached out and held his hand.

After ages of sitting there in silence a doctor walked through the doors. Claudia recognized her immediately and knew that she had been lucky to find Steve alive if she had been called in. Dr. Graham was one of the only wound specialists they had at the hospital and she focused on the worst cases.

Claudia straightened in her seat, her two companions also coming to attention as Dr. Graham came to sit with them.

"Hello, Claudia. I'm sorry you had to come in on your day off but you got very lucky. If you hadn't brought him in today he may have gone into sepsis. Thankfully he has you listed as his emergency contact so I can fill you in on everything. I want to start by saying that he is currently stable and on heavy medication. He had multiple heavily infected wounds, primarily on his abdomen but there was also apparent road rash across the back of his arms and upper back. We were able to debride the wounds from the rash relatively easily but his abdomen was more difficult. The bandage he had been using was extremely dirty and not made for wound coverage so many fibers had been imbedded into the open wounds. Luckily there had been little necrotizing fasciitis but there was enough that we had to remove the dead tissue. I do want to make sure you understand that he was very seriously injured and delayed treatment made it worse. We are going to test the pus we collected for different bacteria to narrow down the treatment for him but I'm thinking it may be leptospirosis, since he is visibly jaundiced and the injures are obviously animal bites. We have him sedated currently and on heavy antibiotics in the ICU. If you wear protective gear you can visit him for a little bit, but only people on his emergency contact list can come."

Claudia's head was spinning, she was hearing the words being said and she was following the doctor down the hall to the ICU. She was putting paper scrubs on over her clothes and donning a mask and gloves, but it was all in a daze. She needed to see Steve, she needed to see him breathing, then she would be okay.

She was not okay.

Seeing Steve only made her collapse into a chair in tears. He looked so small in the hospital bed, wrapped in wires and tubes. But he was breathing. Robin collapsed onto the foot of his bed and bent over his shins while she sobbed and Jim stumbled into the wall by the door with a hand over his eyes as his shoulders shook with silent anguish. They knew he wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was breathing and he had to be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright that was part one, I'm working on the next half but wow that ended up being really long

Taglist

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[steddie-island]

First Responder

@steddieholidaydrabbles day 26 - "Who did this to you?" Rating: T | WC: 972 | CW: Blood, off-screen violence, possessive Tommy Hagan (also off-screen) Read the full list of tags on ao3

Steve had seen enough bad shit in his life to know that a trail of blood droplets was never a good thing. It was just luck that Robin had forgotten something and needed him to run back to the school and get it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have noticed the spray of blood outside of the bandroom, wouldn’t have been able to follow it down the hallway and towards the bathroom, where the droplets seemed to get fatter and almost puddle. “Christ,” he murmured as he tried to push the door open. Almost immediately, though, someone else was slamming against it on the other side, barring it closed from him. “Fuck off!” came a voice that Steve recognized, even if he couldn’t place. “Leave me the fuck alone, man!” Steve pressed a hand to the door. “Uh– hey. I just noticed the blood out here. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” There was a moment of quiet hesitation, but then the person on the other side of the door was groaning softly. When Steve tried it again, the door pushed open easily. “Uh, hey– oh fuck.” Eddie Munson stood in front of the sink with a bloody nose and a split eyebrow over an eye already swelling and turning varying shades of purple. “Eddie, holy shit–” “I’m fine,” Eddie murmured. He spat blood into the sink, though, which really didn’t do much in his favor. “Just– get outta here, Harrington.” Steve shook his head and stepped closer. For once it was actually a relief that the water in the bathroom sinks never warmed up and ran stupidly cold when the temperature dropped outside. He wet a paper towel and held it out. “You want some help with that?” “No, man.” Eddie pushed his hair out of his face, revealing a nasty bruise up by his forehead, too. “Just go.”

“Eddie, c’mon.” Steve frowned and crowded into Eddie’s space, something that the other boy was usually the one doing. “Let me take a look and make sure you’re really okay. Please?” Eddie was tired, too fucking tired to argue, and he nodded before moving his hands away from his face. “It’s nothing, Harrington. Really. Just– ran into the wrong person at the wrong time. I’m used to it.” Steve winced as he dabbed at Eddie’s brow, which was still dripping blood down his face but did seem to at least be slowing down. “Who did this to you?” he asked softly. 

“Does it matter?” Eddie closed his eyes, hissed as Steve’s touch made his head ache that much more. The cold towel did help, though, even if just a little. “Yeah. It does. It matters to me.” He got up to grab more paper towels for Eddie to hold them under his nose, to at least stop the blood from getting into his mouth. “Hold that there, I’ll be right back.” He disappeared, came back a minute later with a first aid kit in his hands. 

Steve guided Eddie to lean against the sink and crowded that much closer, between the space of his legs. He was aware of Eddie’s eyes on him as he pulled out antiseptic and gauze. “I’m really sorry, this is gonna hurt,” he murmured. 

Eddie didn’t hiss, though, barely winced, and that made Steve’s chest ache for him. “Who did this to you?” he whispered as he held the gauze to Eddie’s skin to help staunch the blood flow. 

Those damn eyes, so dark and deep and wide, never left his face even as Steve pulled the butterfly bandages out of the first aid kit. He’d done this enough times that he settled into it almost mindlessly. 

“Your old buddy Hagan.” Eddie’s hands gripped the sink as Steve smoothed the bandages into place. “We’ve never been friendly, but I… guess he saw us hanging out after Hellfire the other day, decided to make sure I knew to stay away from you.” 

The breath caught in Steve’s throat. “Jesus, Eddie. Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry. I haven’t been friends with Hagan in–” “No, I know.” Eddie tossed the towels into the trash and accepted clean ones, and he used those to see if he was still bleeding from his nose, too. Everything seemed to have stopped, so he pushed away from the sink, away from Steve, and turned to wash the evidence off of his face. It was going to be hard enough seeing the worry on Wayne’s face when he got home. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s still hung up on you.” “I’m not hung up on–” “Steve, I know.” 

Steve watched him in the mirror, but Eddie was very pointedly not looking back at him as he scrubbed blood from his chin, his neck. It was all over the front of his Hellfire shirt but there was nothing that could be done about that just now. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve shoved his hands into his pockets, to have something to do with them. “I forgot what a possessive dickhead he can be.” “Yeah. He seems to still think he has a claim on you.” Eddie finally looked up, but he still didn’t meet Steve’s gaze. He leaned in to inspect his eyebrow. “You do good work, Harrington.” “It was a butterfly bandage, there’s not much to it. And I, uh… guess I’m used to it, too.” Between Jonathan, and Tommy, and fucking Billy, he’d long learned to keep a first aid kit somewhere he could get to it quickly. Finally that searching gaze found his again in the mirror, and Eddie smiled a little. “Maybe that means we should stick together around here. United front and all that.” Steve flushed pink, because there were a couple of reasons that he didn’t hate the sound of the two of them spending more time together.  “Yeah. Maybe we should.” 

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 5

Summary: Now that you and Negan are on good terms, you have demands from Gregory to deal with and a liquor run that doesn't go as expected...

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Gossip, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Alcohol Mentions, Flings,

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: y'all I promise the last 2 chapters won't be as long lmao

check out the previous chapter here!

If there's one thing about Negan that irritates people, it's his luck. 

From what he can tell, no one saw the message he sent last night before he quickly deleted it. Sure, he’s caught a few strange looks from the likes of Tara and Aaron, but none of them have said anything.  

To him, that's a good sign. If they saw the message, he figures they'd have made some snarky comment by now just to relish in his discomfort.

Negan had originally planned to stop by and see you before classes started, but a detour on his way to school threw off his timing. And so he had to wait until the first break of the day to make his move. 

Letting his class out a few minutes early, he grabs a small paper bag and makes his way to your classroom. Just to prove he's on his best behavior, Negan waits outside your room, holding himself back from barging in during your lesson. 

And who says an old dog can't learn new tricks?

"Negan?" You glance up from your desk once you’ve dismissed your class. He catches the surprised look you didn’t quite manage to hide as you ask "What are you doing here?".

He grins, holding up the paper bag and giving it a little wiggle. "I got a baggy with your name on it," he teases, clearly enjoying himself "thought I’d walk you to the teacher’s lounge while we spitball some food ideas".

You’ll admit, this is the last thing you expected. Despite the most recent do-over you and Negan have been navigating, you hadn’t pegged him as the type for strolls together or gifts.

Yet here he is, holding out the bag like it's the most natural thing in the world. Hesitantly, you approach, eyeing the gift as if it might be a bear trap in disguise.

Slowly, you reach out and take it, half-expecting something ridiculous inside. Negan just grins, watching you closely but giving you space to discover the surprise for yourself.

Sticking your hand in, you’re met with something soft, yet firm and slightly moist. You pull it out, raising an eyebrow as the familiar shape comes into view. 

"Because you ate my muffin," you recall, nodding at the blueberry muffin in your hand. The memory of that little stolen snack clicks into place and you can’t help the smile on your face.

"Jesus, sweetheart, maybe phrase it a little better," Negan says with a mock gasp, glancing around to make sure no one’s in earshot "and people say I have a filthy mouth”. He shakes his head, putting on an exaggerated look of disbelief.

“Oh stop it,” you nudge him as you take a bite of the muffin, savoring it with a long hum “ mmmm, thanks”.

Negan nods and you both begin to walk down the corridor and towards the teacher’s lounge. You know you should wait until you get there to eat the muffin but what can you say, it’s been a while since someone got you something nice. 

Swallowing your bite, you ask “Has the spirit of Christmas finally possessed you?”.

“Me?” Negan furrows his eyebrows at the accusation “Course not, I’m still being all grinchy”.

You can tell you’re coming up on the cafeteria because of the rapidly growing noise. Trays clatter, students laugh or yell at one another and the smell is surprisingly appealing. Although you’ve never had the cafeteria food here, it doesn’t look like the slop you’d see in movies or as if the food’s been sitting there for months. 

“I don’t know,” you reply to Negan, having to raise your voice so he’ll hear you over the noise “you seem pretty jolly today for a grinch”.

Negan leans back and rolls his eyes dramatically “Doll, if you keep making these baseless accusations, I’ll make sure the only food at the staff party are muffins”.

You shrug, not minding that threat “Don’t threaten me with a good time”. 

Negan smirks, about to turn that into some sort of innuendo when he sees him down the corridor. A grunt leaves Negan, his eyes looking past you and to the rat that got promoted to human. A somehow nervous disposition despite being drunk with power. Beady eyes. Thinning hair. Perpetual frown.

Gregory.

Before Negan can drag you both to the nearest supply closet—to avoid Gregory, no other reason why he’d like you so close and pressed against him— you’re both spotted.

“Ah! Just the two I was looking for,” Gregory catches your attention and you turn to see the dementor that drained the color from Negan’s face “well, one of you at least”.

He wags his finger, pointing from you to Negan “Michonne told me at least one of you is still doing the staff party, correct?”.

“Uh, we both are,” your best fake smile comes out. As much as you don’t want to be polite, Gregory’s higher management. 

Negan, surprisingly wise enough to know when to keep quiet, falls back slightly, positioning himself a step behind you. You push aside the unsettling thought that you might be his sacrifice to your superior.

“That’s wonderful and did I just hear food?” Gregory asks, stroking his chin as he tries to look more authoritative “what’s on the menu for the party?”.

“Well, uh— we were thinking some casual finger food like muffins and maybe pretzels or chips… and… um,” you scramble trying to think of easy to get foods that are also festive “…mixed nuts?”.

The look of Gregory’s face says it all. Horror. 

“Mixed nuts and pretzels? Chips? I mean,” he scoffs, throwing his hands up helplessly “this isn’t feeding time at the petting zoo! It’s all so… pedestrian”.

“We could do hot food too!” You blurt, your gut already twisting at Gregory’s criticisms. 

“And have you two prepare it?” He asks it as if the question is obviously rhetorical. 

Tilting his head to the side as he looks to Negan, Gregory asks “And Negan, when was the last time you washed your hands?”.

Dammit, you don’t need an all out war between the only other person helping you plan this party and your higher up. 

More trays clatter in the mess hall. Cutlery clangs together. Workers shout at students to stop playing around and keep the line moving in an orderly fashion.

“We can ask the cafeteria staff!” you suggest, eager to wrap up this conversation quickly.

Negan nudges your back, but your focus is on the skeptical look Gregory is giving you. “And we can make sure they know they’re not paid overtime for this,” you add with a resigned sigh.

Finally, a smile forms on Gregory’s face.

You get another poke in the back.

“Great! I know you would work something out!” He clasps his hands together “good luck with that, can’t wait for the party!”. With a satisfied nod, Gregory turns and walks off.

You take another bite of muffin to console yourself.  

You get another poke although this time it’s more of a jab to your side. “Mmh!” You argue, mouth full of muffin. 

“Oh now you feel the pokes! Really?!” For good measure, Negan pokes you again, aiming for the ribs this time.

“Stop! What do you want?” you grumble, still chewing.

“I can’t ask the cafeteria staff to make the fuckin’ party food!” Negan lowers his voice, as if there’s a chance the workers could hear him from the other bustling room.

“Why not? They’re so nice,” you shrug ”besides, they’ll understand if we mention Gregory’s shit. And the head cook, Sherry, was super sweet to me when I first joined the group chat”.

Negan just stares, a rare look of panic in his eyes “Why do you think, I can’t ask Sherry to make us food for our fuckin’ party”.

… oh.

“Is there any woman on staff you haven’t slept with?” you ask out of sheer frustration and just a sprinkle of sarcasm.

“Shockingly yes, I mean Tara’s a lesbian, Sasha and Rosita won’t touch me with a barge pole–“ you slap his arm before he can continue.

“Well, consider next lunch your time to grovel to Sherry,” you reply “I’m not asking by myself when we’re both planning the party and you’ve already screwed her over”.

“Not screwed her over, just screwed her” Negan corrects you.

He gets another slap to the arm for that one. “Can you not?” you mutter, shaking your head.

Carl and Enid stop in their tracks when they witness the slap, ducking behind the cafeteria door but still sneaking glances.  

“Does that mean they’ve broken up already?” she whispers to Carl.

“Next lunch. You and me. Cafeteria. Sherry,” you say, this time deliberately adopting your teacher voice.

Negan rolls his eyes but finally relents. The school bell rings, and a wave of noise erupts as students scramble to leave their cafeteria tables. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, mimicking your teacher voice as he looks down at the half eaten muffin “but you better eat that muffin before I eat it— again! ”.

With that, he turns and marches off back to the sports hall. Carl and Enid look at each other in shock. “Eat her muffin? Again? What?” Enid tries not to gag at the thoughts of two teachers going at it.

“Does that mean what I think it means?“ Carl shakes his head, trying to clear the thoughts away “Ok, maybe they are actually together”.

You huff, watching Negan retreat before doing the same. Stuffing the rest of the muffin into your mouth, you go back down to your classroom and prepare for what’s to come.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

It’s been five minutes since the bell for lunch rang through the school. You stand at the spot you last saw him, waiting in the corridor outside the cafeteria.  

Checking the time on your phone, you just decide to give Negan another two minutes to show up when he rounds the corner and approaches with a dramatic pout.  

You flash him a broad smile “Thought you’d be a no-show”.

“Yeah, well, I’ve already abandoned ya once,” Negan mutters, edging toward the cafeteria doors and peering in at the chaos of kids “but fuck, if there is a God, I wouldn’t mind getting struck down right about now.”

You tap his foot with your own. “You’re gonna have to talk to her at some point,” you say “what else do you expect when you work in the same building?”.

Negan shrugs, looking unbothered. 

“Well, I’ve managed to avoid Amber… Tanya… Frankie…” he trails off “Hell, I even manage to avoid this one real freaky chick at the parent-teacher meetings”.

“At the—” Your jaw drops, struggling to decide whether to ask about the ‘freaky’ part or the fact that he’s even banged a parent “You— I… I have no words”. 

Grabbing his hand, you practically drag Negan into the cafeteria. Skipping the line of kids, you pull him to the side by the serving line. Sherry doesn’t notice either of you, too focused on taking out trays of chicken nuggets and replenishing the stack of juice boxes.

Across the sea of students, Enid tugs at Carl’s arm “Oh my god are they holding hands! In public!”.

Ron shrugs smugly, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Told you they’re together. I’ve got a knack for knowing when people are gonna hook up,” he says, glancing between Enid and Carl “well, most of the time”.

They subtly try to watch you both at the other side of the room, some of them letting out disappointed huffs when you drop his hand.

Negan lets out a long sigh, swaying slightly on his feet. The longer Sherry doesn’t notice you both, the further back he leans, as if trying to create some kind of invisible distance without actually moving.  

“I’m going to have to turn on the charm, aren’t I?” he mutters to himself, taking a deep breath before leaning casually on the counter.

“Or you could just be normal?” You propose but it’s too late. He’s already turned on the Negan swagger that somehow gets him women.

“Sherry,” he calls out “hey there, sweet thing”.

Sherry, in the middle of doing her job, shoots a steely glare in your direction. You don’t take it personally.

After a quick internal debate, she approaches. You stay quiet, taking Negan’s approach during your earlier encounter with Gregory. Anyways, it’s about time you see that oh so charming, smooth talking side of him.

“Long time, no see!” Negan flashes her a grin when Sherry hurries over “So, what do you say we get that culinary magic of yours flowing for the party on Friday?”. 

Maybe you’re too presumptuous but for some reason, you assumed smooth talking involved some actual smooth talking. Still, you stay silent, hoping Negan’s straight to the point method works.

Putting on a pitiful expression, Negan continues, not giving Sherry the time to even respond “And hey, I know I was a little… absent… after y’know, but I’m here now and would really appreciate the favor. Oh! And how’s about some food for thought, huh?”. 

Negan chuckles as he points at a chicken tender he wants to steal.  

Sherry studies him with a mixture of shock and confusion. “You- you come to me now? Asking for favors?” she guffaws “After everything?”.

She pauses, eyeing him warily before adding “You think just because you show up and act like nothing happened, I’m gonna jump to help you? You don’t get to just play the ‘favor’ card after all that’s happened”.

You gulp, feeling like you’ve walked straight into a soap opera. Negan gives a mock serious expression

“Alright, I get it. I ghosted you. Bad move. Real bad,” he haphazardly admits “But how ‘bout we call this a redemption arc? You do us a solid and I’ll do you a solid and stay out of your way, at the party and for the rest of our lives!”.

Sherry rolls her eyes, defensively crossing her arms “You stay out of my way anyway, asshole”.

Piping up, you try the sweet approach “Sherry, I get it, Negan’s a major asshole and hard to work with but you’ll be doing us all a massive favor here, not just him”.

She doesn’t look convinced, her hardened gaze never leaving Negan. 

“And it’s not like we’re expecting you to work during the actual party,” you try to ease the tension “we can heat it up on the night, if you could just… maybe make some extra mashed potatoes and chilli on Friday?”.

Tearing her eyes off of Negan, Sherry gives you a sympathetic look when she realizes you’re the new English teacher. 

“A word of warning, stay away from this jerk and do not trust him” she doesn’t even hide how she points at Negan, making him glance around the packed busy and mutter a quick “Jesus Christ”.

You nod, trying to show her a genuine connection and Sherry sighs. “I suppose I could do it,” she starts “but I want something out of this too”.

“I swear to fuck if you want to pimp me o—“ Sherry puts up her hand, silencing Negan before he can finish that sentence.

With her steely look fading, Sherry smirks. She nods towards Negan “I want to know what message you deleted in the group chat last night and I want an I-owe-you that I can cash in whenever wherever”.

Negan groans, his neck going slack as he looks up at the ceiling “Give me fucking patience…”.

You nod “That could be done. Negan?”.

He huffs, trying to buy time. “I just made a grammar error, that was all” he lies, and not convincingly.

“Bullshit” Sherry immediately calls his bluff.

“Well then fuck off, I’m not telling you!” He gets defensive, the words meaning nothing to him but everything to the already pissed off fling. 

“Ok, ok, he didn’t mean that,” you try to calm the situation, putting your hand on Negan’s chest to make him back away from the counter. The last thing you wanted was for Sherry to decide to throw a tater tot at him. 

“Can you give us a minute? Just one sec,” you give Sherry a quick smile as you lead Negan away and to a free table. You sit him down, his lanky legs making him look like a giant in a toddlers chair. 

Despite being in a room full of students, he doesn’t feel the need to put up a professional, mature mantle and instead, Negan sulks.

You sit across from him. “Negan,” you coax “can’t you just give her the actual answer? Or you don’t even have to mention the green fursuit thing! Just make up something embarrassing and she’ll believe it”.

Negan shakes his head, looking down at the table. “Nah, she’ll fuckin’ know. She wants something real embarrassing,” he grumbles “some humiliation ritual shit”.

He runs a hand down his face. “This sucks” he says plainly. 

 You give a solemn look before shrugging “But think of all the pizza and sloppy Joe’s we can have at the party”.

That makes him smile, a humorous look on his face as he agrees “All of this for some fuckin’ sloppy joes… alright, you stay here, I know why to say”.

You watch a dejected Negan go back up to the counter and wait for Sherry’s attention. She gives him a look you can’t read, saying things you can’t hear with the noise of the cafeteria.

Negan has his back facing you and with some dismissive hand gestures, you watch Sherry nod, somehow buying whatever shit he’s selling. 

She replies to him, a few more words get exchanged before Sherry holds out her hand and they shake. 

Success!

Glancing back at you, Negan gestures for you to follow him back out of the cafeteria. You don’t blame him for wanting to leave so fast, knowing he’ll see this as a win for Sherry. 

“You ok?” you keep your voice soft when you catch up with him in the corridor.

“Yeah it’s whatever,” he dismisses “She said she’ll do the catering so it has all worked out”.

”Great, now we���re serving up cafeteria food,” you’re unsure if this is a win or not “I’m sure that’s what Gregory had in mind”.

“Gregory can choke on a hotdog for all I care,” Negan mutters, clearly not happy “he wanted hot food and he got it, so he better show some fucking appreciation for once”.  

He’s still sulking, his mind elsewhere and presumably still with Sherry in one sense or another.

“If you want, I’ll take care of the liquor” you offer, knowing Negan’s done a lot for the day.

He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes “Nah, that’s the fun part. You free after school?”.

“I am not letting you abandon me somewhere again!” You warn.

He rolls his eyes as playfully as he can, despite the lull in his mood. “Alright how’s about we drive separately? Is that enough to coax you out?”.

You pretend to think about it, humming as you tilt your head from side to side. “I guess so,” you agree just as the lunch bell rings out again. Darn. “Text me a place to meet?” You suggest.

“Texting during class?” Negan raises his eyebrows with faux surprise “Naughty!”.

And with that you reluctantly part ways, even if only for the remainder of the school day.

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Maybe Negan is a bad influence. Much to your dismay, you did spend an excessive amount of your classes texting with him, trying to be as subtle as possible as you would pull out your phone and quickly arrange a time to meet after school. 

In the end, you agreed to meet up in the middle of town, knowing you’d have a few smaller grocery stores and the liquor store to choose your alcohol from. 

Negan mentioned that he’ll probably get there a half hour after school ends, knowing some of the sporty kids would pester him for some advice on how to keep training during the holidays. 

You were fine with that. If anything, you hoped that would be enough time for you to get there and buy all that you’ll need for the party. Then when Negan eventually showed, you could both relax and just go for a coffee.

Not that you’d willingly go for a coffee with Negan.

Ok, yes, you would but not like that . 

You’ve finally gotten to the point of being friends with Negan and that’s good enough for you. In fact, it’s better than you ever expected!

Despite the way he looks at you, the smirk that’s never far from his lips, the warmth in those big hazel eyes… you’re just friends! Swear! You remind yourself over and over again that the teasing and the constant flirting is just Negan being Negan. 

Nothing more.

Yeah, he’d probably go for a round or two if you made your interest known but then you’d be like Sherry: cast aside and avoided.

He’s the kind of guy who flirts to pass the time, who needs to make people laugh to feel alive. You know better than to read into it, even if part of you wonders what it would be like if things were different. But, it doesn’t matter.  

You’re friends. That’s all you are, and that’s enough… right? Just friends. You repeat it like a mantra, trying to convince yourself to believe it as you park your car along the main street.

Your hometown never put that much effort into decorating for the holidays. They might have a few lights strung up and a decades old plastic tree that they take out every year but it’s nothing compared to this.  

The town centre is alive with holiday spirit, transformed into a winter wonderland that glows with festive charm. Bright, twinkling lights drape across every building, casting a golden hue over the street. It feels like you’ve stepped straight into a Hallmark movie. 

Skaters glide and twirl gracefully, their laughter blending with the soft hum of holiday music playing from hidden speakers. Stalls line the square, offering everything from hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts to hand-crafted ornaments and scarves. 

Bundling up in your Winter coat, you decide you may as well go for a walk around while waiting for Negan, not knowing when he’ll turn up.  

You can’t help but smile as you watch skaters spin and laugh, their cheeks a rosy red from the cold. Families huddle together, sipping hot drinks while couples share quiet moments beneath the twinkling lights.

Everything about this place feels perfect, too perfect. The decorations are just right, the air crisp and clean, and the joy in the crowd is infectious. 

You almost feel out of place, like you’re the only one who doesn’t quite belong in this picturesque scene. Everyone else has someone, whether that be a partner, a parent with them or a kid of their own. You’re just with… you .

You don’t know how much time you take just walking around. Before you even enter a shop, Negan texts you. You’re leaning against the barrier to the ice skating rink when your phone ping.

Negan: you gonna get in?

You pause and look up, turning on your heels until… there he is, tucking his phone away again. Donned in a beanie and big coat, Negan looks like he’s going incognito.

“You a skater?” he asks, walking up to join you.

With a soft shake of your head, you go back to leaning against the barrier. “Nah, I think I tried it once or twice when I was a kid,” you reply “but I was always too scared I’d fall”.

Negan scoffs, mimicking your actions as he watches kids, couples and even the elderly glide across the ice effortlessly.

After a beat of silence, he asks “You want to give it a try?”.

“And have you laugh at me when I fall?” you question “I don’t think so”.

He chuckles as if you just caught on to his joke “I wouldn’t let you fall, promise”.

“As if I believe that,” you snort, taking a step back from the barrier. 

Negan scoffs before cooing “I said I’d promise! You wouldn’t fall once, I’d rather get frostbite on my ass than let the princess slip”. 

You huff in an act of annoyance, walking along the street and towards the liquor store. It surprisingly blends into the glow of the area, the neon open sign not looking out of the normal with the festive lighting that surrounds it. 

Your trip to the liquor store goes exactly how you expect. The door chimes as you both step inside and Negan confidently leads you straight over to the hard stuff. Whiskey, vodka, rum, gin, tequila. He loads bottles of it into your arms, humming to himself as he debates another bottle of tequila. 

“Shouldn’t we get something that isn’t so strong?” you suggest, balancing the bottles as you cradle them. 

Negan glances over the selection, taking his time to inspect the different wines. “Hm, yeah this ain’t exactly my specialty,” he admits, picking up a random bottle “usually I use the stuff for cooking and that’s it”.

Raising an eyebrow, you question “You cook with wine?”.

“Yeah,” he shrugs “for marinating, braising, sauces… stupid shit like that”.

“Stupid shit?!” You let out a shocked laugh “That’s not stupid, I had no idea I was dealing with a proper chef”.

Negan rolls his eyes, picking up a variety of red and white wines “Darlin’, I doubt that’s proper chef shit”.

Happy with his choices, Negan leads you to the register and you toddle after him, too busy making sure you don’t drop a bottle or bump into a shelf to protest with his choices.

“There we go,” Negan takes the bottles from you, loading them up for the cashier to scan “that should be enough to get everybody wasted”.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You joke “I don’t think anyone wants to deal with a drunk Gregory for the night”.

Negan chuckles at the idea. “Yeah, well hopefully a few others will get drunk enough to give him a piece of their minds” he throws a few bills on the counter. The cashier begins counting, keeping quiet.

You give him a skeptical look. “You’re paying?” you ask just to confirm. 

Negan nods smugly “I ran into Michonne when I was leaving today, she said as long as we keep the receipts, we’ll get reimbursed in the New Year”.

Picking up on his queue, the cashier hands him the receipt and you both leave, bottles clinking as you balance your heap of liquor.

“We can load them into the back of my car,” you offer, avoiding the judging looks of ongoers as they watch the two of your carry enough alcohol to poison an elephant “and if you want, I’ll pick up some mixers tomorrow. I’ll have to go out and get some more things for Christmas anyways”.

“Works for me,” he agrees, letting out a small giggle when you struggle to hold so much while simultaneously trying to open your car door. Managing to open the back door, you gently place the bottles on the seat before letting Negan do the same. 

You glance over at the ice skating rink one last time, watching the graceful glides and the occasional wobbly stumble.

”Did you mean it?” the words leave your mouth before you even think it through, something that happens more than you’d like to admit.

“Huh?” Negan looks back to you once he closes the car door. Following your gaze, his eyes land on the rink.

“When you said you wouldn’t let me fall on the ice”.

Negan’s face grows more curious, his lips slightly puckered as his tongue moves around his mouth. Studying you for a moment, he slowly nods.

“Good,” you’re convinced and begin tugging him over, locking your car with a click of your key.

Negan laughs, letting you drag him. He doesn’t believe this, half waiting for you to drag him into one of the smaller shops and not to what he thinks you’re doing.

It happens in a flash, and that’s pretty fuckin’ fast for someone like Negan. In an instant, he’s telling you his shoe size and you’re renting out skates. Hell, he doesn’t even have the time to beat you to it and pay himself, or have the time to make an innuendo about his large shoe size!

You giggle to yourself, not quite sure where this impromptu boost of confidence has come from.

This is not your type of thing, both ice skating and last minute plans but here you are, shoving your feet into ice skates. 

The sharp blades of the ice skate make you gulp and about a thousand different ways this could go wrong pop into your head. But strangely enough, the man that was once the bane of your life manages to pull your mind away from the lingering bad thoughts. 

Negan smiles to himself as he stands and clanks along the ground, his tall stature balancing on just the thin blades of the ice skate. He struts around, looking like something straight out of a cartoon show before you both venture on to the rink.

You and Negan glide cautiously onto the ice, the cold air biting at your skin. “You make sure I don't fall on my ass, sweetheart, and I’ll make sure you stay standing too” he teases, his voice carrying a mischievous edge, but there’s something softer beneath it, something you don’t often hear.

You laugh, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it “Hey! That wasn’t the promise!”.

He grins, that signature smirk of his spreading across his face but there’s an almost shy glint in his eyes, the kind you’d never expect from a man as boisterous as him.

You try to steady yourself, the ice slick and unfamiliar beneath your feet. He’s not far behind you, his gaze fixed on you and trying to follow your movements. You feel the weight of his stare but it’s not as intimidating ( or annoying ) as you thought. It feels almost… protective? 

You glance over your shoulder and catch his eyes, which surprisingly aren’t ogling at your ass. His hands hover slightly in the air, like he’s ready to reach for you if you trip. For a second, you almost want to fall just so he’ll catch you.

“Good to know you don’t keep promises” you tease, your voice light despite the racing of your heart.

He laughs, a low chuckle that makes your stomach flutter and you’re suddenly very aware of the space between you. The icy air whips around you both, making everything feel sharper and more alive. 

“I’ll keep it,” he assures with a wink, but his gaze lingers just a little longer than it should “Promise I won’t let your ass hit the ice, scout’s honor”. He loosely gestures as if to cross his heart, keeping his arms out to balance himself.

You take a breath and push yourself forward. The world spins in a dizzying blur as you try to navigate the gliding motion. A rush of adrenaline surges up your legs, wobbling slightly as you sail across the ice. 

It feels like you’re going fast, as if you’re about to feel the wind blow through your hair due to the sheer speed you’re picking up. But then you look around and realise many skaters are overtaking you effortlessly.

Trying to propel yourself forward again, you go to push your foot off the ice when it happens. You falter, a slight sway quickly turning into a wobble and then—

Negan’s there, hands steadying you. Strong, confident but not without a touch of tenderness. His grip doesn’t last long, lingering long enough for you to regain your composure. Yet it’s enough to make your pulse quicken, enough to make you wonder what might happen if the distance between you was just a little smaller.

You meet his eyes again, a look of surprise on your face. 

“I can keep a promise” he simply shrugs as if that was nothing. Yet there’s no smugness or mocking tone that you normally associate with Negan. His playfulness is still there. With Negan, you don’t think that’s something that can ever go away, but it’s layered with something deeper.

Negan’s not watching your every move anymore. He’s watching you — clinging onto the way you make him feel like the world isn’t such a shitshow, not when you’re both here, side by side.

For once, this isn’t about trying to put another notch on his bedpost or figure out a way to have a quickie with you in his truck. Hell, he’s not even concerned with annoying you anymore.

You smile to yourself and take another step forward, hesitantly sliding your hand into his. Not romantically , of course… you’re just scared you might lose your balance.

That’s all. 

Negan pushes off of the ice cautiously, not going too fast as you try to copy his movements. Within a few minutes, you both find your rhythm and manage to do a lap of the rink, going slower than most but doing it nonetheless. The hardest part is turning, both of you acting as if you’re trying to steer a cruise liner as you try to get your feet to work and turn without a hitch.

“See, this ain’t so bad,” he quips, swaying slighting but staying on his feet.

“Suuuuure,” you laugh, watching as Negan looks down and concentrates on his footing. His eyebrows scrunch together, tongue poking out from determination as he straightens himself up again. 

Your eyes linger on his face, wondering if he always pulls that face when he concentrates.

“I’m surprised you’re not all talk” you comment, feeling his hand give yours a reassuring squeeze.

“Oh my fucking shit, is that your attempt of a compliment?” He laughs, flashing you a wide grin that almost borders on being cheesy. 

“WATCH OUT!!”.

Negan grip on your hand immediately tenses, getting ready to drag you away from danger but it’s not you who’s at risk. Seemingly out of nowhere, a man skates through the crowd, arms flailing as he tries to turn… or brake… or maybe both? It’s hard to tell but the look of panic across his face tells you something is wrong.

Negan veers to the side, just enough for the man to skate by and clip his shoulder against Negan’s. That touch is all it takes for Negan to lose balance, letting out a string of curses as he wobbles, tilting back and forth before finally hitting the ice. 

“Shit!” He grunts, awkwardly falling in his ass and accidentally yanking you down with him (thanks to your completely platonic and no underlying feelings hand holding).

The second he goes down, there’s no way you can pull back or try to root your feet into the ice to save yourself. With a squeak, you go down with him, landing with a loud ‘umph!’. 

Negan gets the brunt of the fall and then the brunt of you falling on to him, your head landing on his chest, which is surprisingly comfortable for you.

He lets out a long groan “You alright?”.

“Uh huh,” you feel stiff as you get up, kneeling on the ice as you remove yourself from Negan “and you?”.

“I’ll be fine,” he slowly gets up with a series of grunts “main thing is that ass of yours didn’t touch the ice, did it?”.

In spite of the situation, you laugh “Considering I landed on you, no, it didn’t”.

With the both of you hobbling to the rinks barrier like two 90 year olds, a wry grin tugs at his lips “That enough torture for you for one day?”.

He takes a deep breath, trying to mask the wince but the fall really did a number on him. You’re pretty sure he didn’t expect ice skating to be quite so brutal. The way he hit the ground, you’re surprised he didn’t crack his head open. 

“Come on, tough guy,” you tease lightly, your hand on his back as you guide him out of the rink and toward a nearby bench “let’s get you off your feet before I gotta drive you to the hospital”.

He shoots you a playful glare, but there’s no fire in it, just exhaustion. You help him settle carefully, and for a moment, you stand back and just watch him, checking for any serious injuries. 

“I ain’t broken,” Negan scoffs, trying to be serious despite the soft smile on his face “don’t worry about me”.

With a sigh, you gesture to his skates. “Take ‘em off and I’ll go return them,” you say “I think it’s best if you stay off your feed for a little while”.

As much as Negan wants to protest or do it himself, he complies, knowing his body needs to rest.

Once you’ve taken care of the skates, you wander over to one of the small stalls set up for the festive season, eyes scanning the counter until you spot some hot chocolate. 

Perfect.

When you return to the bench, Negan’s still sitting there, leaning back and looking at the sky with a half-smile. You hand him one him a takeaway cup, the warmth of the cup being an immediate relief in his hands.

“Here,” you say, settling down beside him “something to ease the pain.”

He takes the drink, eyeing you with a sarcastic smirk “You trying to butter me up so I don’t make fun of you for your ice skating skills?”.

You shake your head “Nah, just making sure you don’t turn into a grumpy old man”.

Negan raises his cup in mock cheers. “To not being a grumpy old man,” he says, then takes a sip and pauses “Hot Chocolate? Fuck, I thought you were after getting me a coffee”.

You laugh at that, taking a sip from your own before shrugging “Coffee isn’t a Christmas drink, it had to be some hot chocolate!”.

He rolls his eyes, taking another sip “You didn’t have to get me anything, y’know”.

“I know,” you reply, watching people whizz around the rink at speeds you’d be terrified to ice skate at “I wanted to, though”.

You let a silence stretch between you, giving him time to sip and adjust to the warmth. He’s still got that wall of snark up, but it’s more of a defense than a challenge.  

After a few moments, Negan clears his throat, setting the cup down between his hands and leaning back a bit more, his eyes drifting toward the rink. The sound of other skaters is distant now, a low hum in the background. His usual bravado seems thinner tonight, a more relaxed and innocent fun side of Negan coming out.

“I gotta say, this is a nice change,” he looks over at you, his smirk still there but lacking its usual sharpness “I never really do dates like this anymore, just the freaky deaky part”.

Maybe you said innocent fun too soon.

You scrunch up your face at the ‘freaky deaky’ before correcting “Dates like this? Negan, this isn’t a date”.

“Course it is” the thing with Negan is that he’s always been quick with the jokes but tonight, there’s a rare sense of truthfulness, as if he believes what he’s saying. 

You huff out a laugh, having another sip of your drink “No, it isn’t”.

Raising a hand, Negan starts to list out “Done something fun together, we’ve done a whole lotta touching— something you initiated most of, you took me ice skating and now we’re drinking hot fuckin’ cocoa together”.

You scoff, unsure how to come back from a list like that. Negan keeps going, “Oh and to make it better, since you’ve instigated most of this, you’ve taken me out on a date! Who would’ve thought?”.

“Not a date,” you keep to your alibi. He nods, taking in your response. 

“I guess that’s a good point, it ain’t a date until you seal the deal later” he sends a wink your way.

That earns him a playful shove “Ew, Negan! No!”. He laughs, catching your smile as he gives you one of his own. 

“I ain’t asking you to get down on your knees, doll, I’m just saying most dates end in a kiss at least” he knew that would get you reeling. And it does, making you do a fake gag as you laugh out of pure shock. 

You shake your head, keeping your tone light “You’re unbelievable!”.

“Guess you’re not wrong,” he admits, the walls slowly starting to lower “but you can’t blame a guy for trying”.

Negan is used to fighting it but tonight, just for a little while, he’s letting down his guard. And for once, it feels like maybe you’ve both found something real.

There’s an easy atmosphere between you, the kind that comes when two people are just content to be in each other’s company. Every now and then, Negan shoots you a sidelong glance, making little comments for you to laugh at or nudge his shoulder in response.  

The banter flows freely; light teasing, a few shared stories, and just enough sarcasm to keep it interesting. Although, it’s the kind of conversation where the words aren’t as important as the feeling of ease between you. 

For once, the world feels distant, the noise of it all fading away in the warmth of the moment. It’s nice. And you realize, despite everything you’ve both been through, this is something you’d been craving.  

Simple, peaceful, and without any pressure. Just two people, sipping hot chocolate, and sharing the kind of quiet conversation that feels like it could go on forever.

When your cups are drained and neither of you can find another excuse to stay, you begrudgingly get up and let Negan walk you over to your car. 

“So, what did you tell Sherry today? Any idea what kinda I-owe-you she wants?” you interrogate, looking up just in time to see him wince at the questions “I doubt you told her the truth”.

Negan hums, letting his sarcasm flow freely  “Yeah, only you know about my grinch fur suit and as for the favor shit, I really have no idea”.

“So if you didn’t mention the fur suit, what did you say?” you press, waiting as patiently as you can.

He sighs and you can see he’s debating whether or not to tell you. Keeping your gaze on him, Negan watches the Christmas lights. “I told her a half-truth,” he reveals slowly “told her I meant to send it to someone else, not to the group chat”.

His gaze flickers to you for a moment, slyly trying to gauge your interest.

“And?”.

Negan tries not to make a big deal of it “And I told her it wasn’t a text, hence the delete… I said it was a picture”.

You gasp “A dick pic!”.

He nods, although you don’t understand why he’d be so hesitant about telling you his lie, especially if his dick is involved. Most of the time, the man doesn’t even need an excuse to talk about all things ‘freaky deaky’ .

“What’s the catch?” You ask when you get to your car, digging the keys out of your bag. Negan bounces on his heels, looking anywhere but you. 

“No catch,” he shows you his awful poker face, yet again. You wait it out, knowing Negan won’t be able to keep his mouth shut for long.

…

…

…

“I told her it was meant for you,” he blabs. Wow, three seconds, you wonder if that’s a new personal record for him. You also wonder if this revelation means you can punch him in the face.

“What??!” You practically bark out the word, jaw slack and eyes wide open “Negan, there’s no way!”.

“I thought that seemed the most plausible!” He poorly defends “besides, we’re together a lot so it kinda made sense for me to be sending it to you”.

“Negan,” you groan, much to his satisfaction. 

He leans against your car as you get in, leaving the door open so you can hear his piss poor excuses. 

“If anything, think of it as a favor,” he can’t even hide his smirk and try to seem sincere “now you won’t have that janitor or Alden, Eugene, fuck or even Gregory trying to get in your pants”.

You roll your eyes and bite back “Yeah, cause that was such a big issue before”.

Negan grabs the door for you, ready to shut it before he adds “I don’t think you realize how many pants tightened when you waltzed into the school, doll”.

He misses your disgusted shudder and declaration of “ew” as he shuts the car door for you and takes a couple of steps back.  

Starting up your car, you try to convince yourself Negan is bullshiting. For some reason, thinking that you turn on Gregory is disturbing— who would’ve guessed that??

“You want a goodnight text later?” Negan calls out with a wink, not needing to gesture to his crotch for you to get what he means. 

You don’t bother rolling down the window to reply, letting your actions speak louder than words. Well, to be more specific you let your middle finger do the talking. 

Negan lets out a loud laugh, giving you a wave as you drive off. Despite the gesture, you still get that goodnight text later in the evening. But thankfully, it wasn’t a picture and instead it read…

Negan: Night sweetheart, thanks for the date tonight ;) I’ll have to take you out next time 

[newtonsheffield]

So… how does Anthony propose to Kate in Take a Deep Breath? Or is that something we see later on? If so just ignore this. We will never speak of it again.

Anthony has been planning this for a very long time. He’s been planning it since the second they got together, if he’s honest with himself. He was already so sure of Kate. So sure that she was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He was already planning it when they found out Neddy was on the way and then he didn’t do it. Not because he was any less sure. If anything, he was more sure. Every day he was more sure that Kate is the person he was meant to find. Even when he’s holding her hair and rubbing her back during morning sickness and running down the street at 3am to find a shop still open for packets of crisps and ice cream. Even then he’s happy, he’s excited to be the person she picked to share the life he knows she wanted for herself so badly. But he didn’t want her to think he was proposing because she was pregnant. In a way he didn’t want to take the shine off it. They have a baby together, they bought a house that’s in both of their names, they’re more married than some people who are legally married. Honestly, it’s not that important to Anthony but he knows it’s important to Kate.

It doesn’t help that since they had Neddy it feels like there’s so much pressure on him to propose. He asked for Kate’s father’s blessing and he feels like every time he sees Tharman recently he looks at that man holding his grandson and the older man sighs,

“Anthony, why isn’t my baby engaged?”

“I’m working on it! I promise!”

His siblings and mother niggle at him every time he sees them.

“Just ask her!”

“Daphne! Have you ever proposed to anyone?! No! Nose out!”

“I’ve accepted a few proposals in my time!”

Simon’s head shot up, “A few?! Who else’s proposal did you accept?!”

Anthony’s also not helped by the fact that even before Neddy was born he was referring to Kate as his wife. He’d stitched himself up the first time Kate had gone to pick Hyacinth up from school when he got caught up at work and found his girlfriend standing with her arms crossed as she leaned against the doorframe, Hyacinth scribbling madly on a piece of paper.

“Oh, there’s my husband!”

Anthony stopped dead, his eyes narrowed, aware he’d somehow made a misstep. “What have I done?”

Kate raised her eyebrows, “Miss Beckett greeted me today as Mrs Bridgerton. Was I there when we got married?”

Anthony flushed, wrapping his arm around her waist. “You are my wifey.”

Kate relaxed into his arms chuckling, “You could officially make me your wife, you know.”

“These things take time, Babe.”

“You could do it right now.”

“I’m not going to do it here.”

“Fine!” Kate sighed, Nudging his ribs. “I’ll wait.”

Finally, Anthony decides to propose after Neddy’s birth. He takes Kate and Neddy out for a picnic and makes her a daisy chain, and he asks her to marry him. When Kate finally swipes the tears from her eyes she takes a shuddering breath.

“God, finally. I had to push out a baby for it, Jesus.”

Anthony rolled his eyes, “Eh, worth the wait surely.”

“Very worth the wait.”