#so probably I’ll lose the first round and then just watch but this is fine <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[peach-pot]

hi

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uhm. I don’t have any propaganda I just wanted to also make a post where I tag all the tart bracket participants. hi friends ^_^ excited to play this fun little game with y’all, how are you? I haven’t spoken to some of you ever hello nice to meet you <3 I’m hannah or han or darcy (I’m a man of many names). do any of y’all like jellycat stuffed animals.

[pearlessance]

The Hand That Feeds - Idle Threats [iii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Tommy sets Joel up on a date with a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman at the Tipsy Bison. He has a much better time in the restroom with a little girl who can’t keep his fingers out of her mouth.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, jealousy, light angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

When Joel wakes up the next morning, several hours later than usual, Tommy’s already sitting at the table beside Ellie. Maria is there too, smiling affectionately at the two of them as they bicker back and forth about one of the horses in the stables.

“She’s crazy,” Tommy says. “Always buckin’ and snappin’ at people. And she goes on hunger strikes, too. As if we don’t already worry about feeding ‘em.”

“Oh my God, dude,” Ellie grumbles. She stands from the table and disappears into the kitchen. When she returns, she acknowledges Joel as he laces up his boots only long enough to place a plate in front of him and say, “Made you a sandwich for lunch.” And then she turns back to Tommy. “She’s not crazy. You just have to be gentle. Approach with caution, isn’t that the saying?”

Joel thinks of you briefly at Ellie’s words. Approach with caution. It’s fitting, considering Joel tends to lose all morality within touching distance of you. But he’s not supposed to be thinking of you at all, and so he shoves the thought from his head as quickly as it appears. 

But then he thinks he’s been outed, as if his brother could read his mind. “Speaking of crazy,” Tommy says. “Mike’s back from his run so he’ll be on watch tonight. You’ll be free of her from now on.”

He’s not sure why, but it bothers him a little that you’re being referred to as crazy. Made even worse when he realizes his brother is currently comparing you to the broodmare out in the stables. He wants to say something but doesn’t know the words to speak without making himself look suspicious.

Thankfully, Ellie does it for him. “You know, Tommy, I’m starting to think you’re just a pussy.”

Joel knows he should probably chastise her. Especially in front of Maria—who has always been a little standoffish about Ellie and her lack of discretion. But he doesn’t. Joel laughs to himself instead, comforted when his brother breaks out into chuckles of his own. 

“Maybe so,” Tommy says. He stands from the table, and Maria follows him. But when she nudges Tommy with an elbow, he pauses and proceeds to ask, “You got plans tonight? Before your watch?” 

Joel shrugs and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not really.”

“So you’ll come have a drink with me then? At the Bison?”

Joel hesitates. He’s not sure why—quality time with his brother sounds like a fine time to him. But there’s something in the tone of his voice that puts Joel on edge. “Why?”

Maria answers for him. “To catch up,” she says. “Been a minute since it was just the two of you. You deserve that, I think.” And then she turns to Tommy and raises her brows, a suspicious smile on her face. “You know what? I’ll take your watch for you. Mike and I have some stuff to discuss anyway. You two can have a guys' night.”

He can sense the bullshit from a mile away. All but solidified with the grin Ellie hides behind her hand.

But Joel isn’t in the mood to argue. It’s obvious they’re doing it for a reason, but whatever it is can’t be that bad. Otherwise, Tommy would’ve told him already. “Alright, then.”

“Come help me move this firewood and I’ll buy the first round,” Tommy offers.

Joel agrees, and after making sure Ellie would be occupied and safe within the walls for the day, they set out towards the edge of the perimeter. 

Tommy has the back of his truck bed overflowing with split wood. And truthfully, Joel is happy to see it. Because manual labor is a welcome distraction. Tommy’s incessant talking will occupy his mind and moving the wood from the truck to the stockpile will occupy his hands—both of which have tended to stray towards you as of late.

The only problem is that twenty minutes in, after updating Joel on how domestic his life has become since marrying Maria, Tommy looks over at his brother and asks, “Honestly, I never thought you’d be into the young ones.”

Joel’s chest tightens at the insinuation. He decides to play dumb, even knowing his brother likely sees right through him. “What do you mean?”

He throws an armful of wood onto the pile and puts his hands on his hips. Tommy’s got a light sheen of sweat on his face and a smug expression beneath it. “You had a conversation with her? Seriously, Joel? You think I’m that stupid?”

“Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth,” he shoots back. “And you should be careful—throwin’ accusations around like that.”

Tommy narrows his eyes. “Is it an accusation?” 

For a split second, Joel thinks about lying. But he’s never lied to his brother in all his life. Evaded direct questions and neglected the truth a little, sure. But he’s never lied, not to Tommy—and he doesn’t want to start now. So, he stays silent. 

It’s answer enough. “Jesus, Joel,” he huffs. “She’s just a kid.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He forces his eyes away from Tommy, unable to face him. He gathers another armful of wood instead.

“No, no. I think you do know. Which makes this whole thing that much worse.” 

Joel has half a mind to snap back at him. His brother is far from perfect, despite judging Joel like he’s got no mistakes made under his belt. But what he’s done is wrong. And isn’t this deserved, after all? Tommy’s allowed to be mad, to be disappointed.

So, Joel lets him cut deep. 

“She don’t know any better,” he says. “Just an angry little girl, lost and lookin’ for someone to take care of her. And it can’t be you, Joel. Not like this. If you wanna…” Tommy moves his hands, swiping one out in front of him. “If you wanna keep her safe, protect her, that’s…ya know, that’s one thing. But usin’ her?”

Joel stops him, spine straightening as he tosses wood onto the pile. “It ain’t like that.”

“It’s cruel, s’what it is,” Tommy tells him. And Joel makes no argument. “I mean, seriously, what d’you expect is gonna happen? You two will, what? Fall in love, live happily ever after? You’re thirty two years older than her. Best case scenario, you live to be, what? Seventy? Seventy five? And she’ll still be around, left with nothin’ for the second half of her life. That what you want? She’s lost enough.”

He hears him. All of it. But Joel wants to know exactly what his brother means with those last three words. She’s lost enough. But now isn’t the time to ask, and Tommy isn’t the one he wants answers from. Joel lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “I told you, it ain’t like that. You think I’d let it go that far?”

Tommy scoffs. “You’ve already let it get this far. I don’t even know what all has happened and frankly, Joel, I’ve got no interest in findin’ out. I’m just sayin’ that whatever the hell’s goin’ on between you two, you’ve gotta put an end to it.”

Joel picks up more wood from the back of the truck. “I know,” he says, piling it on.

“I’m serious.”

“Goddammit, Tommy, I said I know,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “You gonna let me do all the fuckin’ work today or what?”

Tommy, thankfully, lets the subject go. But that painful ache in Joel’s chest? That stays and gets comfortable, makes a home where it doesn’t belong. They move the split wood in silence, though his mind is anything but.

There wasn’t a word untrue in his brother’s little spiel and Joel knows it. He doesn’t know what he wants from you, what business he has with you at all. It’s wrong to even think of you the way he does, to look at you the way he does…and acting on his impulses has been, perhaps, the worst thing Joel has ever done. Worse than killing. Worse than torturing. Worse than any lie he’s ever told.

Because he doesn’t regret it. Not even a little.

No. If Joel Miller could go back to the first day he met you, he’d still stare at that black lace beneath your wet shirt. He’d still admire the snow clinging to the ends of your hair. He’d still drink you in and eat you up and he’d still find an excuse to touch you, no matter what he tells himself.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t grow, that he can’t change. It doesn’t mean that he can’t be a better man, a man worthy of keeping you safe.

And he will, Joel vows silently. He will keep you safe, no matter what he’s done to you in the past. Someone has to look out for you, to keep you from falling off that edge of decency you like to toe so much.

When they’re tossing the last few logs onto the pile, Tommy wipes his brow with the back of his hand and says, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to find somebody.”

Joel shrugs. “I’ve got you and Ellie and this place. Don’t need much else, Tommy.”

“I know,” he says. And then again, “I know. But, uh…you know what I mean. Like a woman. Not a girl, but a real woman. Any of these other broads catch your eye?”

There’s something a little like hope in his eyes, and Joel knows his brother too well to believe this conversation is anything but a setup. “Why’re we talkin’ about this?”

Tommy squeezes the back of his neck. “That, uh…you know that drink we’d planned on havin’? It was…it was a lie. Kinda. You know Kelly? Works over at the grocer on Fourth Street. She’s real close with Maria.”

“No,” Joel immediately says, seeing right where this is headed. “No, I’m not doin’ that.”

“C’mon, man. What could it hurt? She’s got it real bad for you, ya know. The whole rugged caveman man thing seems to do it for her,” he jokes. Tommy’s laughing, but the joy bleeds from his face when he sees the threat in Joel’s eyes.

“I said no.”

When Joel turns to walk away, deciding to skip any quality time with his brother altogether for the sake of his sanity, Tommy grabs his shoulder and pulls him back. “Joel, look. Just…give it a shot. Kelly’s a real nice girl. Real pretty, too. Real young.”

Joel narrows his eyes. Thinks about clocking his brother in the goddamn nose.

Tommy laughs again and shakes his head. “Alright, I’m sorry. That was a little uncalled for,” he admits. He raises his hands in surrender. “All I’m sayin’ is it could be a good thing to put yourself out there a little. Get her out of your system.”

Joel doesn’t agree. There’s no erasing you, no scrubbing his hands clean. He’d made sure of it because he never wants to forget you. Never wants to wake up beside a lovely, soft spoken, age appropriate woman like Kelly one day and realize the taste of you has faded from his mouth, that the feel of your fingertips pressing into his flesh is nothing but a whisper of a memory. 

He’d consumed the forbidden fruit not once but twice, all to ensure he’d always remember the taste of ambrosia.

So, no. Having a drink with Kelly would not get you out of his system.

“Tell you what,” Tommy says. “You go have a drink or two, see where it leads. And if you decide she ain’t worth the effort, come on over and we’ll crack open that bottle of Johnnie Walker that I found from the nineties.”

The scotch sounds like a much better idea than facing the woman currently waiting for him, but the longer Joel thinks about it, the more his brother’s words slot together in his brain. Maybe Tommy’s right. About trying, at least. 

You’re too well embedded within him for Joel to ever forget you. But maybe it would help to curb his…urges if he was distracted by someone else. If he wasn’t always so high strung, if he could lose himself within a body that isn’t yours. 

Could he protect you better that way? Protect you from him a little easier? Maybe…maybe it would help. Maybe he could somehow keep you safe without it also being cruel, as Tommy had put it.

And, for you…it was worth a shot. For you, he would try.

“You want a ride back to town?”

Joel shakes his head. Tells his brother he needs the walk back. It’s only a couple blocks to the bar and Joel needs the quiet. Needs the time to think, to convince himself that this might actually work. 

And it could…right? Kelly isn’t bad looking. She’s got pretty blonde hair and green eyes, and her voice sounds a little like a character from a movie Joel watched once. Some southern belle who made pies and sat them on the window sill to cool. 

Even though Joel doesn’t want to convince himself it matters, Kelly is also in her late thirties. Nearly twice your age. Young…but not twenty. 

Joel makes his decision as he steps onto Main Street.

The Tipsy Bison is one of the most popular attractions in the commune. It’s a warm little place. The lights are low, and there’s always some blues rock song playing in the background. The walls are covered in framed photos, taxidermied mounts, old-school plaques. Little momentos all courtesy of Jackson’s population. Joel’s been here a couple of times with Tommy, and he can’t deny the nostalgia it brings up in him. 

It feels like before. Before the outbreak, before the end of the world.

He thinks of you then, wonders how different you’d be if the two of you had met in that world instead of this one.

And as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Joel begins to wonder if he’s fucking cursed. 

Because there, at the end of the round bar, you sit in one of the oak stools. You’ve got one leg folded beneath you, leaning against the bartop with a ballpoint ben clutched between your fingers. You’re writing in that journal you tried so hard to casually hide from him the other day, the one Joel has an insatiable desire to read.

You look beautiful when you think no one’s looking. Lively and youthful, soft and sweet. You’re wearing a pretty black dress with a sparse, white floral pattern printed on it. A jean jacket rests over your shoulders, and it’s a size too big but Joel thinks it fits you just right. Your black socks are bunched down around your ankles, and beneath the barstool there’s a pair of leather boots that sit unoccupied. Your hair falls loosely down your back, and Joel wants to run his hands through it. He knows it’s soft, knows it feels a lot like satin.

But maybe he needs a reminder.

“Joel! I’m so glad you could make it!”

It’s only then he notices Kelly in her yellow blouse. She’s sitting just two seats down from you, sunshiney demeanor grabbing the attention of the rest of the patrons as she calls out for him.

Your whole body goes rigid at the sound of his name. And Joel’s blood ignites in his veins as you turn your head slowly and glance at him over your shoulder.

It’s a simple look, but it feels far from innocent.

Kelly approaches him, and Joel forces himself to look at her instead of you. Forces a smile onto his face, too, despite the obvious sway of her hips. He tries not to think about how her subtle charm isn’t nearly as enticing as your foul mouth. “Saved you a seat,” she tells him.

He lets her take his hand and pull him to the bar. Kelly smells like patchouli and Joel doesn’t hate it. It’s just…not quite right. Too earthy, too warm. He can’t explain it.

The desire to leave already rises in him. This is too much, too uncomfortable. Even though you’re not looking at him anymore, turned back to that leatherbound journal and scribbling intently, Joel cannot take his attention off of you.

Kelly notices. She sits between the two of you, and her head pivots from him to you, and then back to him. Her voice is lower as she suggests, “I know this isn’t the most secluded of places. Do you want to go somewhere a little more private?”

Joel opens his mouth to answer, but you beat him to it.

“Try the northwestern outpost,” you say without picking your head up. It’s resting casually in your left hand as if you hadn’t just blatantly been listening in on a question very clearly not meant for your ears.

“The outpost?” Kelly laughs, a crease forming between her brows in confusion. “Why would we go there?”

“Ignore her,” Joel says.

It’s then that you finally look up from your journal. Your mouth quirks up at the corners as you look only at Kelly. “You’ll like it there,” you tell her. “Trust me. It’s secluded and private, just like you want. I’m sure you two could get up to all kinds of nefarious activities.”

Kelly flushes, cheeks turning crimson at your insinuation. “O-oh…I didn’t mean…”

“What?” You snicker. “Isn’t that what this is?”

“Stop,” Joel orders. And he means it. Hopes you’ll see the warning on his face and take it seriously. But you don’t even look at him, and Joel wonders if this is how Maria feels. Invisible.

He couldn’t survive it for weeks like Maria has. Thirty seconds of it has his skin crawling.

“No, it’s not,” Kelly says. Her face is still pink, but her shoulders are pulled back all the same. She’s confident as she tells you, “It’s a date.”

Your eyes widen at that, brows rising. Joel can tell you’re holding back a laugh, can sense the impending doom that’s bound to follow whatever the fuck comes out of your mouth. And his assumption is proved correct as you say, “Hm. That’s…real interesting. Didn’t peg him for a man who’d be into someone like you.”

“That’s enough,” Joel says through gritted teeth. He’s been able to see right through you from the very beginning, could see that dog-like fight buried beneath your innocent looking exterior. Joel knows you’re a brat, but he’s beginning to think maybe you’re just simply fuckin’ vicious.

Poor Kelly, for what it’s worth, retains her composure. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your voice is sickly sweet, sarcasm almost undetectable in your answer. “You’re just so…so nice , Kelly! And so pretty, you know? Like, uhm…hm. How to put it…” You tap your pen against your journal as if you’re real deep in thought. Joel can hear the words before they leave your mouth. “You’re just so lovely and soft spoken. And Joel’s…well, Joel’s Joel.”

Kelly giggles and actually thanks you, completely unaware of the insult in your sugary words. And then she shrugs and says, “You know, sometimes opposites attract. Right, Joel?”

It feels like a kick to the chest when you finally, finally turn your eyes on him. It knocks the air from his lungs, the flicker of spite in your expression more threatening than that of any rabid dog he’s ever encountered. You smirk and repeat Kelly’s words. “Right, Joel?”

His heart is beating so fast he thinks it might explode. Unfortunately, however, it doesn’t, and Joel is left with the two of you staring right at him, expecting an answer. He swallows hard and says, “...Right.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” You stand to your feet, gathering your journal and pen in one hand and your boots in the other.

Joel watches you sit on the other side of the bar, further out of earshot this time. The bar is too small for you to sit anywhere and not hear them, but the effort is there. And Kelly, it seems, is satisfied with it.

“Sorry about that,” she says to Joel, voice lowering to a whisper. “Have you met her before? She’s kind of a recluse. Sticks to herself. Bit of a troublemaker, really.”

He hardly hears her, ears finetuned to pick up the cadence of your voice as you speak to Tara who’s tending the bar. You laugh at some joke she makes, and order ‘that one drink that doesn’t taste bad but has all those different alcohols in it. What’d you call it last time? A long island?’

“Anyway,” Kelly says. “Can I admit something to you?”

Joel, genuinely, could not give a fuck less about whatever she’s going to say. But he forces himself to pay attention to the woman in front of him and not the girl at the other end of the bar. “Sure.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” she says.

Me neither, Joel doesn’t.

“She has a point, you know. I feel like we don’t have much in common. But…I like you, Joel,” Kelly confesses. She sets her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing lightly. 

And it’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong—too soft, too tender. Not enough claws. Not enough you.

But that’s not fair, is it? Joel isn’t hear to compare the two of you. He’s here to try. For you. For your safety.

He tries to give her a warm smile, knows it comes across as more of a grimace. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“So, how do you like Jackson so far?”

The small talk is slowly killing him. “It’s great,” he says honestly. “I think it’ll be good for Ellie.”

She nods. “Of course. I’ve heard a little about what you two went through to get here. It must’ve been hard, a young girl like her.”

“Ellie’s strong,” Joel says.

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Kelly defends. “I just mean girls that age can be a little unruly. Best to have a routine, you know? So they don’t end up like that.”

Joel almost pressures her then, urges her to say exactly what she’s thinking. He can read between the lines, knows she’s referring to you and your bad behavior. Joel wishes he could come to your defense. But he can’t, so he just says quietly, “Yeah.” 

He’s not adding much in the way of discussion. He knows he should be asking about Kelly, about her family or her pastimes or anything. But he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t have it in him to pretend he does. He’s thankful when Tara approaches and asks if they want to order anything.

Kelly orders a Coke, and Joel orders a double whiskey neat.

Tara sets them down in less than a minute, and Joel’s already tossing his back before the glass can touch the bartop.

She eyes him suspiciously for a moment and then carefully asks, “Do you…drink a lot, Joel?”

“No.”

You burst into a fit of rambunctious laughter, trying to play it off like a cough at first. But your amusement is loud and obnoxious and you’ve got one hand over your mouth, and you quickly give up pretending to be polite. When you notice they’ve both turned to stare at you, Kelly with her brows knitted together in bewilderment and Joel with that signature scowl on his face, you wave your hand in dismissal. “I’m sorry,” you choke out through your giggles. “I just remembered something funny. Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”

Joel turns back to his date, but sees you stand out of the corner of his eye. Watches you disappear down the hall to the back of the bar.

“Oh, okay. Well that’s…that’s good,” Kelly says. “That you don’t drink. I don’t either.”

He nods once. Clears his throat. Prays silently for this awkward atmosphere to dissipate. 

“Maria told me….uhm, she told me you had a daughter.”

Nope.

Joel’s barstool scrapes against the floor noisily as he rises to his feet. “Been a while since I’ve had something so strong,” he says, nodding to his empty glass. “Whiskey went right through me. I’ll be back.”

He finds you right where he expects. You’re in the dimly lit restroom at the back of the bar, standing with your back against the counter, hands braced behind you. Joel catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the sink and thinks he looks a little untamed, a little feral. You’ve got a playful smirk on your face as if this whole situation is just so funny, and it rubs his nerves raw. “You need to leave,” he says, standing as far away from you as possible.

You don't comment on his words. Don't even acknowledge that he’s said them. “Kelly, Joel? Really?”

No, not really. It’ll never be Kelly. Not the one he ends up with, not the one he distracts himself with. Joel knew as much the moment he set foot in this bar. But he doesn’t correct you—he’s too busy trying to get himself under control. Too busy trying to stop staring at your bare thighs, at the space where they disappear beneath the seam of your dress. He’s too busy praying to a God he stopped believing in long ago, begging for strength.

Because he’s all out of options. Nothing he’s tried has worked, and Joel knows now that it’ll take some divine force to keep him from you.

“I didn’t take you for the kinda man to move on so fast,” you continue. “I wonder if Kelly knows where you spent your night.”

“Stop that,” he warns. “That ain’t fair.”

“Fair? And you somehow think you being here, flaunting her like that in front of me is?”

“I’m not flauntin’ anybody.”

This has got you worked up, Joel can tell. So much so that he can see the pulse throbbing in your neck from here. “You’re an asshole, dude. Seriously.”

Joel stiffens at the curse word in your mouth. But he doesn’t do or say anything about it. It’s not his place. Not anymore. He made sure of it. “We can’t do this. It ain’t right.”

“You can’t,” you correct. “Don’t put this on me, Joel. You do what you have to do—but don’t make it my fault.” 

“I’m not blamin’ you,” he insists. Anger rises in him, hot and uncontrollable. It’s not your fault and it never has been. Joel hates that he’s somehow put the idea in your head and he aches to set it right. You’re not the problem. He is. Joel and his inability to keep his hands off you. 

“Yes, you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, the fuck it is.”

“No, I’m—” Joel stops, sighs heavily, presses his fingertips into his throbbing temple. “Will you stop and hear me out for one second?”

“Mm…let me think.” You’re grinning like this is some kind of joke. It only serves to annoy him more. You tap your index finger against your chin in a forgery of contemplation and then say, “Probably not.”

And Joel loses it. He crosses the small room in just two steps, grabs your face in his hand and tilts your chin upwards, forcing your attention to remain only on him. “I’m not askin',” he says darkly. It’s a wretched thing on his part that he enjoys the flash of unease in your eyes, but Joel’s too angry to think too deeply about it. “Now, you’re gonna shut that pretty mouth of yours and listen. You understand?”

You look up at him through your lashes and Joel’s weak in the knees. While your eyes are shining and bright and painfully innocent, your response is anything but. “If you want me to shut my mouth, then maybe you should put something in it.”

Joel swallows as you reach below his belt. He catches your wrist in his hand seconds before you find evidence of just how much you affect him. A hundred images flash through his mind— fantasies of what he wants to do to you, how badly he wants to defile you. He wants to push you to your knees and force himself down your throat. Wants to wake up to your mouth around him. Wants to feel your tongue on the underside of his cock, familiarizing itself with the veins there. He wants to peer down at you beneath the dinner table, that sweet mouth of yours drooling for the sustenance only he can provide. Wants to finish at the back of your throat with the taste of you on his lips. “Enough,” he snarls, equal parts to himself and to you.

“What’s wrong, Joel? You don’t like it when I’m mean to you?” Your voice is sugary sweet, that same subtly sarcastic tone you took with Kelly. But then it falls away, all radiance bleeding from your words. “Join the fucking club.”

It’s then he sees it—the slight tremble in your bottom lip, the way you fight against your watery eyes, the slump in your shoulders. You’re not being bratty just to make him mad. You’re doing it because you’re hurting. Seeing him here with another woman has hurt you, and Joel feels his heart crack behind his ribcage at the realization.

He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself, knows he probably shouldn’t. Knows it would be best to just let you hurt for a little while until you decide to hate him. Because if you hate him Joel won’t have such a hard time resisting you. He wouldn’t be begging the divine forces for strength to hold himself back if you were pushing him away. 

But he can’t let you be hurt if he has the power to fix it, either. He should. But he can’t.

His grip on your jaw softens. “I didn’t know,” he says. Joel wills his fingers to stay still but they, like you, don’t listen to his wisely spoken advice—his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his pinky presses against your throat to feel the flutter of your pulse. “They set it up…Maria and Tommy. I didn’t know.”

Your stare is hard, but he sees the long breath you release and knows that his confession has done its job. “And that’s somehow supposed to make this better?”

“No, I…” He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know the words to make this right. “I’m just sorry s’all.”

Your eyes narrow just slightly, searching for something on his face. A lie, maybe—but he would never lie. Not to you. He feels the coil of anxiety that’s weaved itself around his neck loosen as you place your hand over his and lean into his touch. “Joel, why did you follow me here?”

He doesn’t know.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself. 

But as he stands here now, holding you close, slipping his free hand around your waist and resting it against the curve in the small of your back, Joel can admit the truth. “I can’t stay away from you, baby.” 

You stare up at him so beautifully—a perfect picture of innocence, the most mouth-watering fruit he’s ever seen. You press a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb, bringing his hand down lower, just beneath your jaw. “No one’s making you go anywhere,” you say. “You can stay right here.” 

Joel stares at you, entranced, forgetting that too much of a good thing can turn to poison, as you press your lips to each of his fingers—index, middle, ring, pinky, and then repeat the action in reverse. He feels a little like he’s being worshiped. It makes heat bloom in his chest, warming him from the inside out.

You’re right. Joel hates it when you’re mean. To him, anyway. But you make up for it when you’re being like this; sweet and kind and angelic, his perfect little girl. Ambrosia-flavored venom, Joel thinks. “I can’t,” he says. 

And then your soft tongue darts out between your lips, licking up his middle finger, and Joel’s breathing turns heavy. You watch him tremble as you pull his hand closer, leaning forward to take his finger into your mouth.

He shudders at the softness of you, at being inside of you. You’re so pretty like this, Joel thinks. With his finger in your mouth, the low lights reflecting in your hair, eyes wide and desperate. “Fuck,” he breathes, drawing out the word. 

You pull your head back, mouth hanging open. “Language,” you scold. And Joel laughs lightly, and you mirror the sound, and then he’s lifting you onto the counter, and this time you take both his middle and index finger into your mouth and Joel is moaning.

It feels so good. It’s so fucking good that he could die . Pretty girl sucking on his fingers because it’s the only part of him he’s allowing you to have in this moment. But he knows how badly you want more because Joel does, too. Wants to feed you his cock, wants to fuck you right here in this bathroom with your panties pulled to the side and his date waiting out there for him.

But no. No. You deserve better than this. Better than a sleazy bar bathroom, better than to be kissed only in secret. Better than him. “We can’t, baby,” he whispers. 

You only hollow out your cheeks in response, sucking his fingers in deeper. Joel lets you because he can’t bring himself to stop it. 

“I’m sorry, I…it ain’t right. It ain’t…you’re too young, sweetheart. You know what…goddamn, you know what people will say? About the both of—both of us?” Joel moves his free hand from your spine, rests it on the inside of your thigh instead. “They’ll think I’m some dirty old man, touching’ you like this…they’ll say I’m a pervert, that I’ve got no business bein’ near you. And they won’t be wrong, baby, don’t you get that?”

You squeeze your thighs together and tilt your hips forward, whimpering sweetly around his thick fingers in your mouth. Your eyes are pleading as you grab his wrist and slip his hand beneath your dress.

Joel can’t help himself. He presses hard against your clit, grinning at the little whine you let out in response. “Y’like that, hm?” You’re nodding and Joel’s mouth is watering and he knows he shouldn’t but, fuck, he has to. “You know what they’ll say about you?”

When he moves your panties to the side his fingers glide through your slit easily. You’re so wet, so fucking wet and he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that it’s all for him. Your head falls back, thudding softly against the glass mirror. Your chest heaves and your breath is hot against his drool-covered palm. 

“They’ll call you a slut, baby,” he whispers tenderly. “They’ll say you spread your legs for any man who gives you attention, and that ain’t what you want, is it?” Joel rubs circles around your clit, feeling it throb beneath his middle finger. His hand moves fast, desperate to get you there, to take that ache away. “We can’t have that, sweetheart. You know why?”

You shake your head, tongue sliding between his fingers. Joel pushes them in deeper.

“Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.”

A whimper leaves you at that. Joel chuckles darkly as you lift your legs, trying to find purchase on the countertop to no avail.

He wonders if you think he’s joking. Joel knows he’s not.

“C’mon. You got it. Legs up,” he says, nudging your knee with his shoulder. When the heel of your boot catches the edge of the counter, he helps you with the other one and praises, “There you go. Spread ‘em wide, baby.” 

Joel’s cock throbs in his jeans, painfully hard, pushing against his zipper. He ignores it because the second he gives it any thought he’ll be pulling it out and indulging himself in you as if last night meant nothing. And it can’t mean nothing. 

His name is muffled in your mouth as you whine, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. He knows how close you are, can feel it in the needy movement of your hips.

“S’okay, I know,” he whispers. He allows himself to appreciate the way you look with his fingers in your mouth for one more second before hooking them around your jaw and pulling your face toward his. Your eyes flutter open, but there’s nothing but blind trust in them. It makes him feel bruised, tender, devoted. 

And then he takes his fingers out of your mouth, reaches down, and slides them into your pussy instead.

Joel kisses you hard, echoing the sound of your moans. You taste a little like alcohol and a whole lot like addiction, and he’s never been so thrilled to have a fix. He drinks you in, tongue sliding against yours, licking into you like it’ll be the last time. Joel knows it won’t be, and he wonders why that thought is so goddamn comforting. 

Your legs begin to shake. One of them slips off the countertop. “Joel,” you whimper into his mouth. “Joel, I’m gonna come, I’m—”

“Go’head, baby, c’mon. Give it to me.” His fingers are covered with your drool and slick, pooling in his palm as he strokes that spot inside you that makes you writhe. He’s still circling your clit with his other hand and keeps up a steady pace. When your fingers tangle in the dark curls at the nape of his neck and pull, Joel just kisses you harder despite the ache it brings.

“Ohh, God, God, Joel, please don’t stop, don’t stop—!”

He feels your walls clench around his fingers and Joel lets out a moan of his own, his cock convulsing in his jeans. “Yeah…there you go. Good girl, baby. You listen so fuckin’ good when you’re all full’a me, don’t you?” He fucks you through it, relief reverberating through his ribcage with the sounds you make. “Sweet little thing, just need ta’ be told what to do, ain’t that right? Hm?”

You moan his name one final time, and before your breathing evens out you’re pulling his flannel out of his jeans and tugging at his belt buckle. “Joel, please, please, please.”

He thinks you beg so prettily. He thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Not your attention, not your desperation, not your trust or admiration. Yet he doesn’t stop you, even knowing he should. 

Never in his life has he wanted someone so badly. And never in his life has he wanted to protect someone so much. It’s an impossible task. One he’ll undeniably fail over and over and over again. He thinks about his conversation with Tommy and his gut wrenches.

But then you look up at him and all doubt ebbs away, fading into nothingness. Joel knows this feeling. Had nearly forgotten it, in truth. But it hits him like a freight train now, like a bullet to the head. You smile at him and Joel feels heat stain his cheeks and it’s here, here, in this sleazy bar bathroom that he remembers what it feels like to be cherished.

And it’s been so long, so very long, that Joel’s forgotten until this very moment just how hungry for it he’s been.

What’s a starved man to do but devour?

You carefully snake your hand beneath his jeans. Your fingers are soft, delicate, as they wrap around his hard length and squeeze. There isn’t a second that you look away from him, and he wonders if you can read his mind, if you can see the shift in him, if you can hear all his rapturous thoughts of admiration.

The leather of his belt bites deliciously into his hips with the extra pressure. Your hand begins to move, stroking him softly. Joel’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head, but he resists because he doesn’t want to forget this moment. Doesn’t want to look away from you. He reaches up and takes your face in his hands. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says, kissing you softly. “Keep goin’, just like that.”

Just a few quick touches and he’s melting; putty in your hands, unable to catch his breath. “Like this?” You squeeze him harder, stroke him faster, and Joel groans. “Am I doing good?”

He doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed as he explodes so quickly at the sweet sound of your voice. “Fuck, sweetheart— mm, so good. Such a good little girl, shit.” 

A pretty smile graces your face as he coats your hand in stickiness, satisfied with your work. You draw out every last drop until he’s trembling, and even then you make no effort to slow your movements.

Joel grabs your wrist to still you, every inch of him overly sensitive. And when you wiggle your hand out of his jeans you giggle as you lick up the mess he made. He can’t take his eyes off of your pretty pink tongue as it slides between your fingers, the filthiest thing he’s ever seen. 

When you’re finished, you push yourself off the counter and straighten your dress. “I get it,” you say quietly. “Why you don’t want to be with me. I mean…I don’t really, because I don’t give a fuck what any of these people have to say about me.”

It nearly gives him whiplash. Joel doesn’t understand how you can be licking his come off your fingers one second and go right back to being angry with him the next. But that irritation has slipped back into your voice with a vengeance, leaving Joel at a loss.

“So, I guess I get it, but I don’t understand,” you continue. “I did tell you this would happen, though, didn’t I? Gave you the idea, most likely. So…you know. Go ahead. Go have your date with Kelly. Go find an age appropriate woman, and I’ll find an age appropriate man, and we’ll just—”

“No.” His voice is dark, leaving no room for argument. The thought of you with someone else brings up a fiery rage in him, burning his insides, leaving nothing behind but bloodthirst. “Don’t be like that.” Please. He doesn’t want to lose this place. He doesn’t want to lose you.

“No?” You shake your head. “I’m not going to wait around for you to make up your mind about me, Joel.”

You shoulder past him and walk out of the door without another word.

Joel feels the loss like a knife.

[part two] [part four]

[dadvans]

chick flick moments (bucktommy)

[i can’t stop thinking about tommy’s favorite movie being Love, Actually.]

Tommy hasn’t really talked or seen his family in roughly twenty years. His firefighting career has never been enough, if they were ever keeping tabs, to make up for his dishonorable discharge. And honestly, it’s been fine with him. His family has always been the suffocating kind of conservative and earning their love stopped being a hill he would choose to die on for longer than they’ve been radio silent.

Someone is keeping tabs though, or maybe the news of his recent heroics have a broader reach than he thought, because a few months after getting a medal for the cruise liner disaster response, someone reaches out. Tommy is hesitant to engage because he’s pretty happy without them in his life, but maybe at first it was a cousin or uncle, but that’s followed by one of his sisters trying to get into contact, followed by his mom, followed by his dad. And they’re persistent. Maybe they do want to make amends. And maybe he doesn’t need his blood family but there’s that tiniest part of him left that still wants that connection.

This is how he gets suckered into the most miserable Christmas dinner of his life. It’s not actually Christmas, it’s a few days before when the whole clan can get together, and it’s just as claustrophobic and awful as ever, every word spoken saturated in judgment and triple meanings that Tommy long since has lost the muscle to withstand.

Evan had wanted to come with him, said a whole bunch of shit about how they were PARTNERS, and how it could not be nearly as bad as his own parents were, but Tommy’s extended family holiday dinners are like a Los Angeles Miserable People convention crowded between the dining room and kitchen tables, and Evan’s still licking some wounds after surviving Gerrard’s brief yet nightmarish tenure back at the 118, maybe next time. This first round Tommy needs to do solo. So, Evan drops him off around the corner in the afternoon with a promise to come pick him up later that night.

Evan checks in with him pretty frequently, sending him stupid videos and things he finds on the internet, but Tommy gets hit immediately by some pretty barbed comments about being a grown man on his phone who doesn’t give a shit about the olive branch he’s being offered, so he stops checking so much.

Finally, halfway through too many glasses of wine and an early evening roast that make his memories of MREs seem like a pleasant dream, his phone starts going off pretty insistently. It’s Evan.

The doorbell is about to ring and i need you to be the one to answer it.

Well, that’s worrisome. He’s pretty close to the hallway though, so he types back: ok.

The doorbell rings. He shoves away from the table, waving everyone else back down. “I’ll get it.”

Evan is at the door. He has his phone out with a little plug-in speaker, and oh God, a stack of cue cards—

Unbelievable. “What are you doing.”

Evan enthusiastically hits play on his phone and as tinny Christmas music starts to play, holds up the first card: TELL THEM IT’S CAROLERS

He shakes his head. “Evan, even if they believed me, they would probably love that and would come check it out.”

“Tommy, who’s at the door?” His uncle calls from the dining room.

Tommy rolls his eyes and shouts back, “Planned Parenthood asking for donations!”

“Tell ‘em were eating dinner and to get the fuck out of here!”

Tommy looks at Evan pointedly, eyebrows raised, hands in pockets as if to say: well?

Evan flips to the next few cue cards:

I NEVER SAW THIS MOVIE BEFORE YOU MADE ME WATCH IT flip AND HONESTLY IT WASNT THAT GOOD flip BUT TO ME YOU ARE WORTH IT

“Evan,” Tommy says, softening.

AND I KNOW YOU THINK YOU ARE PROTECTING ME BY TELLING ME TO STAY HOME flip AND THOUGH WHATEVER IS GOING ON CAN’T BE AS BAD AS WATCHING LOVE, ACTUALLY flip OR HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS flip OR THE WEDDING PLANNER flip OR 50 FIRST DATES flip (I ACTUALLY LIKED FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL) flip I WANTED TO CHECK IN

Evan fumbles the cards to the hand holding his phone to pull something out of his back pocket, a piece of paper he gives Tommy, before flipping to the next card: I MADE THIS RANSOM NOTE IF YOU NEED TO BE KIDNAPPED flip AND WE CAN GET OUT OF HERE

It’s easily the stupidest grand gesture anyone’s ever directed at Tommy. He looks over the piece of paper, words threateningly put together cut out from Evan’s copies of Food & Wine and Men’s Health. He nods to himself, smiling, then looks up at Evan who is cheesing back.

“Yeah,” he says, feels for his phone and wallet in his pocket, before dropping the paper to the welcome mat and stepping outside, ready to escape back home to the only family he needs.

[oneforthemunny]

a-maze-ing |cowboy!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: cowboy!eddie takes you to a haunted corn maze.

apart of my spooky stories series!

contains: mainly fluff but alludes to smut at the end. reader being scared but that's about it. nothing graphic or scary, mainly just sweet (and smutty) the way we love our cowboy. you can read all the cowboy!eddie works and lore here.

“Eddie.” 

You hissed, hair whipping in the cold, Indiana air towards him. Eddie snickered, an amused grin pulling at his lips, eyes shining even in the dark of the night. He was hatless tonight, joked that you would knock it off jumping on him and he’d lose it. You rolled your eyes, but you knew he was probably right. 

You rubbed a hand over the fat of your hip where he’d pinched. Fucker knew you were tickilish and nervous- he knew you’d jump. It’s exactly why he did it. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Eddie hummed, hand sliding over yours, pulling you into his chest, swaying with you. “‘M just teasin’.” 

“Well, stop.” You huff, eyes cutting at the people around you. All ages, young and old, loaded up to come walk through the infamous haunted corn maze. You blamed the new Children of the Corn for the newfound obsession that everyone had- well, everyone but you. 

“Are you really that scared?” Eddie frowned, belt buckle digging into your back when he held you tighter to him. “It’s not gonna be that bad.” 

“I don’t like being scared.” You mumbled, your own hands clinging to the forearms that circled you. 

“C’mon, they’re not gonna scare you that bad.” Eddie muttered, lips pressing to the top of your head in a coaxing kiss. “Can’t touch you either, so won’t be that bad. Promise.” 

“Yeah,” You mutter, taking a shuffling step towards the booth to pay. “How do you know they won’t grab me and scare me?” 

“They won’t.” Eddie said surely, hands rubbing over your jacket covered arms. 

“How do you know?” You frowned up at him. “It’s dark in there.” 

“I’ll kick their ass if they touch you,” Eddie shrugged easily, so cool and casual it made your tummy flip with heavy. “How’s that?” 

You bit back a smile, pulling out of his grasp lightly. “Fine.” You sigh, watching the couple before you, excited and jittery, disappear into the maze. “But you have to go first.” 

“Was planning to anyway.” Eddie smirked, fishing his wallet out of his jeans. “Gotta make sure there’s no snakes.” 

“What?” You snapped, louder than you meant to, pulling the attention of the couple behind you. “Snakes? They-They’re gone, right? They, like, hibernate or migrate, right? You’re joking? You’re joking.” You rambled frantically. Suddenly the jump scare actors with fake chainsaws weren’t so scary. 

Eddie snorted lightly, pulling out cash for the tickets. “‘M kiddin’.” He looked at you softly, sliding the bills over to the worker. “But, if there’s a few stragglers, I wore my snake stompin’ boots.” He winked at you, boot bumping your own sneakers. 

“Alright, you’re good to go in. You both enjoy.” The lady smiled, nodding towards the maze. 

Eddie shoved his wallet back in his jeans, his hand grabbing your own clammy one, holding it tightly. “You ready?” He grinned, the thrum of the Halloween creepy soundtracks getting louder and louder. 

“No.” You mutter, nails already digging into his forearm. 

Eddie chuckled, wiggling his arm out of your grip, wrapping around you to pull you into his chest. “I got you.” He muttered, rounding the first dark corner of the corn stalks. 

You barely made it past the first scare, a deranged looking scarecrow jumping out at you with a bloody face before you screeched, launching your face in Eddie’s neck. He laughed, holding you close, far too calm to be experiencing the same thing you were. No jumps or squeals when the “farmer” came at you with the bladeless chainsaw. He didn’t even jump at the end when the final scarecrow, a seemingly normal one on a post, jumped down to chase you around the corner. 

You had screamed, yanking Eddie around the corner with you while he laughed- laughed. A full belly, amused laugh. The same one he gave you when you saw his barn cat, Phoenix, carrying his caught prey of a mouse in his mouth, bringing it proudly to the two of you. Eddie had nearly fallen over, sides in aching stitches when you’d screeched, running from the cat and to the house. It was the same now, pure amusement at your misery. 

“You’re mean.” You huffed, arms crossed at the exit. You had sprinted towards it when you saw the end, not chancing another scarecrow or clown or whatever chasing after you. 

Eddie laughed still, swiping at his eyes. “Oh, baby, that was good, c’mon.” He shook his head, stepping beside you. “C’mon, it was not that scary.” 

“Did we go through the same thing?” You huffed. “That was horrible.” 

“I had a great time.” Eddie smirked, his arm finding its way back to your waist. You shrugged it off, walking ahead. 

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Eddie cooed, you could still hear the smile in his tone. “Baby, it was not that bad.” 

“You’re annoying.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “You laughed at me the whole time.” 

“Can you blame me?” Eddie shrugged. His hand caught your waist, fingers catching through the loop of your jeans to pull you back. “You were screamin’ and hollerin’-” 

You shoved him off you, his hand grabbing back at your waist to keep you in place, pulled into his side. “Hey,” Eddie’s tone dropped, making you shudder in his arms. You’d blame it on the chill of the night. “I’m just teasin’ you, alright? Don’t get fussy with me.” 

“Well, stop.” You pout, Eddie’s hand tightening around your hip, flustered at your little jut in your lip. “It’s not funny to me. I only did this for you, and you’re making fun of me.” 

“I would never.” Eddie said firmly. “You’re just cute, ‘s all.” Your cheeks heat under the cold of the air. Eddie ducks down, pressing a kiss to the icy skin. “You know you are. Cute when you’re scared.” 

“Great.” You mutter, rolling your eyes, but your tone is lighter now. Still clinging to Eddie sweetly. “You only think I’m cute when I’m about to go into cardiac arrest.” 

“No,” Eddie grinned, curls bobbing when he shook his head. His free hand dug in his utility jacket for the truck keys. “Think you’re cute always.” He schmoozed, sweet and silly, it made your head spin. 

Eddie reached for your door, pulling it open for you. “I just like hearin’ you scream.” He rasped, lips nearly to yours when you passed. You flushed, knees buckling when you climbed in. Eddie gave you a half grin, reaching for the Spirits in his pocket. “Think I wanna hear you scream some more. That alright with you, sweet girl?” 

Your head bobbed, eyes glazing with excitement, glowing in the dim light from the Jack-O-Lantern’s that surrounded the field parking. Eddie grinned, tapping out a cigarette. “Good. Wanna see if I can get you real scared. Hear you scream real loud. Maybe they’ll hear it back here, ya think?” Eddie had your legs up in either one of his calloused hands back at his house, pounding you on the porch with such a punishing pace because he knew it would have you clawing at his arms, screaming out for him.

[hartwinorlose]

got inspired by @neyafromfrance95's soulmate posting

COOPER HOWARD - NINE

1 & 2 - Linda and Robert Howard 

Most people’s first threads are their parents. Cooper is no exception. He’s born with two tiny circles of red around his thumbs and an instinctual knowledge: they are there until death; they will remain even if he cuts them. He has eight more. It is far better to have these two than not. 

Like most children, he makes threats in the midst of his tantrums. “I’ll cut it off!” he screams at his mother when she won’t let him have his way. “I’ll cut your thread!”

Of course, he never does. 

Three decades later, in his father’s hospital room, he watches the brilliant crimson fade to a colorless gray. The last bit of red fades away right as the flatline sounds. 

Cooper is sick for a week straight afterwards, can’t so much as get out of bed. When he finally does haul himself back into the real world, the ache in his heart stays. He resents it — there was no love lost between him and his father, but every time he catches a glimpse of that gray thread, it makes him hurt all over again. In the end, it takes more than a year before his heart feels well and truly whole.

It’s the first thread he loses. It won’t be his last.  

3 - Mrs. Abernathy 

He’s only seven when he gives the third one away. He’d developed a lisp, and his parents had immediately put him into speech therapy. He’s grateful for it. The other children have been picking on him incessantly. 

Mrs. Abernathy never does. She works with him, tells him where to put his tongue to get his consonants just right. She’s exceedingly kind and excessively patient, and he wants to show her how much he appreciates what she’s done for him in the best way he can think of. 

On the last day of therapy, when his lisp is well and thoroughly gone – his peers in third grade will never even know he had it – he edges his way shyly to her desk. 

“Mrs. Abernathy,” he says, proud that he can say her title without it sounding like he’s speaking through a spoonful of peanut butter. 

She graces him with a smile. “Yes, Mr. Howard?” She always addresses him like that, like he’s her equal. It makes him feel distinctly grown-up. 

Puffing out his chest, he holds up his hand. “I want you to know that I gave you a thread.” He knows she can’t see it, and he knows she almost certainly won’t give him one back, but it’s the highest honor he’s capable of bestowing. 

“Oh, Cooper.” Mrs. Abernathy places a hand to her heart. “That’s very kind of you, sweetie, but I want you to be careful with who you give those to, okay? Here.” She holds up her own hands and counts out her fingers, then gives them a wiggle. “Ten. It seems like a big number, doesn’t it?” 

He nods solemnly. Double-digits. He’ll be a big kid when he hits double-digits, that’s what everyone keeps telling him. Ten seems a very long way away. 

Mrs. Abernathy places her hands on her knees and leans forward. “I’m going to tell you a secret. It isn’t very big at all. In fact, in a few years, you’ll probably wish you had a lot more than ten fingers for those threads. So you keep them for people who can give them back to you.” 

He gets a similar lecture from his parents when they find out what he’s done. Mrs. Abernathy must have called them because he comes home to find his father in a fine state. 

“Soft-hearted nonsense!” he blusters when Cooper confirms he has, indeed, bestowed Mrs. Abernathy with one of his threads. “This is what comes of going too easy on him. He gets these sort of fool-headed ideas.” This to his mother, who sits with an almost contemplative look on the sofa. 

“I don’t know,” she hums. “I think it’s sweet of him.” 

Robert’s face goes as red as a tomato. “Sweet! It’s permanent, Linda. The boy’s gone and permanently tied himself to a woman four times his age. What’s he going to get out of that?” He yanks loose the knot in his tie and rakes a hand through thinning hair. 

Cooper quails backward as he rounds on him. 

“You listen here, Coop. You do something this stupid again, I’ll cut the damn thread myself. You hear me?” Robert advances a step, goes so far as to make his fingers into scissors and snip the air. 

Tears well in Cooper’s eyes, and he clutches his hand to his chest. He doesn’t want to lose any of his threads. 

Linda jumps up and slaps Robert’s hand down. “Stop it, Bob! He’s going to think you’re serious.” Spinning, she crouches down in front of Cooper and pulls him into a hug. Runs a soothing hand over his hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, dear, no one can cut it but you. You know that, don’t you?” 

Cooper nods, but his father’s threat stays with him for a long time. 

4 - Grant 

Cooper doesn’t even think about giving away another thread until he’s fourteen. Grant is his best friend, has been for the past six years – practically a lifetime. Grant probably knows him better than he knows himself. 

It feels monumental when they ditch their bikes at the edge of what they think is the woods – in reality, a two-acre patch slated for development that happens to have some dense shrubbery and trees – and hike to a group of rocks. The rocks are famous with the neighborhood kids for being infested with snakes, but they climb fearlessly to the top. 

Grant takes out his pocket-knife and scrapes it against the unyielding stone. It leaves marks behind, white on gray, and he carves out a clumsy “G.” 

“Here.” He hands the knife to Cooper. 

Dutifully, Cooper adds a “C” right next to it. “Now what?” 

“We gotta bleed.” Grant holds the knife over the pad of his index finger and digs the point of it in until a drop of blood wells beneath it. Once again, he hands Cooper the knife. 

His breath hisses through his teeth as the blade punctures his skin, but he lifts his finger to show Grant he’s done it. 

Grant presses their fingers together, their blood mixing and falling combined onto the initials they’d carved. “There,” he says, wiping his hand on his pants and leaving a rusty streak behind. “Now we’re blood brothers.” 

“Blood brothers,” Cooper repeats, wrapping his hand around his finger to stem the bleeding. When he opens his fist, he realizes a thread has wrapped itself around the base of his bloodied finger. His eyes follow it to where it terminates somewhere within Grant’s rib cage. He hadn’t even realized he’d given one away. 

5 - Janet 

Cooper is seventeen and a bit of a romantic. He’s been dating Janet since Grant moved away two years back, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be forever. 

By the time he’s eighteen, he’s sure enough to run a thread between them. Never before has he wished so fervently that she could just see it herself because it is, frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. At first, he’s not sure how to say it. Then: genius strikes. 

He waits until prom night, when they sleep together for the first time. When Cooper sleeps with anyone at all for the first time. They lay in her bed afterward because her parents are out of town and they have all night. 

It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to pluck up the courage, but he eventually draws a line from his finger to her heart. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, looking slightly amused. 

Cooper shrugs a shoulder. “Loose thread. I fixed it.” 

She opens her mouth, starts to ask him what he means, but she seems to figure it out as her face flushes bright pink. “Oh, Cooper. I mean… um. Thank you. But I… I can’t…” 

“You don’t have to do it back,” he rushes to assure her. Fuck, this is worse than he thought. 

“No, no.” Janet cradles his face in her baby-pink-manicured hands. Her prom dress, the same shade, is crumpled on the floor. “It’s so nice of you. Seriously. You’re like the cutest thing ever. It’s just, my parents, if they found out…” 

“Right, no, yeah. It’s fine, Jan.” Cooper cannot get out of there fast enough. He makes some awful excuse about how his own parents will be home soon and he needs to get back before he’s missed. 

Janet watches him get dressed, stops him before he can get out the door. She takes his hand and dusts his knuckles with a kiss. “Someday,” she says, rubbing his thumb. “I promise. I’ll give you one of my mine.” 

Feeling slightly more reassured, he kisses her goodbye. 

They break up three months later. Cooper signs up for the Marines.

6 - Agnes 

“I require all my clients to give me one of their threads.” Agnes has her thin hands folded on her desk, her lipstick a professional shade of red. Not a hair is out of place on her head. Her suit has lines so sharp they look like they could cut him. In other words, she strikes Cooper as a woman who knows what she’s doing. 

She’s still talking. “It’s a cutthroat industry out here, Mr. Howard. I have to be sure you really want this, and that means commitment. So you tell me.” She steeples her fingers, stares at him expectantly. “What are you willing to give?” 

Agnes Powell is not the first agent Cooper has met with. She’s not the third or the fourth or even the fifth. All of them had found something in him lacking – just not meant for the screen is the phrase haunting his nightmares.  

If he doesn’t sign with someone soon, it’s back to readjustment. That hasn’t been going so well for him, being a civilian. War had been bigger than life; he needs something to fill this new space inside him.   

He studies his hands. Five threads left. He’s still young, and he wants a family. Not for the first time, he wishes he’d been a little more discerning over the years. 

Agnes blinks, tilts her head. “Hollywood is the best step you’ll ever take, Mr. Howard, and I’m eager to take it with you. I think you’ve got talent; I really do. It’s just one little thread, right?” 

Cooper rubs the empty space around his left pinkie. One thread not to go back to his job as a bagger at the Super Duper Mart. One thread to potentially leave the mundanity of normal life behind. He’s given them up for less.

He reaches across the desk to shake Agnes’ hand. “Just one little thread,” he agrees.

7 - Sebastian Leslie

In his right mind, Cooper would never hand Sebastian one of his four remaining threads. Three hours of steady drinking and mindless celebration have driven him from his right mind. Agnes had come through – she’s gotten him a role and not just any role. A starring role. 

It’s a Western, which is not a genre he would’ve picked, but Sebastian had clapped him on the shoulder when he first hears. 

“They’re big, Coop. Trust me on this. You’re going to be huge.” Then he’d offered to buy him a drink, and Cooper had said why the hell not. 

Filming starts in a week, and he’s determined to spend most of the time not-sober. Sobriety gives him too much time to think about how he could fuck this up. It’s a lot easier to shed that self-doubt when the room is hot and swirling and Sebastian is in his ear pitching all sorts of storylines. 

The hero. The villain. The heartthrob. 

Cooper snorts. “Neither of us has the face for that.” 

Sebastian makes an obnoxious buzzer sound. “Wrong! Women flock to this face.” He frames his with a flourish. “It’s not about the features, it’s about the confidence. They love that shit.” 

“I’ll leave you to them,” Cooper laughs. He downs the next shot, which has somehow ended up in his hand. 

Slinging his arm over his shoulder, Sebastian clinks his own glass against Cooper’s newly empty one. “You play this right, Coop, you’re going to rule this town. Just do me a favor and take me along with you, yeah?”

“Sure I will.” Agnes had been right about everything – the industry was cutthroat, and he hasn’t managed to make a lot of friends out here. Sebastian is pretty much it. As far as Cooper can tell, he owes it to him to pay back that generosity.

Tequila-addled and high on imagined success, Cooper holds up his hand. “I’ll do you one better than a favor. I’ll make you a promise.” 

Sebastian stares at him dully for a moment before his eyes gleam with unshed tears. “You bastard,” he sniffs. “You know I’m an emotional drunk.” Half-sobbing, he pats Cooper on the chest, right over the heart, as he sticks his own in place. 

When Cooper wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, he squints at the new line of red encircling his finger. Bleary memories of exchanging threads swim to the surface, and he sighs. Well. Shit. Old habits, it seems, die hard.

8 - Barbara 

Barbara laughs when he tells her about Janet. Her teeth and earrings gleam in the soft glow of their candlelit dinner. She holds her wine glass with an elegance he can’t help but admire. 

“Eighteen?” she echoes. “Absurdly young for a lifetime, don’t you think?” 

Cooper shrugs. “Yeah, well. I was an optimist.” He tilts his head toward where her fingers clutch the glass stem. “How about you? I’m almost afraid to ask how many spaces you’ve got left.” 

She takes a measured sip before setting her glass down precisely where it had been when she picked it up. “Six,” she tells him. 

“Wow.” Assuming her relationship with her parents is decent, that means she’s only given two away by her late twenties. “Some people might call that cold-hearted.” 

Barb slices into her steak. “I prefer to think of myself as selective.” She arches an eyebrow, as though challenging him to break through all of those restrictions, to be one of those she selects. 

Somehow, miraculously, he must because when he gets down on one knee, she accepts the ring and the thread he offers. She even gives him one of her own. 

It’s a few years later, and they’re sitting on a ridiculously large couch in the ridiculously large house he can afford. Barb reclines against his chest; he’s reading through the latest script Agnes has sent his way with his elbow propped against the back of the couch. 

Barb breaks the silence. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” 

“Mmm?” he hums, right in the middle of a monologue and only half-paying attention. “What’ve you been thinking?” 

She lifts one hand and examines the back of it. “It might be nice to have a new thread.” 

That gets his attention. “Oh yeah?” It takes a minute for understanding to dawn – then she turns on him with such a pair of bedroom eyes that it clicks into place. “Oh.” 

She runs her fingers over the back of his hand. “If you’ve got room, that is.” 

“Baby, I’ve got room for as many as you want,” Cooper says, already scooping her into his arms. “As long as it’s not more than two.” 

He carries her, laughing, to bed. 

A few more years, and Cooper is not so blinded by the lights of Hollywood anymore. Barb, however, seems to be capable of shielding her own eyes from whatever shit is going on at Vault-Tec. Things get more and more sour between them. The fault line in his heart grows bigger and bigger. 

Until it cracks open completely. 

He drives home in a haze, replaying the staticked voice of his wife as she proposed the end of the world. When he walks into the house, he stands for a minute in the living room, not moving, not thinking, just letting himself breathe in and out while he still can. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker. 

He doesn’t let himself do it immediately. He’s made enough rash decisions – this one deserves time. Two days later, he pulls the kitchen shears out of the knife block. 

Cooper is not entirely certain how one is supposed to do this. Eventually, he decides on clutching the thread between his teeth and stretching his arm as far out as it can get. Places the mouth of the scissors to the edge of the thread. Squeezes his eyes shut. And cuts. 

There’s so much pain, it’s like his other senses give up. His vision goes dark, and he collapses to the ground, the scissors clattering off somewhere. All he can hear is the rush of blood through his ears. For a minute, his heart beats so off-kilter, he worries he’s gone into cardiac arrest. But slowly, surely, it gets back to normal, and his eyesight comes back – blurred and imperfect, but good enough to let him stumble into his bedroom and collapse onto the mattress. Good enough for him to see the string that once shone scarlet is now a bitter, ugly black. 

9 - Janey 

Nobody’s perfect is an age-old adage that Cooper has heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times throughout his life from all sorts of people. Well, those people haven’t met his kid. The connection is instant. The very second she lands in his arms, he feels the ninth thread encircle his finger. 

He counts her fingers and toes, a perfect ten of each. He watches her flawless nose crinkle as she winds up for another round of wailing. 

“Good set of lungs on that one,” a nurse remarks as she bustles around him. 

Not good, Cooper would tell her if he could pay attention to anything other than Janey. Perfect. 

She is the one thread he never, not for one minute, regrets. 

THE GHOUL - ONE

10 - Lucy MacLean

The weeks after the bombs are hell. Cooper can’t tell which he’s sicker from: the radiation or the rapidly graying threads. Mrs. Abernathy goes first, then Janet, then Sebastian. He can’t help but imagine how they all died. The bomb for Mrs. Abernathy. Some desperate fucker guts Janet behind the shell of a grocery store. Sebastian doesn’t make it through the radiation poisoning.  

Grant and his mom are next. He does everything in his power not to think of what might have ended them. 

Agnes makes it a while. He’s become something else by the time her red runs out, something with rough skin and a body running on chemicals. Her survival makes sense to him – she’d always been a remarkably capable woman. 

Every day, he dreads the moment he opens his eyes. There is only one line of red left to him, and if it goes out, he’ll put a bullet in his head. 

The years go on, but he doesn’t change with them. The knowledge terrifies him – how long will he be around? He thought he’d be dead by eighty, but it comes and goes with no effect. He didn’t budget for this much existence. No matter how long he survives, the fact remains: he can make only one more connection. 

So he does a pretty damn good job at not making any. Can’t risk another Grant. Wouldn’t survive another Barb. Much easier to keep to himself and forget he ever even had the option.

Unfortunately, there’s a girl. He fully intends on killing her, but she talks like he hasn’t heard anyone talk for centuries, all sickly corporate. The stain of Vault-Tec is all over her. She’s a good opportunity, so he takes it, and he tries to ignore the little voice in the back of his head whispering that maybe he never has to really let her go. 

He ties her to him with everything he can think of that isn’t one of those damn threads. A cable, a lasso – hell, he even sews part of her onto him. That voice still won’t shut the fuck up. 

The worst part? He can’t even figure out the reason. What is it about her that makes him want to give her the last, shriveled part of him? She gave me the chems, he tells himself, but he knows that’s a lie. He should have shot her dead the second she tried to speak to him, and he hadn’t. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. 

It’s no clearer to him when he sends a bullet ripping through Henry’s cheek. For himself, yes, but also for Lucy. He knows all too well what that kind of betrayal feels like. Wouldn’t be surprised if she cuts that particular thread as soon as she gets the chance. 

He holds out for as long as he can, but he’s never been a strong man. The second she shoots her mother instead of him, he feels the very last of his threads stretch between them. Permanent and maybe a mistake, but he’s hers now. 

He half-turns. Sure enough, a bridge of crimson stretches all the way to her heart. He asks if she’s coming with him. Relief fills him when she does. 

[drunkkenobi]

Well. This is the weirdest one of these I’ve ever made.

I’m not going to rehash the wank from the Watcher TV announcement. You all know what happened. I am standing by my assertion that this streaming platform is the only way they’re going to stay afloat because YouTube is just not the place for them or anyone else making videos that aren’t just of one person in their house. (nothing against those folks, it’s just a completely different business model)

Anyway.

First up, here’s how Mystery Files season 2 did. It did well, with each ep hitting a million fairly quickly, but it didn’t do as well as season 1. Not significantly worse, just not as high. (two weeks after season 1 ended, the average per episode was 1.854 and for s2 it’s at 1.194million) Of course, the two weeks since season 2 ended have been fucking insane so it’s impossible to say how much of that is a factor.

I will say that views between last week and this week are down overall, but that’s expected. If someone has paid for the streamer and you want to rewatch Ghost Files or whatever, you’re going to watch it ad-free on the app you pay for and not YouTube for the most part. Also it’s very possible people are just not rewatching stuff right now for their own personal reasons, which is fine. I also just don’t think it’s something to worry about.

For better or worse, the Goodbye YouTube video is the best opening weekend Watcher has ever had (and will have?) on YouTube.

Watcher lost around 100k subscribers over The Announcement but, again, if people are paying them directly now then this is kind of a non-factor. For posterity, they’re at 2.84 million subscribers today.

I’m not sure what else to say this time, tbh! It felt like a good time to make one of these with MF season 2 being over but YouTube viewcounts are just…not going to be important anymore for Watcher so there’s not much to say about them. Finding out that a million views only nets between $10-30k has been very eye-opening to me about how piddly the revenue from YouTube is for a production studio like Watcher. The shows they want to make just cost more than they can make off of there. It’s that simple. No one has to like that fact, but that is the heart of all this.

Also, with all of that being said, I think my time as a spreadsheet gremlin is coming to a close. I’m going to keep up with it for a few more weeks and probably do one last round-up for every single video’s views, but with Watcher moving away from YouTube as a business model, there’s little reason to keep up with these. I’ve been making these updates less this year anyway because of a job change and I was losing my steam for it a bit too, so the timing feels right. Like I said, this won’t be my last viewcount post, but maybe second-to-last? And who knows, maybe I’ll check in when Ghost Files premieres but the counts will mean so much less now that the videos will premiere with a month delay from the streamer. We’ll just have to wait and see how the wind blows on this.

Thank you all, as always, for reading, reblogging, replying, liking these posts. Y’all are the reason I’ve kept up with it for four years (and my own nosiness but having encouragement helps!). And don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll have some other spreadsheets to share in the future of Watcher fandom. (I have…so many) So, until next time, thanks again. ❤️

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 23 - Jump

Ok, I lied. I accidentally finished another chapter.

Have been looking forward to this one for a while 😁

What went before

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

He spotted the gap in the hedge and pulled into the small car park, stopping the car a little way away from a huddle of harnessed and helmeted people gathered at the back of a van. He’d assumed from the limited message he’d received Estera was attending some kind of social event, but this looked a lot more like an Activity of some kind… given the proximity of the sheer cliffs this part of the coastline was famous for, perhaps abseiling?

Quite chunky harnesses for abseiling though.

He couldn’t quite spot her among the group and hoped he hadn’t come to the wrong place. Pulling at the sweater to make sure it was definitely hiding the waistcoat, he left his warm but completely inappropriate tailored wool coat in the car and walked as casually as he could towards the van. One helmeted head snapped around as he crunched across the gravel and he felt a rush of relief which partly but not entirely overcame his uncharacteristic self-consciousness. She gave a tiny wave and mouthed “two minutes” before turning back to focus on the person giving instructions. Scott paused where he was and watched as the briefing seemed to finish and the group sprang into action to unload a series of tightly wrapped silk bundles from the van.

His jaw dropped. He knew what those were. Estera turned back and caught his eye and he pointed to the edge of the clifftop and raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. She nodded and grinned slightly maniacally. Then beckoned him over.

He drew alongside and murmured “I thought you weren’t a fan of heights?”

“Just airplanes” she whispered back. “This way you get the rush without needing to get into one. Just, err, don’t mention it to the school kids.”

He chuckled. “Not going to lie, I’m quite envious.”

“Don’t you do this kind of thing all the time? Given your day job?”

“Not for fun. It’s hard to enjoy the moment when someone’s trapped or injured or something and they are waiting for you.”

She looked thoughtful. “Give me a minute.”

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“We have a rig spare though don’t we? Robin hasn’t turned up.”

“That doesn’t mean we can just let a randomer jump, Tez, you know that. He’s not done the training.”

“He’s done this kind of thing a lot, though, for his job.” She looked round to see Scott happily chatting to a couple of people and suddenly realised that maybe he wouldn’t appreciate losing his anonymity right now. So she fudged it. “He’s in… outdoor pursuits” she invented rapidly “really extreme stuff. In, uh, Australia.”

“Unless he can show me a qualification… the insurance company would string me up if something happened.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?”

She knew the disappointment was showing on her face and the wheedling was beneath her. She wouldn’t usually push, but… she glanced back over at Scott… she had a sense that he might need this as much as she did today. Mentally slapping herself for being outrageous but ploughing ahead anyway she pulled out her best puppy dog expression and watched Gary crumble.

“He’ll have to go tandem. I’ll take him. And he needs to do the E-learning first.”

“I’m sure that would be fine!”

The stocky instructor approached Scott who stood to attention, being about 8 inches taller than Gary she could see his reaction over the shorter man’s head. Estera could guess the order of conversation from his open-book facial expressions - the grin and sparkling eyes would be in response to “you can jump”, the slight frown probably meant the news that he’d have to go tandem had been delivered and the hastily suppressed cringe was very likely indicative of worse news re the e-learning requirement. Scott nodded seriously, said something she couldn’t hear and accepted the offered tablet, immediately starting to read.

“Tez!”

She jogged over.

“When he’s finished that you brief him on the geography. And get him kitted up.” Gary looked pointedly at Scott’s very-much-not-BASE-Jump-Association-approved trousers and sighed pointedly. “At least his shoes are alright.”

Scott was sat on the footplate of the van, studiously focussed on the iPad but she was sure he blushed slightly. Gary marched off to oversee the setting up of the jump point.

“In fairness I have done far crazier things in similar trousers.”

She tried and failed to suppress a snort of laughter. “I’m sorry… I’m sure if you told him who you were he’d let you do what you liked.”

Scott smirked. “I did consider it. But… he’s not actually wrong. I don’t know any of your equipment, we do a LOT of training with ours. I don’t know the jump site and it isn’t as if I can scan it to get the data to an HUD. It would be pretty awkward if I misjudged and ended up a greasy smudge on the Devonshire coastline… given the day job.” He jerked his head in the direction Gary had disappeared in “Apparently the paperwork would ruin his week.”

Estera spluttered and he grinned up at her. “Just promise me you won’t tell a soul? I’ll never hear the end of it if Gordon or Alan find out. Anyway TEZ…” she screwed up her face at the awful nickname and he winked “aren’t you supposed to be briefing me?”

She pointed at the iPad and tapped her foot. He shrugged.

“I can take in both. Go ahead.” The last two words had a certain… commanding quality to them. Which she guessed made sense. Given the day job.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“John. I believe there might be a Situation with Scott.”

John nearly inhaled his crème d’oursin and was halfway to his feet before his brain engaged. It was entirely possible he was catching the smotherhen from Scott. Penny had of course remained composed and asked EOS to elaborate.

“Certainly, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. I have been monitoring the life signs at the coastal location his rental vehicle reached. There are 16 life signs and I believe one represents Scott Tracy and another is highly likely to be Estera Hermaszewska.”

“Is he injured?

“It appears not, John.”

John placed his cutlery down delicately. “EOS… why? I haven’t asked you to monitor him. In fact I believe Scott specifically asked you not to do so.”

“Scott asked me not to monitor his vitals and location via his personal comm unit. He did not make any reference, positive or negative, to remote monitoring of his vehicle and its environs.” The AI’s voice had a petulant edge to it.

“Reference spirit of the law versus the letter of the law”

A few seconds passed.

“Oh.”

“You still haven’t explained why you are monitoring.”

“I am interested in the development of human friendships and believe Scott Tracy and Estera Hermaszewska would make an informative study. I am simultaneously monitoring three weather fronts, a wild fire in Peru, a developing coup in a Eurasian separatist state and I have learned 14% of the rules of cricket.”

“Still going on the cricket, EOS? It’s been a week?”

“I am determined to master it, John. It is the only sport where my understanding remains incomplete.”

John nodded and glanced at Penny who had been holding her napkin to her lips for rather longer than necessary to wipe the non-existent food residue from her face.

“Dare I ask what the Situation that concerns Scott is, EOS?”

“Yes, John.”

A pause. He clarified:

“What is the Situation, EOS?”

“All 16 life signs appear to have fallen over 100 vertical metres from the clifftop to the beach, John. All 16 remain viable and highly mobile which is anomalous in the circumstances.”

John frowned and ran a quick search on popular outdoor pursuits at the location. Then nodded. And sighed deeply.

“EOS, you need to stop monitoring Scott. He won’t thank you.”

“But John, what about…?”

“The only cause for concern here is that my eldest brother has found a friend as ridiculous as he is.”

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Scott leapt back in surprise and cursed loudly as the frigid water did its best to give him immediate frostbite.

Their harnesses and other equipment had been abandoned along with their shoes just above the tideline. The thrill-seeking group were dealing with the adrenaline comedown by rolling their trousers above the knees in order to sample the waters of the English Channel in late April. Which was clearly a lot closer to the Arctic Circle than his knowledge of geography had previously suggested.

He mock-glared at Estera who was unflinchingly shin deep in the gentle surf and doubled over laughing at him.

“Can’t we just jump off the cliff again?”

“I thought you lived by the sea?”

“Not this kind of sea!” Oops that was edging closer to a whine than he was proud of. Come on Tracy, man up.

He edged cautiously back to where the waves lapped over the pebbles and gritted his teeth to suppress the shudder as the nerves in his toes gave up and died on the spot.

“Last night I went for a swim and it was 72 degrees…” he quickly converted “about 22 Celsius.”

“Aaah this would be about 10.”

That figured.

“You should come back at Christmas, it’s tradition to swim in it on Boxing Day, sometimes we break the ice to do so.”

“Yep, I’m increasingly convinced the British are insane.”

She kicked icy water at him. He shrieked in an incredibly macho way and responded in the only way a self-respecting Commander, CEO and Responsible Big Brother could:

Competitively.

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[seancekitsch]

Hi, I really like your writing! I don't know if the requests are open but if so, can you please write about Kraglin x reader when they fight and the reader gives him the silent treatment? I think he will feel really bad and be sad… Can you do it with fluff and angst? Thank you so much❤️

hey sorry for the wait!

“Girlie, c’mon, please just talk to me,” Kraglin pleads, following as you storm out of the casino. But just as you round a corner into an alley, Drax stops him with a strong hand to the chest.

“A woman does not need to be chased, she must be woo’ed with a display, fine wines, or a mating ritual,” Drax is stern in but his eyes shine with annoyance that Kraglin knows mean he is not on his side. So much for bro code. Kraglin just watches hopelessly as he loses sight of you.

When Kraglin returns to his group, some ravagers and some citizens of Knowhere, the wind in his sails is gone. He loses every poker game of the night. You don’t come to bed with him, instead staying in your own quarters for the first time in maybe two weeks. He barely gets any sleep, and how can he? Kraglin knows exactly where he fucked up, actually, he knows both instances of where he fucked up. The beginning of his fuck up was when he insisted the two of you were casual to Peter; he let the way you tensed under his arm after he said that and after he smiled and didn’t press the issue when you were very terse in your response and quickly moved away from him. He should have taken it back, should have said of course you aren’t casual. He’d been doing the full blown Pete and Gamora will-they-won’t-they routine with you despite the fact that you’d made it clear you will if he wants to. His second, the more obvious fuck up, was letting letting a woman who was very obviously flirting with him sit on his lap during a round of poker, not realizing you had just stepped into the room with Nebula and Adam. 

He deserved your cold shoulder, even after morning comes. That doesn’t stop it from hurting though. You seem fine, laughing and joking with the others. Kraglin tries as hard as he might, but never catches your eye. It’s like when you joined the team again, both of you in orbit but never touching. You, the beauty of Harmorna 3 and all of its rings… And Kraglin’s just Kraglin. Literally floating in his hunk of trash around you. 

“What did you do?” Rocket’s voice startles Kraglin, who lurches from his seat at the table.

“They should put a bell on you or somethin’,” Kraglin mutters.

“Sure, Mr. Casual doesn’t want any surprises,” Rocket snarls back; So, he does know. He’s just being a gossip. 

“Look; I messed up, Alright?” Kraglin deflates, “Don’t know why.”

Rocket eyes him up and down; smart little rat. He probably knows why Kraglin did what he did better than even he does.

“Right… well, you better figure it out.”

Smug bastard won’t even help him out. 

He finally catches you alone when he finds you cleaning the bar with a wet rag, wiping down whatever Adam or Groot definitely spilled on it that day. You roll your eyes and toss your rag down before he can open his mouth, and dread fills his stomach. Had he actually really blown it? Would you tell him to fuck off? What would this mean for the team and for Knowhere? If you were to ask him to leave, he would; He’d go to that fucking Howard the Duck planet or-

“You gonna talk? ‘Cause I don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you snap, frowning at him. 

“Yeah, Girlie, listen… I didn’t mean to offend ya. I just,” he gets interrupted.

“Then what did you mean to do?  Throw someone else in my face? Humiliate me? Because I’ll tell you something-“

“Sure are talking’ a lot for someone who don’t have anything to say,” Kraglin comments, and then immediately regrets it. 

“Kraglin I will fucking shoot you!” you threaten him, a dangerous shine in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt you, so he backs down. 

“You humiliated me. I was just telling them how excited I was that we were seeing each other and you throw out the word casual like I’m some kind of hook up. I didn’t think I was.” 

You finish your rant by throwing your hands up hopelessly, looking lost and angry, unshed tears in your eyes. He fucked up, way more than he thought he did. He crosses the room to the bar, but doesn’t dare cross it. He places his hands on it, careful not to touch a section you had already wiped down. 

“I know, I’ll beg on my knees if ya want? I’m sorry. I tried to move slow with ya, but I’m moving too slow.”

You scoff, but your face softens. 

“I know you watched me get married like six times when we were with that Thunder God, so I didn’t want ya to think this was temporary like they were.”

“Kraglin, marriage IS supposed to be serious,” you argue, but at least you’re talking to him. That’s the bright side Kraglin clings to. 

“When I marry ya, I want it to be the real deal."

Your eyebrows raise.

"When?"

He immediately back tracks.

"I- I mean, IF you know- If you wanted to and I didn't screw this up..."

"You gotta be able to say we're dating first," you roll your eyes, and lean onto the bar opposite him. Kraglin stares into your eyes, searching for.... well, anything. He doesn't see the burning anger of last night or the cold detached look from this morning. He just sees your eyes shining as you look up at him, anticipation for an answer.

"Yeah," he says, softly. He knows. You deserve it. You deserve him beaming with pride on your arm because you picked him.

"Yeah, I know."

You chew on your bottom lip, staring thoughtfully at him. thousands of thoughts— words you could say— swirling through your mind. But bluntness always works best.

“So who are you gonna tell we’re dating first?” you ask.

“Gonna call Pete,” he admits, and he knows Pete would be so happy for him. “Then I’m gonna talk about you all day to anyone that might listen, but ‘em a whole lot.”

“Mhmmm,” you hum, nodding to encourage him to continue.

“What, you want me to put up a billboard or somethin’?” he balks, laughter in his voice.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” you respond, winking.

He’ll see how much he wins at the table tonight, or if Nebula will do him a solid. And he’ll definitely make sure you’re the one on his lap tonight.

[spaceacethespookypansfanfics]

It’ll Be Okay

This is a continuation or sequel to “Not Alone” that I was requested to write by @foragemefromthemoss / @sams-shark. It’s kinda rushed it’s a happy ending I think. Enjoy there shouldn’t be anything triggering.

Beeeep.

Beeeeep.

Beeeep.

“Stooop. . . Tur—turn it . . . Turn it off. . .”

Whatever that horribly incessant alarm is ringing for can fuck off. Kevin’s too tired to do anything about it.

He reaches out blindly to smack his phone out of habit. Yank. His hand stops like it’s tied up or something.

“Huh—da hell?” Kevin’s voice is groggy and quiet. His mouth’s dry and the words come out crackly. But it’s enough.

It’s enough to let Streber know he’s awake now.

“Kevin! You’re awake!” The excited and relieved words are not what Kevin was expecting to hear. He looks over to the sound, prying his eyes open with all his might. Sitting in the only available chair is a capeless Streber already halfway to his feet.

It’s strange to see Streber without his cape. He’s always wearing it to complete his silly Halloween aesthetic all year round. He always reminds Kevin of those kids, the three of them just always perpetually dressed up for Halloween.

So to see Streber without it catches Kevin wrong. There’s something small and unfinished about him without it. He looks vulnerable and bare and the more Kevin looks, the more he realises Streber’s shoulders are kinda small. The first thing Kevin really thinks at that is he could probably take Streber in a fight if he’s always been this small.

“S—Stre—. . . Ugh, water please?” Kevin tries to talk but his mouth’s too dry and he coughs before he can finish his thought.

“Right! Right! Hold on. I’ll get it.” Streber seems frazzled. Why? Kevin has no idea. They’re not close friends. Though Kevin supposes if he found even just a stranger hurt like Kevin was, he’d too be concerned.

Streber fully gets to his feet and rushes around looking for water. He’s too nervous that Kevin sees him look past the water cooler twice without taking real notice.

While Streber’s struggling with haste to find the water, Kevin takes in his surroundings.

He’s at the hospital. That explains the noise. Stupid ECG machine beeping like a motherfucker.

His arm’s got an IV? Is that what it is? Kevin waggles his arm and watches the tube wiggle along with it. It’s filled with red stuff. He’s hooked up to a blood bag.

Whoa! He’s hooked up a blood bag?! How much blood did he lose? Was he really going to die?! Is he on death’s door now?! This is it, oh god, I’m dying—I lost too much blood—I’m dead—

Kevin doesn’t realise his heart’s racing until the ECG starts going faster. The noise is like a bomb about to go off.

“Kevin? What’s wrong?” The machine’s beeping alerts Streber to Kevin’s distress. He’s never felt so exposed before. Kevin has half a mind to just take the finger clip off and shut the machine up before everyone in a one mile radius finds out he’s an anxious wreck.

“No—cough—nothing. Fine.” The ECG doesn’t slow down but it doesn’t speed up and Kevin takes that time to do one of the breathing exercises his school therapist told him about in the ninth grade. Even now he’s skeptical at the efficacy of the exercise and feels stupid doing it.

In. . . .

One.

Two.

Three.

Out. . .

Stupid. Feels stupid.

Still the machine does go back to normal soon enough.

“Here.” In the time it takes for Kevin to calm down, Streber’s finally found the water cooler and little stack of paper cups. Kevin doesn’t know when he stationed himself by the hospital bed with the cup held out. Streber might as well be a vampire with how stealthy he is.

“Thanks.” Kevin takes the cup. The water is colder than he was expecting and his fingertips are chilled immediately. He drinks the entire cup, it’s not a lot of water (it’s a small cup) and gives it back to Streber.

Again, when Kevin looks at Streber, he looks off.

“Where’s your cape?”

“Right there.”

Streber points at Kevin. Or more specifically at his lap. Kevin looks down.

Splayed out atop the hospital blanket is Streber’s black and green cape, clearly meaning to be an extra layer. It doesn’t actually add anything it’s so thin, Kevin didn’t even notice it until now. Still something about the gesture tugs at the sentimental strings in Kevin’s heart.

“Oh.” He’s not really sure what to say. He’s never been in a position like this with Streber before. It’s leaving an awkward pit in Kevin’s stomach.

He stares at the cape on his lap because it’s easier than looking at Streber.

“Thanks. Again. I mean. For—for finding me. I—I—heh—I really thought I was—that I was gonna. . . That I was dead . . .” Kevin ignores the ECG picking up. He knows he’s nervous, it doesn’t need to broadcast it to the whole goddamn hospital. He starts fiddling with the finger clip, tapping it against the back of his other hand, feeling the strange new weight of it while he talks.

He’s never been this vulnerable with Streber before. It’s strange and weird and comforting all in one.

“It wasn’t me. Well. I guess it was me, that found you, but I wouldn’t have even known to look if it weren’t for those two kids.” Streber sounds casual but Kevin can hear the awkwardness underneath. Guess Streber feels the same way he does.

Wait. Kids?

“What—what do you mean?” Kevin finally looks at Streber.

“I was walking near the candy shop and these two kids in costumes came running towards me. I don’t think they were paying attention ‘cause one crashed right into me.” Streber chuckles at mention of one of kids bumping into him. “They said you were hurt and needed help. Guess I must’ve been the first adult they saw and recognised so they wanted me to help you.” Streber has this fond look in his eyes.

He must be a kid person. Kevin can’t relate. Rather he wishes he couldn’t relate because if Kevin were to be honest with himself, if anything happened to those two monsters, he’d be crushed. Doesn’t mean he’s forgiven them just yet for this (and everything else they’ve done) but they do have good hearts in the end.

“I’m really glad I listened to them and went looking. Part of me thought they were playing a trick on me. I’m really glad.” The relief in Streber’s voice is surprisingly deep. More so than what Kevin would think is appropriate for their level of intimacy (that of just barely above acquaintances).

Kevin’s eyes sting before he can do anything about it and his throat tightens again, he wishes he didn’t finish that water so quickly. He’s crying before he can stop himself.

It alarms Streber more than Kevin would have thought to see him crying. “Whoa, Kevin! What’s wrong?”

Kevin wipes his eyes with his hand that isn’t hooked up. He’s shaking his head as he talks, “nothing. I—I don’t—I don’t know why—why I’m crying either.” And he really doesn’t.

He just knows now that he’s not actually alone if someone as distant as Streber is to him cares enough to go this far for him, then maybe he’s gonna be okay.

[boybandposter]

[One Shot: Silly Games]

⤷𐙚 featuring: Luke Castellan 🤍

⤷𐙚 Luke asks you to stay and hang out with him after dinner to play a little game.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

“Come on, y/n. Just a few rounds— you and me.” Luke gave you a knowing look, his eyes twinkling as you both sat by the bonfire. He asked you every so often to play rock, paper, scissors and you didn’t know why. You played anyways, but he was always a little too insistent on it. Some nights he practically begged.

“Fine, fine. But we gotta be quick, I promised some of the girls that I would do whatever braids they wanted tonight before bed.” You rolled your eyes as you held your fist up over your other palm. You watched Luke’s face light up from your words and his iconic shit-eating grin spread across his countenance.

“Alright, but this time we’re gonna add a little something, y’know? Excitement if you will. I dunno.” Luke shrugged innocently but you knew damn well he was hiding something. You furrowed your brows and shot him a look.

“Oh? What’s that ‘something’?” You spoke with a playful edge to your voice but it was probably something stupid, like putting a snake into the Aphrodite cabin. Thank goodness he lost so the girls in there wouldn’t get you back. They could be mean when they wanted to.

“If you win, I’ll sneak out and get you whatever you want from the city. If you lose…” Luke lowered his voice and slowly leaned in. He was so close that his soft breath grazed your own skin. “… You have to give me a kiss.” You watched his lips utter those words and you nearly gasped.

Your eyebrows immediately shot up as your draw simultaneously dropped. “What?! Wha— what?!” You kept repeating yourself but you genuinely didn’t know what to say. This felt so sudden, but… it’s not like you didn’t have feelings for Luke. “C’mon, there’s no way I heard you right.” You spoke sheepishly and strictly avoided his gaze.

You didn’t even have to look up to know that he was smirking like an idiot. Luke gently flicked your ear to get your attention. “I guess you heard me right, with that reaction anyways. I mean, if you don’t wanna I won’t force it— wait— yikes, it just sounded better in my head—“ Luke stumbled on his words, and this was admittedly one of the few times he’s ever really gotten this flustered.

You held up your hand to make him stop rambling and you finally met his dark eyes. The same eyes that always held a kindness in them, and that always seemed to draw you in. I mean, wouldn’t anyone get lost in his eyes?

“Calm down, lover boy. Fortunately for you, I don’t back down from a challenge— even if it’s kinda stupid.” A smile small crept on your lips, but your ears still felt warm from the initial shock of it all. “Well… anyways. Hurry up before I change my mind—“

Luke simply nodded along, and you watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Right, sorry, I— sorry. But get ready to lose— I hope you have your lip gloss on you.” You rolled your eyes and dug it out from your small bag and set it on the bench. Your heart was racing as you slowly held your hand up yet again, a shaky breath leaving your lips. Your eyes scanned Luke’s tanned face, his eyebrows furrowed with look of concentration plastered across his face.

“Alright, you ready..?” Luke held his own closed fist up and you nodded, “Okay… rock, paper, scissors… shoot.”

You held up scissors and you stared at Luke, who had chosen rock. Maybe the stereotype about guys choosing rock first wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t even noticed your leg bouncing in nervous anticipation, and the few seconds of silence felt like an eternity.

“So, how about that kiss then, y/n?”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⤷𐙚 authors note: I’m thinking about making these two parts, let me know if this is any good ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡ sorry it’s kinda short !

[scoops-aboy86]

I like the idea of Steve showing Robin the first stretch mark he notices and he’s just so excited and proud of himself, and they haven’t really talked about it yet but shes seen how he and Eddie are together. So Robin just sort of rocks back thoughtfully on her heels and says, “I’m really glad you’re happy, Steve.” 

They basically share a brain, so he gets what she’s saying. He looks down and rubs the back of his neck, pleased but not wanting to make a big deal out of it, not wanting to make it weird—he knows that what he and Eddie are into isn’t exactly a common thing, and that’s Robin probably doesn’t want to hear about it any more in detail than she wants to hear about penises. (He’d tried to wax poetic about Eddie’s dick once during a Platonic Soulmates Movie Night and she’d upended the entire bowl of popcorn over his head, then ignored his incredibly manly shrieks that he would totally let her gush about Vickie’s boobies all she wanted without assaulting her with perfectly good food.)

Then Robin slings an arm around his shoulders and says, “Okay dingus, so what are we naming this little guy?”

“I’m sorry, you want to name my stretch mark?”

“Well, he’s going to have lots of little friends soon, right?” Robin grins. “We’ve gotta start naming them now or we’ll lose track of who’s who.”

Steve ducks his head again, because this is so dumb. But he has never loved her more and maybe his eyes are a little wet. “How do you even name… Like what, name it what?”

She pretends to think for a moment, pursing her lips and tapping a finger to them. “Mmm… Herman.”

“Herman?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a dumb name!”

“Okay smart guy, then what’s a not dumb name?”

“I don’t know—Otis!”

Robin snorts. “Herman is dumb, but Otis is fine?”

“Hey, that was my grandpa’s name!” Steve pouts.

“You are such a dingus—“

And so on and so forth, until eventually they dissolve into a slap fight where like, they’re both bouncing on the balls of their feet with their hands out like boxers only with open palms, and Eddie walks in on this and stands in the door for a good five minutes until they notice him and stop like caught little kids—he was just so captivated by the way Steve’s muffin top was bouncing over the waistband of his jeans. 

… Other way around… 

Maybe Robin has been watching Eddie make heart eyes at Steve for a while, before they all get a place together. Noticing that Steve always offers to share his food with Eddie and Eddie always smiles and accepts, and how Eddie lights up whenever Steve brings him snacks… and just how often that happens. And she wants her soulmate to be happy, but these two are taking forever to talk about their feelings so she decides to give things a little nudge.

“He cooks, you know,” she tells Eddie one day when he’s hanging around their place of work, and Eddie nearly faceplants in surprise on the counter he was leaning on. 

“W-what?”

“Steve,” she clarifies with a roll of her eyes. “He’s good in the kitchen. You know he took Home Ec in high school, right?”

Eddie, who had stuck to shop classes, did not know that. 

“Yeah, he was home alone a lot and got tired of fast food. It’s not something he gets a chance to do for other people a lot, so I’m sure he’d make you something if you asked him to.”

“I’ll, uh. Yeah. Cool.” Eddie clears his throat, round cheeks starting to flush a little. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

Less than a week later Robin comes home to her and Steve’s apartment smelling like baked goods and Steve shoots out of his bedroom wearing his favorite apron, grabs her, and spins her around in a hug with a rushed, “Thank you thank you thank you!”

She yelps but hugs back. Or possibly clings on for dear life. “Did it finally happen? With Eddie?”

“With Eddie,” Steve confirms as he sets her down, his grin huge.

“Oh my god, congratulations!”

“Thanks Rob. … He’s still here though, so you’re going to want to leave.”

“… Yeah I think that’s would be best. I do not want to know what that apron is hiding right now.”

“Robin, jeez!”

“Whatever dingus, you owe me. Call me at Vickie’s if you need me, Chef Casanova, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Do you think there would be a difference in how much Robin knows about Steve's kinks, depending on whether it's Steve or Eddie growing a belly?

oh man, i think there would be and i dunno if he'd ever go into detail with her as in like, actually what goes down in like super detail. but i think she would definitely know enough, he would tell her if she ever asked questions and she definitely definitely knows they're obsessed with each other.

i guess with steve it might start with like, pointing out that he looks a little different, that he looks good, the weight suits him. and it does but more importantly she can see how happy he is. maybe she sees how eddies hand rests on his stomach when they cuddle on the couch, or how he likes to offer steve bites of his food if they're having different things for dinner. likes to get steve something sweet when they watch a movie, refilling whatever snack it is if he gets up to got to the bathroom. robin notices, she notices steves soft eyes and pleased smile. so she points out his weight gently, kindly, says 'you like it don't you.' just to see him nod, 'its weird isn't it?' but again she remembers his smile, the ease of his laugh these days. 'nah.'... but he's still her best friend and that gives her the right to poke him and smile, sharp and teasing, 'and eddie likes it too, really likes it.' just to see him blush, cover his face, maybe pace around or wriggle where they're laid out on her bed. say 'yeah', answer if she asks for details, says how good it all feels, the kissing, the food, how eddie fucks him so dee- 'yep okay! i don't want details actually.' and they'll both laugh, and she'll look at him, her best friend, her soulmate, body a little different but she loves him so much. loves how happiness looks on him.

with eddie it'd be a little different, but she's notice, eddie is her friend too. she see him soften, eat a little more, that kind of thing. but more so, mainly, she'd notice the way steve notices eddie. watch him follow eddie with his eyes, sometimes a little dark, sometimes achingly soft. she'd see them sneak off, eddie pulling steve by the hand, steve slipping his hand into eddies back pocket. she once caught them mid makeout, eddie pushing steve agains the wall with his bulk, in a way that made so much sense, she knew what he liked in bed, this was just another piece of the puzzle that was steve harrington. (she noticed all that before squawking and covering her eyes, telling them to knock it off. all of them ending up with the giggles.) she points it out one day, steve with his head rested in his palm, watching eddie move around and then fall heavily onto the couch, right after finishing the meal steve cooked him. 'eddies getting bigger.' she'd say, no judgment, no care, he looks good. and steve, he just sights, loved up and dopey, 'yeah.' he'd said, all dreamy and she smiles, loves them so much, so happy for her best friend... but she still shares an apartment with them, can't have them get too comfortable. 'im gonna head to bed, sex on the couch is still banned.' and steve balks at her, but then he smiles, because he knows she'll love him no matter what. no matter what him and his freaky boyfriend get up to. it'll never change them.

<3

[chubbology]

Getting Big

prompt: someone discovering they're a feeder as their feedee partner gets bigger

Sometimes you’re both in bed, distracted and ignoring each other on your phones or laptops, when you notice. Your eyes lift from your phone and notice your partner’s relaxed belly, rising and lowering with calm breath, stretching the fabric of their shirt. Really stretching it now, not just with every inhale, but by default. Not just pushing the seams a little with chubbier hips, but forcing the cotton to bow out close to its limit, forcing the stitching to cave into a belly button deeper and softer-looking than you remember. And your eyes inevitably take in the rest: thicker thighs, more shapely chest, less defined arms, softer jawline.  

You’re aware that your partner’s gained a little weight. More than a little, but it’s fine. Probably thirty or so pounds, not a big deal, and you absolutely don’t judge them for it. Have they mentioned it at all? No, they just keep tugging at their shirts and pants. And underwear. Their underwear is getting too small for them, with weight gain making them a bit of a pear and all, but you don’t say anything. You don’t say they need bigger underwear. You don’t tell them how much you appreciate the fact that they need it. As long as they stay mum on the subject of their weight and the fit of their clothes, so will you; that’s your rule.

Sometimes you’re both in bed, watching TV, and they’re eating their way to the bottom of a quart of appallingly flavored ice cream (super-caramel-quadruple chocolate-chunk type stuff), and you keep sneaking glances. Because you’re amazed they’re comfortable enough around you to eat freely like this—or so you tell yourself. Their eyes are so glazed with distracted pleasure that maybe it didn’t even occur to them not to gorge themselves tonight, right in front of you.

Not gorging themselves like some kind of pig—no, it’s just, you both ordered a lot of takeout just a couple hours ago, and then they snacked on chips for a while, and then there was that candy bar they ate on a whim while you took out the trash, and now it’s a whole quart of ice cream. A whole quart. The more glances you sneak at them, the more you notice how their budding second chin peeks out when they chew. The more you notice that their bites seem hasty, as if tinged by some kind of distant, unconscious desperation.

You lean against them as if too tired to stay upright, reaching over them casually, letting one arm rest against their belly. It’s soft. It’s bigger. Not a big deal at all, you tell yourself for the millionth time.

And yet, you ponder their weight more. You’ve been pondering it incessantly. You can’t stop thinking about how they went to the mall two weeks ago without telling you, bought clothes a size up, and already were uncomfortably tugging and pulling on on every tight band and seam again. You can’t stop your thoughts from wandering to the idea of them sizing up again any more than your partner can stop their hands from opening another package of cookies.

“Ugh, this stuff is so good,” they mutter, swallowing the last bite, then closing the lid on the carton and setting it aside.

“Mm. I’ll buy more then,” you say without thinking. It’s fine if they size up again, after all. You’ll love them no matter their body type. Their happiness comes first. “I’m going to the grocery store anyway.”

A couple months later, going to the grocery store is not a chore to you, but a fun outing. You never used to even go down the junk food isles if you were by yourself, but now you scour them carefully. You place things in the cart you know your partner will like, and consider new brands and products they might like to try. It’s all so colorful and thrilling to actually buy. You tell yourself you might even try some of it and ignore the intrusive thought of your partner sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night again to binge on half the goodies themselves.

What niggles at you isn’t that you’re buying way too much junk food for your partner, who’s a little overweight now. It’s not as if they’ve told you to stop, or have implied they want to lose weight, or have said anything about any of it at all. That’s the thing: you’re in uncharted waters, and they haven’t told you a word about whether they fine with the way the tide was turning or whether they were actually really concerned that they were getting heavy and a little jiggly and they didn’t know what to do about it, let alone have the wherewithal to say, Honey, stop buying junk food. I’m getting fat.

Just the thought of the word makes you blush at the box of Fudge Covered Twinkies you’re holding. You quickly set them back on the shelf. Twinkies were practically the poster food for getting fat, right? Surely, your partner would suspect something, even though there wasn’t anything to suspect. You just know that they like food, particularly food that’s soft and sugary and addictive, and what better, cheaper food to comfort them with than Twinkies? No, it wouldn’t be good for their waistline, but you can already see their eyes fluttering closed at the taste—which was probably not even good, but that was hardly the point, was it?

Compromising, you buy a limited edition blue-stuffed brand of Twinkies instead, preparing an excuse that you thought the novelty of it was amusing and wondered if it was good.

But later that night, your partner eats six of them while you play video games and doesn’t mention the novelty of it at all. Your character dies stupidly and your partner laughs at you, belly jiggling as they do. You swallow, eyes fixating on their fat thighs. There’s no other word for them—they’re fat. Their thighs have gotten fat, just like their belly got fat, just like their hips and chest and arms and even their neck and face has been rounding out with so much chub. They were fat and they did eat like a pig, and all signs pointed to more weight gain. They were going to keep gaining weight, and when was it going to stop? When you finally decided enough was enough? When their doctor told them to take control? Yeah, so, you could imagine them awkwardly saying, coming home from the doctor, I guess I gotta lose weight. Maybe they would be holding a pamphlet on obesity or something, looking ashamed.

And maybe they would try at first. You would help. They’d exercise a little here and there, maybe only eat one Twinkie instead of six, maybe not ask for takeout so often. But it wouldn’t last. The second their will broke, yours would too. And you’d both be in bed, distracted by nothing but endless waves of pleasure that your sex life hadn’t known in a while, them leaning back against the headboard, eating every fattening thing you had to offer, which would be many, many, as many fattening things as they’d agree to swallow down like they glutton they were becoming.

“Babe?”

You blink.

“You okay?” they say with that chubby face of theirs, a face that said, I’ve been gaining so much weight, and you’re really aroused.

“I’m glad you like those,” you stutter. You look at the Twinkies box, and so do they. Your mouth keeps moving without forethought. “I’ll buy you more next time. Any other flavors you like?” You set down your controller and push your hand into their hair affectionately. Since they’re slouched, they look up at you, and you lower your hand to the back of their neck, touching the bulge of the fat there. “Want me to get you your favorite ice cream? I know you had a long day at work.” You stand and head for the kitchen, ignoring your partner’s confused ums and wells.

You open the freezer and get one of many ice cream quarts. Thanks to you, the fridge and freezer have been stuffed to the gills with crap, but you can’t regret it, not when it makes your partner look perpetually stuffed to the gills too. You get a spoon and sit down next to them again, brain fuzzy with want. “You’ll feel better when you finish this. By the time you do, I’ll finally finish this damn level.”

“I’m—I’m not…” But the look in their eyes is conflicted. “I’m not that hungry, really.”

You laugh. Your body is buzzing. “Please. With you, when you eat and when you’re hungry are completely unrelated. Let’s make it a competition! Finish before I do. Go!”

“What?”

You’re already starting the level over, thinking to yourself What the hell? Don’t make them eat if they don’t want to. Even if they do want to, even when they’re full, because they’re greedy and addicted, gonna get obese soon—

A minute passes, and they’re sitting up, belly folded in rolls on their lap, looking poised to either stand up and put the ice cream away or rip the lid off and devour it all.

“Eat it,” you say innocently, or try to. It mostly comes out like a pathetic attempt at sounding not-horny.

You glance over, and they still look conflicted, so you lean over and kiss them on their tubby cheek. “Go ahead,” you say, quieter. You meet their eyes. “Don’t you want to?”

They look taken aback now, flushed. All at once, they seem aware of their blubbery, overweight body, and they shift on the couch. You forget the game and lean in again, kissing them on the lips, then deeper as they lean into you. “I know you want to,” you whisper. You cup their fattened hip, squeeze it gently. “I bet you really want to.”

They’re blushing really hard now, gone shy and speechless. So you move closer to them, and since their head is lowered to avoid your eyes, you land a sweet peck on their bulging second chin. Then you peel off the lid of the carton, tear the plastic off, and push the spoon satisfyingly into the over-processed sugar that has been fattening your partner out of their clothes so well.

Despite their air of reluctance, they eat the spoonful you offer as if on instinct. They squirm with pleasure, and your breath hitches when their plump hand twitches out to take the spoon away from you when you don’t use it quick enough. You scoop them another bite. Then another. The room is quiet except for the game in the background and your rapidly beating heart. Their eyelids lower, and you murmur encouraging words to them. That’s it. It’s good, huh? Big bite... The experience seems no less momentous to them than to you, and so you keep going. Their eyes drift shut and so you guide their mouth to open at the right times. Eventually, your cooing gets bolder.

“I know how much you like this. Like eating. Eating a little too much.”

Their mouth pauses around the spoon, but their eyes don’t open. They swallow and wait for the next bite.

“And I know you get up in the middle of the night sometimes, just to eat,” you say. “Eat and eat until your clothes feel tight and your stomach’s queasy, right? You always come back to bed so uncomfortable, tossing and turning, panting a little. Holding back little burps. I wake up and all the junk food I bought is gone.”

Your partner leans into to your next spoonful, then takes it from you. Without meeting your eyes, they start eating from the tub themselves, at twice your pace. You smooth your fingers through their hair. Then rub a hand down their arm, which was now sausage-like with so much fat clinging to it. But it’s squishy, when you pinch it. No firmness anywhere you can see.

“I’m sure you know you’re getting big, baby. You’re getting big. But that’s okay.” You rub your hands over their belly, their hips, their rolls of back fat. “You just keep eating as much as you like.”

And after another pause, they nod.

[h0tchner]

Something More (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader)

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: Written as a request for the loml, Abby! (@heliotropehotch!) "Could I have a hotch x reader request thats got a love confession- maybe a hurt comfort scene where the reader is maybe torn up about something like self deprecation or some cop makes an off-handed compliment and he cups her cheeks and wipes the tears away? Pretty please 🥺"

word count: 3.2k

includes: love confessions! hurt/comfort, protective!hotch, mutual pining!!!, kissing, a little teaser of sexytimes, work tension, BAU!reader, crying and other emotions, rude af deputies, fluff soooo much fluff

rating: 18+ (cursing, crude nicknames, suggestive sexual mentions, and brief explicit sexual content at the very end)

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! I hope you love this one! If you want a smutty part two, let me know. PLS (!!!!!) interact if you liked this fic; rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

some pals tags: @arsonhotchner @laurensprentiss @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie

“It’s time to give the profile,” Hotch announces.

Six words. One sentence. Zero hesitation.

“Go and gather everybody in the bullpen,” he directs Spencer, who nods and quietly exits the conference room to collect your team and the rest of the Sherrif’s department of this small, Wisconsin town.

You stand on the opposite side of the table from your boss, looking at him expectantly. Hotch meets your gaze. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he glares at you from beneath thick lashes. You wait for your instructions, but the instructions don’t come. Rather, you both stand there in a staring contest, unmoving.

You can’t help but feel bare under his scrutiny, but this feeling is nothing new. Every time Hotch looks at you, it feels as if every fibre of your being is on fire. It’s been this way since the very first day you started with the BAU, and, over time, the flame has only burned brighter.

You and Hotch have grown close over the two years you’ve been with the team: closer than he’s been with any of his other agents, even Rossi. It all started with one long night spent together in his office, sharing cold Chinese food, scribbling away at mountains of paperwork. It was then, sitting across the desk from him, laughing at his incredulous reaction when he dropped some Lo Mein on an After-Action Report, that you knew: you were in deep. From then on, your Chinese food office “dates” became a regular occurrence. And then, those regular occurrences transformed into other regular occurrences; to name a few: rides on the jet, side by side, sharing soft glances and tired smiles after hard cases… holding hands to comfort each other when emotionally vulnerable… and even bringing you your favourite coffee on mornings that you’ve needed an extra boost. All these little moments of kindness and care are what made you fall in love with him. You would cross the line from coworkers to more in a heartbeat if you knew for certain that he felt the same way about you. But you refuse to take a risk on losing what you currently have with Hotch for the chance at something more.

The way that Hotch looks at you now, tall and commanding, feels very much like something more… it’s incredibly intimate. He’s effectively stripped away all the layers of protection you’ve built up to do your job with one pointed glance. What you don’t know is that he too feeling the same way, and is toeing a line between being your boss, being your friend, and being your “something more.”

Hotch breathes out hard through his nose. You watch as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does. His jaw ticks. He shifts on his feet.

“I want you to sit this one out,” he says.

“Hotch?” You question, puzzled. Nothing about this day has prepared you for him to say that. You start racking your brain, trying to figure out why he would give you such a ridiculous order. Did you piss him off somehow? Did you play-flirt with Morgan too much in the car? Overlook an important lead? Did he not like the coffee you made him this morning?

Looking over at him, you swear he almost looks conflicted… but it doesn’t last.

“This is not up for debate. Do you understand me? You’re sitting this one out.” He repeats, steadfast.

“I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” You ask more defensively this time, wishing he would give you more information. Something, anything besides the “SSA Aaron Hotchner” routine he was pulling on you now.

“I never said you did anything wrong.” Hotch moves forward a step, finally breaking eye contact, opting to gather files and loose papers into his arms.

“So, then what it is?” You cross your arms, stepping forwards as well, challenging him with your posture.

He doesn’t respond, nor does he look at you. Instead, he lumps more files into his arms before rounding the table, moving swiftly toward the door.

You have never, ever disobeyed one of his orders because his orders have always made sense… until now.

“Hotch,” you say sternly, your stubborn feet moving to stand between him and the exit before your logical brain can stop you.

He’s practically up against you, cornering you between his solid body and the old wooden door. His height dominates your shorter frame, and the heat coming off his body is positively criminal. Your heart flutters in your chest as he stares you down, calculating his next move.

“Out of my way, Agent Y/L/N.” He breathes out, tensing his jaw.

“Fine,” you stutter, “just tell me why and then I’ll let you go.” Your confidence wavers as you’re a little taken aback by his official use of your title and last name.

You’re hurt, confused… and he knows this. No matter how hard you’re putting on your tough-girl FBI face, Hotch can see right through it. He knows this order is unjustified, but he has his own reasons: reasons that he can’t get into. Not now.

Hotch lets his eyes dart to the side, past your head, not daring to look you in the eyes. He wills himself to be gentle.

“I can’t tell you, but I need you to trust me. Sit this one out.” He verbalizes, looking at you a little softer now. His face relaxes a little more into the Hotchner you’ve come to know: the one who calls his son every night to read a bedtime story, the one who grins every time you beat him in chess.

You two stand there a moment longer, your heart racing from the heat of the quarrel and your current proximity to your Unit Chief.

Hotch opens his mouth to say something else, but a knock on the door behind you stops him in his tracks. You step aside and he whips open the door; a very apologetic Spencer stands behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Spencer says, clearing his throat awkwardly, “but everyone is ready in the bullpen.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nods, stepping forward to leave, but you grab a hold of his arm.

“Hotch,” you begin, not entirely sure what you want to say.

“Later,” he answers, finishing the unspoken thought.

With that, he’s out the door and you’re left alone with only stale coffee and a bunch of disorganized files to keep you company.

You close the door behind them with a sigh, letting yourself rest against it again, closing your eyes for a moment in defeat. Three days on this case. Three days of hard work, interviews, and research just to get benched in the end zone. You wish that you didn’t love Hotch, because maybe if you didn’t, it would be easier to disobey him. Opening your eyes again, you scan the quiet room. Then, something in front of you catches your eye and you get an idea.

On the table rests one of the precinct’s phones. It is all too easy to use the conference feature to listen in on one of the other phone lines: specifically, one in the bullpen.

You grin and rush over to the device, feeling a little bit sheepish for not listening to Hotch, but you push the buttons anyway, and bring the receiver up to your ear.

At first, all you hear is the shuffling of papers and muffled voices. You take a seat, leaning back in your chair like the cat who caught the canary. Several more moments pass of bureaucratic white noise, but then, someone speaks.

“Where’s the slutty one?” A male voice whispers.

“Oh, Agent Y/N? Probably on her knees somewhere waiting for her boss to come back.” A second male voice snickers back, matching the volume of the first.

You gasp, the phone slipping out of your hand, landing on the table with a loud thunk.

Scrambling, you grab it again, your other hand coming to rest over your open mouth.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t let us use her as bait. This whole case could’ve been wrapped up and done by now if we just stuck her in a skimpy dress and shoved her out on the street.” One of them muses.

“Obviously because he’s sleeping with her.” The other mutters. “Agent Hotchner looked like he was going to take your head off when you asked him about it. Thought he was going to deck you for suggesting disguising her as a hooker to lure this guy out.”

“Yeah, he did. She looks like the victims, though. Bet she’s a whore like them too.”

“Deputies, we’re starting.” You hear a third voice pipe up. This time it’s one you recognize: it’s Hotch. “This is your final warning. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the rest of the day. Not only is this wildly inappropriate, but it is insulting and vile. If I hear either of you speak about, look at, or interact with Agent Y/N, I will make sure you are both charged with harassment and fired from this department. Is that clear?”

With that, your eyes nearly pop out of your head. The deputies mumble something back, but you can’t hear over the sound of papers rustling.

Stunned, you set the phone back in its holder and force air into your lungs.

Waves of thoughts come crashing down on you. You have so many questions and so many answers and it’s all just… too much.

Suddenly, you know that you need to be anywhere but here.

You stand, shoving the chair aside and burst out of the conference room, fuming. You power-walk down the hall, and past the bullpen, focused on getting yourself outside and into the fresh air. Understandably, you don’t look up as you pass the profile briefing, so you don’t see Hotch’s brow furrow at the sight of you. You also don’t see him hand his papers to JJ, excuse himself, and race to follow you out the front door.

Once you’re outside in the parking lot, you look up at the cloudy, grey sky, and the tears start to fall. You feel guilty and angry; part of you wants to run away and cry, but the other part of you wants to walk straight up to those men and kick them straight in the dick. They not only called you vile names, but they also called the victims – those poor, dead women – the same. You sniffle, thinking about how Hotch stepped in and protected you, stood up for you.

Hotch… the thought of him makes you cry a little harder.

You start to pace around, kicking gravel as you went.

Were you that obvious? Was your crush so rampant that two low-level deputies in the middle of nowheresville picked up that easily on how you really felt about your boss?

“Fuck you two,” you curse under your breath to nobody as you choke back sobs. You kick a large piece of gravel as hard and as far as you can, but it doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” A voice prods from behind you, gently, hesitantly, as if not to spook you. It’s a curt baritone, laced with concern. It’s Hotch.

“Hotch,” you breathe, turning to face him, furiously wiping tears away from your eyes.

“What happened?” He frowns, stepping closer to you, a comforting hand reaching forward to take yours.

Any other day you would grasp it contently, letting him console you. Today? All you can hear are the deputy’s comments. Sleeping with her. Whore. On her knees. You’re embarrassed and ashamed, so, you involuntarily step back.

“It’s nothing,” you put your hands up, looking down at your feet.

“Y/N,” Hotch says, his heart pounding in his chest.

You look back up, locking on his beautiful, angular face. You see every feature clouded in a haze of sorrow and concern.

You know you must swallow your pain and try to get it out. He wasn’t about to let you off easy.

“You… they… I…” you begin, but never finish your sentence. Instead, you start to cry again.

Wordlessly, Hotch moves to cup your face in his hands. They’re large and slightly calloused, encasing your cheeks as his thumbs gently swipe away the tears. His soft eyes search your watery ones; despite your better instinct, you bring your hands up to rest on his chest. You feel his breathing hitch. One of his hands moves from your face to cover your smaller hand against his chest. The two of you stay there, just like that, for another handful of heartbeats. You focus on his hands and how warm and safe they make you feel. Soon enough, you stop crying and gather the courage to speak.

“I heard them.” You whisper, not trusting yourself to say another word. You know that Hotch knows exactly who “them” is, and exactly what it is that you’ve heard.

His brow creases and his hand grips yours tighter. He cleans another tear off your cheek, and then lets that hand down to ball in a fist at his side.

“I’m going to kill them.” Hotch states, furious and heartbroken.

“Me first.” You sniffle.

Your boss sighs, giving you a heartfelt look. Leave it to you to make a joke at a time like this.

“I told them this morning that if I ever heard them say another thing about you, I was going to have their badges. I should’ve kicked them off this case hours ago.” He huffs, closing his eyes, letting his other hand, the one that was covering yours, drop down to his side.

You know this look all too well. You know he’s blaming himself.

“It’s not your fault,” you offer, smoothing your hands over his chest to settle on his upper arms. “Hotch, look at me.”

He doesn’t at first, but eventually, he opens his eyes. His hands open and close at his sides, as if he’s fighting them to be still.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes out. “For everything. For handling this how I did.”

“I’m not.” You chime in, feeling braver, calmer now that you’re here with him. Your comment earns a quizzical glance and a slight head tilt from Hotch, urging you to go on. “You stood up for me. You honoured me. You respected me. You protected me. You –“

With a fierce momentum, your next sentence is swallowed by Hotch’s lips pressing into yours. His hands come up to rest on your hips, and then circle around your waist to pull you closer. He’s warm and soft and intense; you whimper into the kiss, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck and card in his hair. The kiss is over far too soon for your liking, both of you needing to pull back and inhale.

Hotch looks at you with heavy eyes, hands gripping your hips. He smells like coffee and pine, with a hint of something spicier. Everything about him is overwhelming yet grounding.

“Finally,” you whisper, hands clasped around his neck. “It’s about damn time.”

“It is,” is all he musters, still dazed by the audacity of his own actions.

“Aaron?” You lick your lips, feeling his hands squeeze you tight at your use of his first name.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but start to smile, showing off his adorable dimples and crinkled lines around his eyes.

“I love you; do you know that?” You say in earnest.

Aaron giggles, giggles at your confession, and then attacks your lips again, making you yelp at the surprise. His lips detach from yours only to pepper kisses on your tear-stained cheeks, jaw, and forehead.

“I love you too,” he breathes out, giddier than you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, and it makes your heart leap into your throat.

Just then, a car beeps on the road, startling you two. You’re suddenly reminded where you are, and why you’re here. The thought of having to go back inside makes you groan, and you bury your head into his chest for a moment. He hums into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off his chest to look up at him.

“Forget about them,” you say, “go finish giving the profile so we can close this case and get the hell out of this town so you can take me home and show me how much you love me.” You smile at him, pulling him in for another, lighter kiss.

He grins against your lips, meeting you for another smooch.

“Yes ma’am,” Hotch replies, giving you a kiss on the tip of your nose.

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

Three months later, you and Aaron are coming down from your highs, sweaty and blissed-out after an amazing lovemaking session. After the team wrapped up the case and made it back to Virginia in one piece, you and Hotch went out to dinner the next night. He took you to dine in at the Chinese restaurant that you both usually ordered from on those nights you both spent pining and yearning in his office. It was… perfect. He was perfect. Just as your friendship had blossomed, so did your relationship. One date led to another, one gesture turned into more, and you and Aaron settled into life as a couple with ease. You hadn’t brought up the incident with the deputies since it had happened the afternoon that Hotch had followed you out to the parking lot to wipe away your tears.

Now, as you lay in his arms, wrapped in his strong, loving, embrace, your mind wanders back to their words. However, you don’t feel animosity toward them, rather it makes you giggle.

“What’s so funny hot stuff?” Aaron cracks open an eye and smiles down at you. One arm is tucked underneath his head, and the other is tracing patterns on the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Oh, just that case we had in Wisconsin a few months back.” You nuzzle deeper into his chest with another laugh.

Hotch frowns, recalling the memory, thinking about the way those awful men spoke about you.

“How is that funny?” He asks, hesitantly.

“They called me a whore.” You say nonchalantly, peering innocently into his amber eyes. You bring your palm up to swipe across his cheek softly, feeling the light stubble of his jaw underneath your fingertips.

Both of his eyes are open now, and his hand motions cease their patterns on your skin. He’s confused, and the face he’s giving you is downright adorable. It makes you giggle again.

You detach yourself from his grasp and sit yourself up, carefully shimmying down the bed. Aaron’s eyes never leave you.

You nestle yourself between his legs and look up at him with a smirk.

“They were partially right.” You offer, studying the small changes in his face, watching as his eyes glaze over with lust for the second time that night.

“I am a whore.” You pout suggestively and flutter your eyelashes. “A whore for you, Hotch.”

He shakes his head at you in amusement and chuckles, but it quickly turns into a deep, throaty moan as you wrap your lips around the tip of him.

As you start to bob your head on his already hardening length, you think to yourself: as much as I hate to say it... someone should really give those two deputies a raise.

[jade-parcels]

The genshin men: fatherhood edition

With: Childe, Zhongli, Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, Venti, Albedo and Baizhu

—————————

Childe:

Ajax loves kids and he’ll make that known early on in your relationship

Like...This man wants five or more kids but he’ll settle for four. He dreams of a big family, getting to surround himself with you and your kids every night for family dinners, everyone getting together for big birthday parties or reunions! That’s his dream life! Plus, in Snezhnaya, most families have more than two kids anyways

He will cry so hard when his babies are placed in his arms for the first time, I mean he’s a mess. Nose is running, eyes puffy, lost of sniffling lmao he is so excited to be a dad!! Don’t you dare tell the other Harbingers how much he cried...What do you mean you took a picture when he wasn’t looking??? Hey??!?!

With his obscene amount of mora, he’ll buy a huge house that will accommodate everyone. Anything you want will be purchased that day or within 48 hours, the same goes for the kids

But they’ll all learn to be thankful for what they have. They’ll learn to fight, fish and speak multiple languages. He has high expectations but let’s face it, he’ll be proud of them no matter what

You’re gonna have to be the one to put your foot down though because Ajax doesn’t enjoy being the ‘mean parent’, he has trouble saying no to the kiddos which can create some tension between you and your husband. He has good intentions of course!! He doesn’t wanna say no to those cute, freckled faces!!

Zhongli:

Zhongli is nervous about having kids because he’s immortal. So this will go one of two ways. 1. You have the baby and the baby ends up not being immortal (or you adopt a baby who is not immortal) Then he loses you both. OR 2. You have the baby and it inherits his immortality and becomes an adeptus. Now he and the baby will have to watch you die while they both life forever.

Either way...It hurts him to think about because he loves you!! He wants to have a family with you!! He wants to give you that perfect family life every human desires!! But he’s torn

You two will just have to figure it out.

Zhongli will be a strong, male figure for your kid(s) and he will instill that traditional kindness and respect into their behavior. ‘Please’ and ‘thank you’ always, always offer to help someone who needs it, do good deeds and you will feel accomplished, be the best you you can be, alway try your hardest because that’s all that matters

He will be sure that your kid(s) always feel loved ALWAYS. Zhongli will tell them stories, cook for them, take them to school, anything that needs to be done. When you’ve had a rough day, he’ll step in to take over for the night without being asked. He shows interest in everything your kid(s) like and he will do his damn best to display every piece of artwork they make or every pretty rock they find

He...will make a great dad :’)

Kaeya:

Ooooh brother, at first Kaeya says no he doesn’t want kids but...Then he starts thinking about it

He observes the happy families that walk around the cobblestone streets of Mondstadt, how the kiddos smile and laugh with their parents. He’ll patrol in the afternoons, usually rounding the corner just in time to see the city’s kids leave school for the day, watching as they all run down the street to go home to their parents or play in the fountain together...Yeah, that really warms his heart

He’d want one or two kids, preferably two to avoid an only child being lonely. He isn’t on the best terms with Diluc but he can admit that they had a great childhood together, playing at the winery and running around as brothers do

Kaeya would be a very patient, understanding father. He doesn’t have much of a temper so he’d use the kids’ mistakes as learning opportunities instead of getting upset at them

He would be obsessed with the kids when they’re babies though oh man if you thought you had baby fever, he has it times ten! He loves holding the baby, watching with a twinkling eye as his baby grasps his thumb with its tiny hand... adorable

And if your kids inherited his eyes, his star shaped pupils that his ancestors passed down to him...He’s gonna get emotional

Everyone at the knights’ headquarters and the Angel’s Share will get sick of him REALLY fast cause he won’t stop bragging about how cute and smart his kids are lmao

Diluc:

Diluc would be such a soft dad don’t even get me started

He loves you so much of course he wants to have kids with you! Is that even a question?? He won’t be the one to bring it up unless he gets the feeling that you want kids but once you ask, he’ll agree so fast

He’ll be grateful to even have one kid with you :’) and he’ll be fine with however many kids YOU want. You want one kid? Perfect! You want four? No problem, the manor is big enough for ten! You...you want ten...? Time to hire some more maids then lmao

Diluc is a worry wart though, he’ll be afraid to hold the baby, feed it, bathe it, he’s terrified of hurting the baby or the baby suddenly hating him. So just help him out!! Cause when he gets comfortable with the baby, he’ll be in full dad mode

He isn’t embarrassed to walk around the manor, conducting business with a baby strapped to his chest!

Diluc is a very kind, gentle dad who will always offer helpful solutions to the kiddos’ problems. He’ll make sure all of their needs are met while also trying to avoid spoiling them... Too much... There will be a fair amount of spoiling...

His own father wasn’t too affectionate with him so that’s why he’ll be affectionate with his kids! Hugs and kisses when he tucks them in at night, big dad hugs when they get home from school, holding their hands in the busy streets of Mondstadt. His father was a great dad! He just aims to be better.

Xiao:

Like Zhongli, he worries about the mortality thing. Since he’s an Adeptus, his kid will certainly be an Adeptus too if you have kids together.

He also worries that his kid(s) will hate him. His duty is to kill demons which means that rain or shine, holidays, special occasions, day or night he’s gotta be ready to go slaughter demonic beings. So he’ll inevitably miss out on important stages in the kiddos’ lives

And admittedly... He’ll be scared of his kids lmao

They’re screaming, crying, barfing, pooping, laughing, screaming again...He can’t predict their behavior. It’s unsettling. All of that goes away one night when you sit him down and place your sleeping baby in his arms. His eyes go wide...And he just watches. This tiny, little baby...Feels no fear for him. It’s comforted by his presence. He almost cries...ALMOST

He’s still pretty much the same Xiao we all know and love but now he has a kid. “Slaying demons is what I do...Hey, go back inside and finish your dinner. Yes, even your vegetables. I don’t care that you don’t like them-...Fine. Don’t tell your mother, bring them to me. I’ll eat them” cute :)

He’s a protective dad and husband, he’d never let anyone or anything harm his beloved family

Venti:

Venti....does not want kids. He thinks they’re cute! He likes the idea of kids but he knows he wouldn’t enjoy actually having kids

You two already have so much fun together!! You don’t need a kid!! You guys have dogs!! Dogs are like kids! But they’re more independent and they’re cuter!

He’ll feel bad if you want kids and he doesn’t, he really will! But it’ll be nearly impossible to convince him cause he’s made his mind up :/

Venti’ll make it up to you somehow though, he’ll take you out more and show you all of the adventures you guys can have if there aren’t kids around

But for the sake of fatherhood headcanons, let’s pretend he gave in. Venti would be a very caring dad. He would cuddle the hell out of this kiddo and sing to them :’) the only problem is that Venti doesn’t like being tethered to one place for too long so he tends to take off and not come back for a few days... :(

Albedo:

Albedo wants kids mostly just to see what fatherhood would be like. He’s always been curious about what that part of his life would be like so why not have a kid

He’d be good with one kid, two at most cause after practically raising Klee, he knows how some kids can be and...He doesn’t have the mental capacity for more than two kids at a time lmao

He tries his best to show more emotion in his face. We all know he usually sits like this 😐 and goes ‘wow im so happy right now’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was bored out of his mind right? So he’s gotta work on that. And when he musters up a smile for the baby and it smiles back at him????? Yeah...He’s gonna try to smile a lot more now

He definitely softens up once he becomes a dad, he shows emotion more than he used to and surprisingly, he takes time off of work. Shocker, I know! He decides that he’s been in the lab long enough and that he wants to be able to be there for these moments with you and his kid(s) :’) :’) He trusts Sucrose and Timaeus to take over for him for a couple hours

He keeps a journal for each kid and writes down the date and time they have their firsts or just interesting things they do ->

- 8/4: Baby sees and plays with a cat for the first time

- 9/5: Baby smacked me in the face and laughed so hard she threw up

-9/12: Baby learns that pulling my hair gets my attention. She now continues to do so

-10/15: Baby stays at Aunt Klee’s house for the first time

Baizhu:

Baizhu really loves kids, he works with them a lot and he considers Qiqi to be his daughter anyway but in terms of you guys having a kid together, with his condition he can probably only handle one kid running around

He will do his absolute best to be a good dad. Even if he feels like death, he’ll help change diapers, feed the baby, care for it when you need a break. He isn’t contagious so when you’re sleeping and he feels gross, he’ll sit back against the pillows with the baby on his chest, the three of you resting together (though he doesn’t fall asleep...that would be dangerous for the baby)

Baizhu already tends to nag at you about your health and lifestyle choices but now?? He’ll be a menace. He’ll be constantly evaluating your baby’s condition, checking to see if a certain food is giving them a rash or making sure their skin isn’t drying out. He’s hyper aware of your baby’s health and will be the one to treat them if they get sick

He’s a busy guy since he runs the pharmacy but he will always do his best to be present for your baby’s big milestones! And when your kid cries cause Baizhu’s medicine tastes like shit, he’ll do his best to not be disappointed in their reaction lmao

When you leave him alone with the baby, he’ll wrap a scarf around himself to tie the baby to his chest while he works and...he looks so cute :) dad baizhu <3 <3 <3 <3

Bonus points for him buying the baby toy medical equipment so he can get your kiddo interested in medicine :)

[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 7

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k (woops the longest part yet)

Summary: You finally decide to lower your pride and talk things out with Bucky.

Warnings: SMUT IS BACK BABIES! Oral (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial, also lots of alcohol consumption, Bucky stalking you, annoying people I guess? Uhhh y’all might want to strangle me at the end lmfaooooo

A/N: I’m gonna be honest, every single time I update this I get nervous as fuck because what if this story starts to suck lmao but okay I just hope everyone’s still enjoying this story. Thank you for the continuous support like fuck??? People actually like reading my shit so I’m really flattered. Sending y’all sloppy kisses ‘cause I’m a hoe like that

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

"Uhh you might want to slow down on the drinks."

Mark was right about the bar serving the best drinks. It was actually a Mexican-themed bar which also served Tex-Mex food. The drinks were so good that the main course hasn't even arrived yet and you were already on your third frozen margarita.

"Let me have this, Mark. It's been a pretty shitty week." you told him, finishing up your drink before asking the waiter for another round.

Mark watched you with a funny look on his face, the kind that was baffled at the way you were acting now. He probably thought you were all prim and proper, given your demeanor at the office. But with the way you were stuffing your mouth with chicken quesadillas, you were far from being the department head that everybody seemed to respect.

Stress eating. That was what you were doing, because holy shit did you get on Bucky's last nerve. With the message, no, more like warning, that he sent you earlier, you might as well have your last meal before your execution.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Mark carefully asked but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he watched you eat.

You hummed, mouth full of food. "Totally okay. These quesadillas are the bomb, actually."

Mark laughed, "It's good that you're enjoying the food. I'll be honest, I really appreciate that you agreed to go on this date. I mean, if you even would like to call it that." he explained, much to your relief actually.

You swallowed your food and took a sip from your glass of water, "Thank you." you told him. "Well, this can be a date. A friendly one, of course." you awkwardly chuckled.

Mark nodded, "I don't want to pressure you into anything. I guess I got a little to enthusiastic earlier and I'm really sorry for that. It's just that...you're a really interesting person and you're cool." he admitted with a charming smile.

If Bucky was out of the picture, you would have actually swooned at Mark's charm. He wasn't so bad, he was tall and handsome. He oozed a certain charm, the nice guy kind of charm and any girl would really appreciate the honesty he was showing you now.

You smiled at him, "You're pretty cool too, Mark."

-

The friendly date was very fun, you definitely didn't expect to enjoy it to the point of forgetting about Bucky's warning. Mark was a nice guy, you realized. Bucky doesn't have to worry about him because it was never even your intention to make him jealous in the first place.

By the time the dessert was being served, you were bellowing from laughter. You literally had tears in your eyes from how hard Mark was making you laugh with his hilarious stories.

Little did you know that from someone else's point of view, you looked like you were having the time of your life with Mark. Your laughter, the ease you were exuding as the both of you talked-- it was very easy to misunderstand.

Especially if that point of view belonged to none other than Bucky, who was sitting silently inside his car that was parked right across the bar.

"Oh god, I can't breathe!" you exclaimed amid your laughter, leaning back against your seat.

Mark heaved out a shy, "That was really, really embarassing." he said timidly.

Mark's phone buzzed in the middle of the conversation, his face turning into a frown as he read the message.

"Hey, everything okay?" you worriedly asked.

"It's my younger sister. I'm needed back home." he explained with a sigh.

"Is everything okay?" you asked worriedly, holding Mark's arm to comfort him.

Mark nodded, "It's fine. It's just a little family emergency." he said before offering you an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I can drop you off on the way home--"

"Hey, it's fine. You can go. I'll be fine. Your family needs you." you reassured with a smile.

Mark sighed, "I'll make it up to you next time." he said, fishing out a couple of bills from his wallet.

You walked out of the bar with Mark and bid goodbye, giving him a friendly hug before he slipped inside his car. As soon as Mark drove off, you headed back inside the bar and ordered a couple of shots because you badly needed to get Bucky off your mind.

-

Your head was pounding when you stirred awake, your throat burning and vision spinning as you opened your eyes. The light that greeted you made you hiss, pulling the covers over your head you tried to get back to your slumber.

Until you realized that the bed was soft, too soft to be your own. And when did you even own a duvet?

Slowly but surely, you sat up and looked around you, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. This was definitely not your room. Shit, did you sleep with Mark? Fuck no, you remembered him going home early due to a family emergency.

You squeezed your temples and shut your eyes, trying your best to recall everything that happened after you went back to the bar. Flashes of tequila shots and glasses of mojitos made you dizzy. Jesus christ, how many did you drink?!

And then you threw up in the streets as you attempted to walk home. Shit. Someone pulled your hair back while you puked and then there was nothing but darkness.

Pulling the duvet down, you noticed that you weren't wearing anything but a white shirt and your panties. You lifted the shirt up to your nose and sniffed it.

The scent was too memorable to forget.

"I thought you wouldn't be up until the afternoon."

You stilled at the sound of Bucky's voice and you almost didn't want to look up from your lap when he walked into his bedroom. How the hell did you end up at his place?!

"Four frozen margaritas, two shots of tequila and two tall glasses of mojito. I'm surprised you're still alive." he said as he stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

He was wearing a tight black shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. This was the most casual you'd ever seen Bucky, but also the most feral. You thought that the scowl he gave you at the elevator was the worst, apparently, this Bucky in front of you, seemed the most dangerous.

"Why am I here?" you asked softly.

Bucky rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed side table, fetching the glass of water and a bottle of painkillers that you failed to notice when you woke up.

"Drink." he commanded and waited for you to take the glass before moving back to stand at the foot of the bed.

Your eyes never left Bucky's when you popped a pill into your mouth. After drinking water, you carefully placed it back on the bedside table and exhaled heavily.

"What happened last night?" you asked again.

"Your date left you." Bucky said, matter of factly.

You snickered, "It wasn't a date and Mark didn't le--"

Your very own squeal cut your statement off when Bucky threw the duvet aside, grabbing your ankle and pulling you towards the edge of the bed until your legs were hanging off. He didn't waste any time to kneel in between your thighs, holding your neck in place as his nose brushed against yours.

Your lids fluttered at the closeness, his scent yet again invading your senses, making you lose all your inhibitions because fuck, it's been too fucking long.

"Let me have this, please..." Bucky whispered against your lips.

When you failed to respond, Bucky took it as his go signal to crash his lips against yours. You knew this was a bad idea because one taste of Bucky and you're gone and yet you let him take what he needed from you.

Because you needed him just as much. So you kissed him back fervently, your fingers carding through his hair as you tugged him closer, wanting to feel and taste all of him.

Bucky breathily chuckled when you whined as he pulled away, only to shower your neck with open-mouthed kisses which made your body buzz with need. Your head was still hurting and you felt like you were going to pass out from dizziness but fuck it, you couldn't care less. Especially not now when Bucky was now nipping at your inner thigh while his hands were spreading you wide open.

All your thoughts flew right out of the window the moment Bucky pushed your underwear aside, his mouth quickly latching over your clit. A needy, raspy moan escaped your lips when Bucky sucked your bud followed by his tongue flattening against your folds.

"Fuck, Bucky..." you breathed out, falling down on your back as he continued lapping up your pussy.

You'd almost forgotten how fucking good Bucky was with his mouth and tongue. You elicited another whimper when he pulled back, but only to stand up and pull down his sweatpants, revealing his cock-- already hard and weeping with pre-cum.

In one swift motion, Bucky slid into your cunt. He leaned down to kiss you, swallowing your moans as you adjusted to his size. With how your pussy was clenching down on his cock, you realized that indeed, it's been too fucking long.

Bucky moved slow at first, letting you adjust to him before he began to speed up his thrusts. His breathing was erratic, soft grunts and growls reverberating from his chest as he fucked you. You gripped his forearms when he started pistoling his hips into yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix.

"Want you to watch me fuck you." he growled, pulling you up to lean against your elbows.

Bucky held your neck with both his hands, forcing you to look down at your pussy while his cock slides in and out of it. Your face scrunched into pleasure, your mouth open as moans and whimpers continued to escape past your lips.

"Keep your eyes on my cock, see how your pussy takes all of it." Bucky demanded as he fucked you relentlessly.

Your thighs began to tremble, your entire body thrumming from pleasure. You tried to keep your eyes open as you watched Bucky fuck you fast and hard. Clawing at his biceps, you held on for dear life when you felt yourself teeter at the edge of your climax.

"Gonna cum, Bucky..." you moaned as your eyelids fluttered.

Bucky kissed your hard, taking your bottom lip in between his teeth before tugging at it. He pressed a soft kiss beneath your ear, licking at your skin before sucking your earlobe.

"Remember this when that Marcus fails to fuck you real good." he whispered and then pulled out just before you could even cum.

You blinked, unable to process what just happened. Bucky stood up and pulled his sweatpants back up. He rubbed his chin angrily before turning to you.

"You really blew me off to be with a guy who left you at the bar." he said.

Bucky really seduced you, fucked you raw only to edge you and deny you of your fucking orgasm. And now he was reprimanding you? While your legs were spread, panties pushed aside and your wet pussy out there for the world to see. You quickly adjusted your underwear, pulled your shirt down and sat up.

"What the fuck, Bucky?" you hissed. "First of all, his name is Mark. Second, he didn't leave me at the bar!" you exclaimed before you realized something.

"Wait, how did you know?" you asked, finally realizing that Bucky seemed to know everything that took place last night. "Bucky, did you follow me at the bar? Is this why I'm here?" you asked, standing up to come face to face with him.

Bucky shrugged, "So what if I did? If I didn't, you'd wake up in the streets, in your own vomit because again, you went for a guy who couldn't even bring her girl home. You should actually thank me." he said.

"Thank you!" you yelled. "I appreciate you bringing me back to your place. I really do." you said, calmly this time. "But can you please not bring Mark into this because he's a nice guy." you explained, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

Bucky snorted, "You call that nice? He left you!" he said again.

"He didn't! There was an emergency, for fuck's sake! He needed to go home and I said I can take care of myself." you said. "I shouldn't even be explaining myself to you yet I am because you're being really irrational right now." you scolded Bucky.

Bucky shook his head, "You really expect me to believe you? I saw how you laughed with him, how carefree you looked when you talked. How you caressed his arm and you're asking me not to bring Mickey into this conversation?"

You hid your face into your palms, "It wasn't a date, Bucky. We both made it clear. And he's a good person, I enjoyed talking to him. That's it. And again, it's Mark." you said through gritted teeth.

"Not a date my ass, you were flirting with him." Bucky accused.

You scoffed, "I wasn't flirting with him! I was casually talking to him like how a friend would! How hard is that to understand, Bucky?!" you exclaimed.

"You were never like that with me!"

"It's because we did nothing but fuck each other, Bucky!"

"That's why I wanted to make it official but you said no!"

"I already told you the reason why!"

"And yet you went out with a co-worker!"

"We're not just co-workers, Bucky. You're my fucking boss! The fucking CEO! How many times do I have to...you know what, it's useless for me to even explain it again to you." you said.

Bucky chuckled bitterly, "You're going to regret this." he said with a sinister smirk.

"Why can't you understand where I'm coming from?" you asked exasperatedly.

"Maybe because you won't let me help you." he said confidently. "And you know what I hate the most about this thing we have? It's that you want me too but you're too stubborn to give in. And you know what? I'll make sure you do." Bucky said, towering over you and staring deeply in your eyes.

"What I want, I always get."

-

The weekend passed by like a blur-- a huge, messy blur that made your head and heart hurt. You wanted to spend the weekend to ponder on things, to forget about Bucky even for just a while and now that was impossible after everything that happened.

You caved in first, that was for sure. And the thing is, you don't even regret it but then Bucky exploded and now everything seemed to have gotten worse. You understood why he was so mad at Mark, poor guy though, but he wouldn't even listen to you when you said that the date wasn't even a legitimate one!

"What the fuck did I get myself into?" you uttered under your breath as you sat in your car in the parking.

You began to analyze the situation you were in and drew out possible solutions to your dilemma. Nothing a good conversation can't solve, right? So maybe talking things out with Bucky properly would make things right. The previous conversations you had with him were always too emotional with both your egos getting in the way.

Alright fine, you'd tone down your pride for Bucky this time around and tell him that you do want to be with him. It's just that the repercussions scared the living daylights out of you.

You can't afford to lose your job nor everyone's respect. So if you were going to do this with Bucky, he has to understand that he has to be really careful. Everything must be done in secret, for the meantime at least.

"That sounds about right." you sighed, feeling hopeful that this might actually work out.

The shift in your mood gave you a little bounce as you walked into the building. You were confident that maybe Bucky was able to calm down over the weekend. Perhaps today was a good day to have a decent talk with him.

As soon as you reached your floor, you hurriedly went to your cubicle to drop your things. The earlier you get to talk to Bucky, the better. So as soon as you were done, you jogged back to the elevator excitedly, unable to notice how everyone seemed to be preoccupied gossiping about something.

Your heart was pounding as you walked along the corridor leading to Bucky's office. Fuck, you were really going to risk it all for one Bucky Barnes. You were a few steps away from the door, ready to reach for the knob when an unfamiliar voice called your attention.

"I'm sorry?" you asked, turning around.

"Sir James said not to let anyone disturb him right now." you were met with the presence of a blonde girl who looked younger than you, an intern maybe?

You nodded but then spared another glance at Bucky's office. "Yeah, I uhh need to talk to him. It's usually not a problem for me to barge into his office." you explained with a soft chuckle.

The girl made a face, "I'm sorry, but I'm just following Sir James' orders." she explained, walking around the desk near Bucky's office.

"I don't think we've met. Are you an intern?" you asked, trying to be as nice as much as possible.

The girl giggled, straight on giggled cutely and stood up again. She excitedly extended an arm for an overly eager handshake, "I'm Beverly. I'm Sir James' secretary. It's my first job!"

You blinked, "Oh...oh uh what happened to Amelie?" you asked, curious about Bucky's previous secretary.

Beverly tilted her head, "I don't know. I just got a call over the weekend from Sir James, offering me the job so I accepted it. I mean, he is pretty cute. Right?" she said in a soft voice.

Is this Bucky's plan? To hire a younger, more bubbly secretary who'd follow his every order? Someone who was the complete opposite of you? Because if this was his plan to get you to cave, it wasn't working. At all.

Sure, Beverly was pretty and young and very chirpy. But you were sure she wasn't Bucky's type. He was never into obedient little girls, hell, your defiance turned Bucky on. This was definitely not working.

You didn't know why, but instead of relief you felt even more nervous. Because if this wasn't Bucky's threat to you, what could it be? You snapped out of your pessimism, maybe Bucky came around over the weekend too?

Only one way to find out.

"Beverly..." you carefully said. "I'm just going to go inside. And don't worry, I'll make sure that Mister Barnes won't get mad at you. This is all me, alright?" you reassured.

Beverly pouted and sighed, "I don't know, because he was very clear with his instructions. And he's talking to--"

"I got you, Bev. I'm going in now." you said, cutting her off and then going straight for Bucky's office.

Taking in a deep breath, you pushed the door open and wasted no time to talk.

"Hey, I really need to talk to you. I thought about--"

"Oh, who's this little lady?"

Your eyes widened upon seeing Bucky in the company of another woman. She looked like she was around your age, except that she was taller and had legs for days. Her brunette hair reached past her shoulders in lovely waves. She was wearing a white chiffon blouse paired with a pair of black trousers and matching stilettos.

She oozed the charm of a lady boss. The way she carried herself reminded you of someone but you just couldn't point out who it was.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." you said, straightening up and turning to look over at Bucky who lifted a brow at you.

That fucking look of mischief.

"I told Beverly not to let anyone in." he said.

"I just wanted to--"

"Oh come on now, Bucky. Don't be so grumpy this early, you were about to call everyone for a meeting anyway." the woman said, turning to you with a smile.

Did she just call him...Bucky?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bucky rolled his eyes and sighed, "Yeah, well you're already here might as well introduce you first."

You narrowed your eyes at Bucky in confusion, "I don't understand what's going on." you said.

Bucky stood up from his chair and walked over to the other woman, standing beside her. Seeing them side by side was making you feel things. You haven't even seen them interact that much but you were already sensing that you were going to hate their dynamics.

"This is Mackenzie. I hired her to help us out on a huge project which I will be discussing with the entire team this morning." Bucky introduced a little too proudly for your liking.

Mackenzie offered her hand, "You can just call me Kenzie. I'm a marketing consultant. And you are?" she asked.

Your blood boiled, your eye twitched and your heart ached. Because now you realized who it was that Mackenzie reminded you of when it came to her charisma.

You.

And not only did she have a similar personality to yours-- confident and had authority-- but she also seemed to be here to take the one thing you worked so hard for.

You offered a smile, taking Mackenzie's hand in yours as you mentioned your name, your piercing eyes glancing over at Bucky.

"I'm the head of marketing."

-

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[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

You (Y/N) get stood up from a date and Kaminari decides to do something about it.

Pairing: Kaminari/F!Reader

Contains: Fluff, Flirty Denki, Established BakuSquad Friendship

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Electro-Stim, Overstimulation, use of pet names (cuddle bug & cutie), oral (F receiving), consensual recording

A/N: Well, here we are with the third in my Stood Up series. There is also Bakugo & Kirishima if you're interested. This one took me way too long and it's also my first time writing Kaminari at length. I hope you all like it :)

Word Count Starting Below: 2,461

You slipped your foot into the silver heels you had picked out. Something a little fancier since this was a first date after all and you wanted to make a lasting impression. Not only that but this was your first first date in a while. Being a Pro Hero made life busy and dating difficult.

Practically the entire day leading up to this very moment revolved around you either getting ready or babbling with excitement to your closest friends.

An alert chimed on your phone with a text from your date, a smile sliding onto your face expecting to read some message about how they were on their way and that they'd see you soon, but that wasn't what you were met with.

Instead, it was a screenshot of your Instagram page, multiple of them actually, all of you and the ridiculous photos you took with your friends but mostly with one Denki Kaminari. The most recent of which was from a tea shop he met you at just earlier that day so you could show him the shoes for your date.

The message below was simple and more than enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth, this isn't what I want to see when I'm supposed to be taking you out tonight. What, one date a day isn't enough? Why are you even dating? Does your blonde boyfriend know?

You giggled at what they were implying, quick to explain how these were all your friends, they had been since high school! They are people you spent what little free time you had with. Especially Denki, your best friend since you were 15!

That joy you felt started dissipating within the next few messages. You hadn't even had a first date and they were already jealous, and that was something you didn't have room for in your life. So, you slipped the heels off your feet and put them directly back in the box to return when you had the time. Tight black jeans and fitted top were exchanged with a hoodie and sweats although your makeup and hair stayed done, you didn't have the energy to undo your hard work.

Instead, you slid back into your computer chair, your headset snuggly back on your ears and before you notified everyone you were back online, you took a moment listening to the chatter of your friends.

"Shitty Hair! Fuckin' pay attention!"

"Yeah, man! We're getting slaughtered over here!"

"Less yelling at Kiri! More shooty shooty!"

"All of you are hopeless..."

Eijiro chuckled out an apology that was accompanied by a lighter giggle also coming from his mic. "Think this is gonna be my last round for a bit, guys."

"You're so fuckin' whipped." Bakugo scoffed, before screaming profanities.

"Is it whipped if I'm the one who's wanting to get her into bed though?"

You clicked your mic back on then. "Hey, remember last week when Kats forgot his push to talk so we all heard him getting head and we party whipped because someone couldn't focus?"

"You better shut the hell up right fucking now!"

Everyone else roared with laughter. "Yeah! At least I have the decency to mute myself!"

"Hey, wait a sec, why are you online, Y/N!" Denki noted, "You should have already left!"

You screenshot your messages to the group chat because it was far easier than just explaining the ordeal.

"Cute shoes." Eijiro and Kyoka commented at the same time.

There was a lull as their game ended and the messages were read.

"Ya don't need 'em if they're gonna have their head so far up their ass like this."

"I agree." Hanta chimed in. "They're not worth your time."

"Still, sorry they turned out to be a shit." You could hear the frown on Kyoka's face, "I know how excited you were."

"Right, you doin' okay, Y/N? I can stick around and we can all shoot some things!"

"Thanks, Kiri but I'll be just fine! Go spend time with your girl!"

One by one, everyone signed off. You pulled up Spotify and Stardew Valley, something of a comfort for you to get lost in for the rest of the night.

Less than an hour later, you noticed your phone lighting up with your best friend's familiar smiling face. "What's up, Denki?"

"Open your door! I have my hands full and don't wanna put everything down to get my key!"

You sprang from your desk and rushed to your door. Sure enough, on the other side was Denki with bags in both hands and his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. You grabbed it and a bag before he had a chance to drop anything like the klutz he was. "What's with all this?"

"I feel bad."

"Why? You didn't stand me up?"

He fiddled with the edge of a paper bag. "Yeah, but, we both read those messages and no one said anything but they didn't just call our group out, they called us out.

"Denks, it doesn't matter to me-"

"But, it does to me! You were so excited about this and I got in the way, unknowingly but, still! So, I gotta make it up to you now!"

He pulled out take-out boxes from your favorite restaurant. Two bottles of your favorite wine. Your top three favorite movies and video games, and a board game you both had been meaning to try. "I mean, if they think I'm your boyfriend I kinda gotta live up to the hype, right?"

You really wanted to insist that none of this was necessary. That just because some person that neither of you really knew that well, assumed something about your relationship that didn't mean he had to blame himself for it.

But, you had to admit, this was really sweet. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to you that he knew everything you liked but it was nice. Instead of sitting across from a stranger, making awkward small talk, and trying to learn about one another, you were barefoot in your kitchen, laughing with your best friend while he plated dinner and you poured the wine.

Formalities were out the window. Both you and Denki were eating dinner in your living room, laughing and drinking just as you'd done a million times before. You snapped a photo of the delicious food on paper plates, toasting good times with your cheap wine, ready to post them to your Instagram.

"Gonna make them more jealous..."

"I think they made it pretty clear they don't want to see me so why should I care?"

He shrugged. "I just thought they might, you know, come to their senses that they obviously lost."

"I don't really care either way." You wandered back into your kitchen, putting away the leftovers, "They can forget I exist or they can stalk my page like a creep. If someones' gonna try and tell me I can't be friends with my friends or just not listen to me, then I don't want them in my life. No matter how good-looking they are."

Denki watched you from the sofa, a bit of a lopsided grin on his face that had butterflies taking flight in your stomach. "What?" Laughing to hide the bit of a crush you always had on the man. It was unavoidable you told yourself. His personality was infectious and had 15 year old you head over heels.

He pushed back bright blonde hair back off his forehead and just shook his head. "Nothin'. Uh, what's next? Video game, board game, or movie?"

You peaked on the counter at the options. "Well, we probably should have checked this but the board game needs at least four people to play... guess we'll have to save that for our next game night. Is a movie okay?"

Of course, it was.

You brought over the DVD with a refill of wine and he pulled a blanket down off the back of your sofa.

It really didn't take long, just fifteen minutes or so, and you were curled up into Denki's side. You'd make grabby hands for your wine glass and he'd pass it over with that damn grin again.

And not long after that, he'd pulled out his phone, angling it to take a picture of the two of you. "What are you doing?" You could see him on his own Instagram, tagging you, with the caption, Check out my cute cuddle bug.

"I thought you didn't want to make them more jealous."

"I decided I don't care either. You're mine tonight, their loss. And since you're mine tonight, I get bragging rights." He snapped another quick picture of you rolling your eyes at him, and then he kept snapping them.

"Denki! Why!"

"Because you're cute, cuddle bug! I like having all the pictures of you that I can!"

Even as you tackled him back down on the sofa, pinning him below you, he still managed a photo. "Bet if I post this one, they'll really get the wrong idea."

You could have moved. You were the one on top of him and you had his arms above his head. You had the power here and yet you just lingered above him.

"Y/N? Not that I'm one to complain about having a beautiful person such as yourself pinning me down, like, it's kinda hot, but..." Looking down into half-lidded golden eyes, you wondered why you had to become best friends with such a damn flirt! "Are you gonna take advantage of this situation we're in or are we just gonna keep dancing around this for another decade or so?"

You couldn't have heard him right? No... no this was your brain playing tricks on you because he certainly hadn't had that much wine tonight. You sat upright on his lap. "Another decade then, Y/N?"

"You- ha- you should stop that, Denki."

He leaned up, moving his arms around you, "Gimme a good reason to and I will."

You didn't have one. And not just because you've been in love with him for ten years but also because he was your best friend. The only reason to not go through with it was the possibility of losing your friendship if something bad were to happen but, you really didn't think anything would.

Denki might have been a serial flirt but he was surprisingly loyal in all the relationships he'd been in, not that there had been all that many serious ones.

"I'm not hearing anything." He teased, his face getting closer to yours. You could count each and every one of the faint freckles that littered the balls of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "But, I promise, if you tell me no, I'll stop, won't push this any further."

This whole thing seemed like a frickin' whirlwind, happening faster than your brain could really process the situation but you didn't want it to stop either. You wanted to take it further, didn't want to say no.

Which was why you coiled your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. There was that small little buzz of electricity that tickled your lips when he'd kiss your nose or cheeks that was now playing on his lips, on his tongue when you welcomed him in.

He leaned back again, pulling you with him until you were both a pile of needy hands and breathy pleas. Everywhere his hands roamed you felt that faint trail of shock against your skin, making the little hairs on your body stand on end.

Clothes were shed, tossed haphazardly around your living room, both of you pausing to laugh when Denki managed to land your hoodie over a lamp. His attention was drawn back to you quickly though, still perched on top of him but now he had your chest on full display since you'd forgone a bra when your date canceled.

Electrifying tongue twirled around your nipples, sensitive normally, now it felt like you knew what it was like when he fried his damn brain. He was eager, relentless even, pulling and sucking, another hand giving your other breast a similar treatment. He had you so focused that you let out a broken moan when slender fingers found their way into your panties.

"Fuckin' hell, Denki."

The bastard winked up at you, nipple still between his lips and before you could retort, he sent another small jolt through you.

You were blatantly grinding down on his hand, reaching behind you, you found him completely solid, barely being contained in the tight black boxers he wore. You had enough sense to tug them down and wrap your hand around him making his teeth sink into your soft flesh, whining when you stroked him.

"Y/N..." He whimpered, his hand momentarily distracted from his ministrations gave you enough time to shift in his lap to scoot forward putting his cock in front of you. In one swift motion, you had his length between your slick. "Oh fuck, cutie!" Golden eyes were squeezed shut while you moved along him, feeling that pleasant curve he had, you could only imagine what it was gonna be like to have him inside you.

"You're being a little tease, ma-makes me wanna do all sorts of things to y-you."

He was kissing your neck, your chest, shoulders, and arms, anywhere on you that he could reach. His hips bucking up into you, just trying to hit that perfect angle.

Strength and agility were something most overlooked when it came to Denki Kaminari but when the man wanted something bad enough, he found a way to get it.

He had your ass rising up in the air with a harsh thrust of his hips and a small squeak from you, giving him exactly enough time to scoot down on the sofa so you were sat atop his face. If you complained, he didn't hear you. Denki already had your thighs around his head and his tongue devouring you completely.

Little shockwaves rocked you while you cried out his name, hands fisting blonde locks just trying to stay upright.

One orgasm from you apparently wasn't enough, neither was two but on the third, Denki finally relented, allowing your heartrate to come back down and your gasping breaths to come in more steadily.

You slid back down his body, his erection now smack against your ass. His hair was recked, face completely flush but he had the biggest grin on his face that you'd ever seen.

Denki kissed both your cheeks, "You are so amazing, cutie!" Kissed your lips, "You taste better than anything I've ever had!" And one more on the tip of your nose. "Doin' okay?"

You nodded, starting to really gather yourself again, and by this point, you really just wanted one thing.

"I wanna... Denks... can I take care of you now?"

"Sure, cutie! How do you want me?" The wiggling eyebrows had you rolling your eyes and pushing him on his back again.

It took little effort for you to position yourself above his cock, and with how slick you were, his bright pink head slipped right inside. He held your hands while you scrunched up your face, sliding all the way down him until he was completely sheathed within.

The curve was immaculate. Hitting in just the right way that had you moaning with just a couple thrusts from him. Before long, you were eagerly bouncing on his cock. Riding him hard so he filled you up each and every time.

You barely registered him reaching for the coffee table, his phone now in his hands. "What're you doin'?" You practically slurred, slowing only slightly. He tapped the camera lens with a wicked grin. "Seriously?"

"We could make 'em really jealous now..."

Somewhere in your brain, you knew your date wouldn't give two shits, in fact, this probably would have only validated their thoughts about your's and Denki's relationship but with his cock stuffed so deeply into you, kissing your cervix in the most beautiful way, you really didn't give a damn.

You and Denki put on the best possible show you could think of. You were overstimulated, sore, and completely elated! He balanced the phone against the wine bottle so neither of you had to try to hold it.

This way he could play with your breasts or squeeze your thighs while you dug half-moons into his chest. Shocked with the playful zaps he sent right to your core.

Your makeup you'd didn't feel like taking off now ran down your cheeks with tears. Your hair was a mess thanks to him pulling at it.

Denki had you howling through another two orgasms, telling you how perfect you were, how nice you felt squeezing him so tightly, your nails felt so good against his skin.

It was only when you collapsed against his chest did he hoist your hips up so he could ram into you, pulling out just at the last second with a strangled cry of your name.

He wiggled himself free, grabbing a towel from your bathroom and cleaning you both up before stopping the recording.

"You're, hey you're gonna send that to me right?" You asked when he handed back your hoodie off the lamp.

He dropped a kiss on your lips, plopping down beside you on the sofa again and you noticed your email already up and the video uploading. "Obviously, we share all our videos and photos. Why would this be different?"