#thanksgiving 2023 fanfic

[crazyk-imagine]

Jessica's Cousin Headcanon

A/N: Didn't really know where I was going with this, also there's barely any content for this movie and there needs to be more because it was spectacular

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- Family has always been a tough subject for you since you were a kid

- Could it be because of your parents' messy marriage leading to their terrible divorce? Maybe, who knows

- You're lucky Jessica didn't try and push you away when her dad took you in after your parents dropped you off at their house

- Her mom was the best aunt you could have and raised you better than your own parents ever could

- Another thing you were grateful Jessica and her friends never joined in on was the bullying

- The other kids in your grade made fun of you because your parents left you with your aunt

- But your cousin and her friends always came to your rescue

- Evan eventually came around when you retaliated, and he wound up with a busted nose and bruised wrist (seventh grade was a fun year for him)

- Everyone knew not to stand too close when doing stupid shit like this after that

- Bobby almost got his butt handed to him too but did not want to wind up like Evan and backed off (he had to protect his throwing arm [if you catch my drift])

- The girls and you always have a special friend date on Thursdays and go shopping or have a sleepover, what y'all are in the mood to do

- Evan and Gabby started dating because of you

- Everyone of your friends talked to you, confiding in you about their love lives and you did what they couldn't

- A game of truth or dare and those two found themselves together

- Scuba and Yulia were brought together by their love of music

- Jessica and Bobby happened during one of his games and with-it being prom just around the corner, you can fill in the rest

- The girls were always concerned about you because, naturally, you were the third or seventh wheel

- You never cared though, until Ryan started showing interest in your family (you felt he had motives)

- The boys were protective of you, and of course, Jessica but they always saw you like a sister (or so you thought)

- Everything was fine until that stupid Thanksgiving black Friday shopping event

- You were terrified, barely able to keep close to your friends and cousin

- You tried pulling the two ladies apart who rammed their carts into the poor woman's head, sobbing when they ignored you

- Then came the ripping, the sound of that part of her scalp ripping off her head haunts you still even a year after everything happened

- Bobby kept in touch with you (barely) until he got a rash voice message, then came the weekly messages

- You barely talked to Ryan when he was around the house because you know he's only trying to get closer to your family

- You give him the stink eye every time you see him while Jessica begs you to stop

- The sheriff was the only nice and rational adult in town and made sure you were always safe getting to and from school, etc

- You barely left the house unless your cousin or your friends dragged you out of the house

- Then everything started, and you were terrified but when the post of a special honorary guest came up on the creep's Instagram, you were terrified

- You were always separated from the others whenever the killer was around

- Then Evan and Gabby were taken and eventually your family and Scuba

- Your seat was at the head of the table but the furthest away from everyone

- The sight of your cousin's stepmother cooked and cut, was terrifying and revolting followed by Evan being smashed to death

- As soon as you could, you guys ran

- You knew as soon as the sheriff stepped inside the office of the warehouse, what he was and thanked your lucky stars you're as close to Jessica as you are and were able to send a silent code to her

- You managed to hand her the phone so she could record while you played the part of the traumatized girl who needed a father figure

- Then came the running and then running into a familiar face

- Bobby helped grabbed you and out you in the car before aiming for the driver’s seat

- Jessica left to hang onto the back of the tow truck as you guys tried to escape

- You watched as she blew him up before finding cover outside the warehouse

- Hearing that he was never found wasn't as comforting but luckily you had Bobby to help you

- While your cousin and Ryan went out, Bobby started pursuing you which confused you and made you hesitant but after having a girl talk with Jessica and Gabby you accepted and you two were the newest cutest couple in town

- Everyone approved... even Ryan (who you slowly begin to find... tolerable)

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

�� “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

[missmultifandom09]

Protector

McCarty x reader (Thanksgiving)

AN-I do not own the character nor the movie, all credit goes to rightful owners, but I do own the fanfiction so do not steal or use my work without credit. I hope you enjoy

P.S-this is my first fanfic of this character so apologies if it’s a bit rusty

Tw-pining, intimacy, mentions of murder, and firearms

-Plymouth, Massachusetts-

You were on your way to the town’s delinquent’s house. The two of you had been acquaintances for nearly a year next month. The two of you had been standbys during the Black Friday sale at RightMart that had left several dead and more than a dozen injured.

You had gotten to know him as McCarty. While everyone knew him as the crazy metalhead booze seller, you got to know him on more of a personal level.

The two of you would listen to metal together and he even let you watch him play bass. He was quite good at it in your opinion though he begged to differ.

When you finally arrived at the destination, he was waiting on the porch, sitting in his uncle’s old rocking chair. He pushed himself up and stretched.

“What brings you ‘round here, m’lady?”

You looked up at his tall stature.

“Parents are out of town and knowing you still have your ammo, I was curious if I could camp out here.”

He quirked a brow. “Camp out here, eh? You’re always welcome, you know that.”

He opened the door and extended an arm to welcome you in first.

You stepped foot in the small but cozy house you had been in for the fifth time now. He quickly led you up to his room and took off his vest.

“Make yourself at home, I don’t bite.”

You chuckled and sat on his bed.

“…unless you want me to,” he teased with a snicker before joining you.

He got an alert on his phone and he checked, his expression turning to one of shock.

“Ah shit, woman’s lower half found the top of the RightMart sign!”

He showed you the news article while letting out a snicker.

“Ya could say she’s got a stick up her ass,” he said gesturing to the description of how the point of the star was where the half-corpse was stuck upon.

“So gross,” you sighed. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Probably someone who lost it after last year’s massacre.”

“Probably.”

The smell of canned soup filled the kitchen as your new protector fixed up dinner. He hummed the tune to “Where Eagles Dare” by The Misfits as he fixed up the meal for the two of you. Once finished, he served you first then himself.

The two of you sat across from each other at the dinner table. You were feeling uneasy about the recent murder of the woman whose identity was released as a customer from last year’s massacre. You and McCarty had been standbys but you couldn’t help but think maybe the two of you were targets. You were snapped out of your thoughts by a familiar hand being waved in front of your face.

“You ok there? Spaced out a bit.”

“Sorry, just thinking about that article.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ve got your big ‘ol man to protect ya,” he smirked smugly.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. He looked pretty today, but you weren’t in that mindset for long due to another notification on his phone.

“Shit got a reminder that Jacob’s coming over tomorrow night to help set up for the party.”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Party?”

“Yeah, not for the faint of heart. I know you don’t like parties so I’ll keep the spare room off limits for guests so you can hang out in there.”

“Thank you,” you smiled softly.

He smiled. “Of course.”

Nighttime was nearing and McCarty had been in the shower for nearly 10 minutes now. You were laying in his bed, scrolling through your phone, drowsiness heavy on your head. The door opened and you looked up at the delinquent who had wet hair and little bullets of water dripping down his skin. He had a towel tied loosely around his waist as he searched for a shirt to wear.

“This one?” He pulled out a shirt with a design from the band Artillery.

“Hot,” you said looking up from your phone and smiling.

“Great,” he put the shirt on in front of you before grabbing a pair of jeans and underwear and going back to the bathroom.

When he returned his hair remained wet knowing he was too lazy to dry it. He laid down on the bed beside you.

“Hey,” he spoke up.

You looked at him. “Hey.”

“Don’t be worried about the murder ok? You’ve got me to protect ya.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Carty.”

He smiled and pulled you into a hug. “Anytime.”

You hugged him back and felt a warmth on your cheeks. You felt so safe with him and maybe more than just safety.

The next day came and there was a second murder. Now you were more anxious than the previous day.

That night you were nowhere near tired due to the growing anxiety in your chest.

McCarty noticed your distress and quickly sat beside you.

“Honey?”

You were distracted by the pet name and snapped out of your daze. “Huh?”

“I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

He pulled you into another warm hug and you felt butterflies deep in the pit of your stomach.

“That killer would be a fool to mess with an armed badass such as myself.”

You smiled. “You’re right.”

He pulled away from you and looked you in the eyes. His hand made its way and cupped your jaw. Your eyes made their way to his hypnotic lips before meeting eyes with him.

“You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

You felt a sense of guilt and averted your eyes.

“Look at me,” he said in a singsong voice, his pine cologne fogging your brain.

You felt his gentle touch tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as your eyes found his once again.

“Tell me, sweetheart, what are you feeling?”

You gulped.

“Or better yet…”

He got close to your ear.

“Show me.”

You felt your voice get caught in your throat and he snickered.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He let out a husky breath and moved away from your ear.

“Show me what you want, honey.”

He leaned close to your lips. You felt your heart skip a beat as your eyes fluttered closed.

You could just about feel his lips against yours, but before they officially touched, the doorbell rang.

He quickly turned toward the door. He grabbed his firearm from the junk drawer and put the safe on before shoving it in his pants.

“Don’t want that to blow my nuts off.”

You would have laughed if it wasn’t for the growing paranoia of the thought of a murderer behind that door.

He checked out the window. “Phew, just the mailman.”

He let out a relieved sigh before putting his gun back in the drawer.

The relief flooded over you before the butterflies in your stomach tackled it as his eyes locked with yours once again.

The air was filled with warm blossoms of tension. Not a bad tension, a warm feeling in your chest that you were sure he was feeling too. The dimness of the lights, the crickets outdoors, and the cool room temperature overcome by the warm blanket of longing all just made the tugging on your heartstrings more intense.

His eyes remained on yours before he took a step toward you, the creaking of the floor letting you know you were safe in his presence.

“Hey,” he whispered in a warm tone.

“Hey,” you whispered back.

Soon enough his palm rested behind your neck as his gaze landed on your plush lips.

You let out a shallow breath as you looked up at him, he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, the simple touch sending a warm shiver down your spine, sparking your heart.

You let your eyes flutter closed once again as you stood on the tips of your toes. Your lips pressed against his firmly and he let out a sigh through his nostrils. Your foreheads rested against each other as he kissed you back softly, testing the waters.

Your arms draped around his neck and he sat you on the table.

He remained gentle as the two of you shared the intimate moment.

He parted from you after a long 10 seconds and stared into your eyes.

“I love you.”

You looked up at him. “I love you too, Carty.”

“And whatever may happen next, I’ll forever be your protector.”

~End

Hope you enjoyed:D I know I enjoyed writing it and I’m sure I’ll be writing more on McCarty soon enough. If you have any recommendations or requests, feel free to comment:)

[fingersinmyhair]

ur so real for the carver obsession hes so malewife and no one writes for him

that is literally my malewife girlfriend babygirl….. I plan on writing So Much for him (for both transmasc readers and gn) and have a lil story game ask for him, don’t you worry I plan on hopefully Providing a feast fuck us Carver babes

[cyarskj1899]

What did you think about Jack Harlow’s halftime show for the Lions Thanksgiving game? Love it or hate it?

[cyarsk5230]

2d ago

3d ago

What did you think about Jack Harlow’s halftime show for the Lions Thanksgiving game? Love it or hate it?

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Barely one week before Thanksgiving, and--

If ever there had to be one thing we needed to be thankful for (at least on the side of yours truly), while we're approaching that particular time of the year to so address, it would probably have to be ...

The approach taken of having Huckleberry Hound join me on these voyages as much as he's fond of joining me in developing some of these Character Convocations. Not to mention being able to swap the Mini Cooper as has long been the mobile bivouac for these many episodes for a motorhome, thus allowing to have a few more of your fellow Funtastics along for occasional road trip forays, starting as it did with the Ocean City (Maryland) Springfest and continuing to right here at Crazy Claws' retreat on Lake Delton near Wisconsin Dells.

While things will certainly take awhile to get seriously developed, especially following our return from a planned winter diving holiday in the Caribbean with Peter Potamus and His Magic Divers--speaking of which, I wonder how that's progressing? Peter Potamus, in fact, called me the other night and mentioned that he might be able to pick us up, depending on weather, sometime around Thanksgiving proper, allowing us to celebrate with such company to hand.

"Including, I will have you know," as I explained it to him, "the Hair Bear Bunch."

"Celebrating Thanksgiving?" Peter asked.

"Correct."

"And with the company I have ... it'll be interesting to see how my other divers would be interested in the proposition of having three rather crazy bears joining our diving escapades in the Caribbean."

"I assume you still recall when you had them at an especially secretive atoll in the Polynesian for a few days' diving vacation."

"Thank you for reminding me, Snagglepuss ..."

"But," added I, "at least the Hair Bears aren't bound to worry much about the prospect of hibernation and the ennui bound to ensue over the winter otherwise."

"Point most interesting ..."

(At any rate, Peter pledged he'd get back to me on the opinion part of the Hair Bear Bunch coming along. Stay tuned to see how it comes out.)

But just be thankful that these escapades are certain to get a little more on the interesting side of things by the time 2024 maketh its presence known. Credit the motorhome for that likelihood.

@warnerbrosentertainment @indigo-corvus @theweekenddigest @iheartgod175 @ultrakeencollectionbreadfan @archive-archives @themineralyoucrave @screamingtoosoftly @princessgalaxy505 @thylordshipofbutts @thebigdingle @warnerbros-blog1 @groovybribri @joey-gatorman @jellystone-enjoyer @railguner34 @warnerbrosent-blog

[newwwwusername]

Fic title : Leaving this Shit Town (Just for a Moment)

@ogdoadfates fluff prompt : Going on a calming road trip together

Rating : Teen & Up Audiences

Fandom : Thanksgiving (2023 Movie)

Pairing : Gabby & Jessica & Scuba

Additional tags : Road Trips, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Escapism, References to Murder, Past Violence, Canonical Character Death

Word count : 269

[ghulehunknown]

Hey everyone! I’m Elizabeth (:

My blog is strictly 18+! I write adult themes and I will always tag my posts accordingly. Sometimes it’s just fluff.

Requests are open! - fanfics, drabbles, headcanons, etc. I love hearing from you! Just a few things to note:

Typically I write Papa x Reader (either GN or F reader), but I am open to changing it up

I’ll write any of the Papas or Ghouls/Ghoulettes, but am most comfortable w/ Terzo x Reader or Copia x Reader

Topics I will NOT write include the following, but are not limited to: incest, beastiality, underage, non-con - I will update this list if I need to

DM me anytime! If I’m taking a while to respond or post, please be patient as I’m probably thinking of the best way to write the request.

I reserve the right to deny any request but please do not take it personally. Certain topics I may not write if I can’t find the inspiration or I’m uncomfortable, but generally I’m open to just about anything.

Enjoy!

🔞 The following list contains NSFW content. Minors DNI 🔞

Wintertime Smut Collection

XXXmas At The Ministry, a collaboration with @copias-sewer-rat, @molly-ghuleh, and @bupia

Naughty Presents (Primo) by @copias-sewer-rat

Ungrumpify Your Papa (Secondo) by @molly-ghuleh

Mistletoe’d (Terzo) by @ghulehunknown

Treasure Hunt (Copia) by @bupia

Papa Holiday Headcanons

Papa Valentine’s Day Headcanons

Vacation Full Length Smut and “The Note” (a continuation of Mistletoe’d) - coming soon!

“A Holiday Tail”

“A Rainy Winter”

Kinktober 2023

Day 1 - masturbation • Day 2 - Terzomega • Day 3 - blowjob • Day 4 - cunnilingus, fingering, worship • Day 5 - miniskirt rough sex, dom • Day 6 - soft dom, sweet sex • Day 7 - teacher/student, inexperience, praise • Day 8 - rimming • Day 9 - public sex, exhibitionism • Day 10 - spanking, fishnets • Day 11 - group sex • Day 12 - sub Copia, degradation • Day 13 - kissing HCs • Day 14 - period sex HCs • Day 15 - lovemaking HCs • Halloween - Vamperzo, period sex

Kinktober 2024

Day 1 - Mirror Sex

Papa Emeritus IV

“Do You Deserve It?” • “You Earned It” • Random Drabble • “Creature Comforts” • Undressing Copia Drabble • Mirror Sex

Cardinal Copia

“Cardi Confessions”

Terzo

“I Wanna Be Yours” (Terzomega) • “Preparation is Key” • “Papa’s Worship” • “Movie ’n Chill” • “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” • “La Notte del Vampiro” • “La Lezione di Lucifero” • “And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That” • “Mistletoe’d” • “One Missed Text”

Secondo

“Papa’s Punishment”

Primo

“Teach Me Tonight”

Papa Headcanons

Kissing/Cuddling • Period Sex/Comforting • Romantic Sex/Lovemaking • Sick Days • Mary Goore NSFW • Positions • Going Down (F Receiving) • Jealousy • Thanksgiving • Showering Together • Holidays • Valentine’s Day • Proposals • Waking Up Together • Aftercare

Ghouls

“A Holiday Tail” (Mountain) • “A Rainy Winter” (Rain)

Papa of Choice

“Caught by Papa” • “Tangled Sheets”

Gender Neutral

“I Wanna Be Yours” (Terzomega) • “Tangled Sheets” • “Papa’s Punishment” • Random Copia Drabble • “A Rainy Winter” • “Creature Comforts” • Undressing Copia Drabble

F!Reader

“Caught by Papa” • “Preparation is Key” • “Papa’s Worship” • “Do You Deserve It?” • “You Earned It” • “Teach Me Tonight” • “Movie ’n Chill” • “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” • “Cardi Confessions” • “La Notte del Vampiro” * “La Lezione di Lucifero” • “And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That” • “Mistletoe’d” • “A Holiday Tail” (Mountain x AFAB) • “One Missed Text” • Mirror Sex

[chronically-ghosted]

the days i spend with you

rating: T

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: >1000

summary: a snow-storm keeps you from meeting Marcus's family over the holidays so you cheer him up by maintaining Pike family traditions.

warnings/tags: literally none, so much fluff, bad jokes, talking with your mouth full which is bad manners, references to air bud (do y'all even know who that is), minor praise in a barely kinky way, no y/n

a/n: i was feeling festive and my beautiful beautiful moots answered the call! @yoursoulsunbreakable requested: What about making apple scented candles with Marcus P on a rainy day? 🕯️🍎 🍁 this was healing to my soul to write so there will be more autumn/thanksgiving themed oneshots coming soon! (if you like these, please go look at @trulybetty 's october x 500 -- she did all of October with these yummy prompts, so please check them out and give her a follow!)

🤍Masterlist

“Stop it, you’re going to make me laugh.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re going to make me drop it!”

“What do you want me to do? Shut my eyes?”

“Yes!”

With a smile, your eyes flicker between the dribbling hot wax and Marcus, laughing as he stands up and goes to the other side of the kitchen. He pops half a Snickerdoodle in his mouth.

“Shee ‘m ev’n in a d’frnt room. ‘Appy now?” 

Your distraction taken care of, you return your attention to the culmination of about eight hours of work. Arms straining with the heavy pot, you continue to pour out the amber colored liquid into the small glass container that came with the kit and you bite your lip, focus entirely on maintaining a steady hand. A whole number of things could go wrong here: you could spill the wax and have hot wax splash all over Marcus’s grandmother’s Queen Anne table, which could have been present at the original Thanksgiving. You could pour too fast and the wax would yank down the wick and then you’d have to pluck it out with tweezers before it could harden – naturally clumsy, adding speed to the mix would only incentivize more chaos.

But you hold steady, wrists tight, and the wax slowly fills to the top, the tiny string staying firmly around the chopsticks. 

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing perfect.”

His voice makes your toes clench in your shoes and you bite your lip harder. Caught half-way between wanting his praise and finding even his voice a distraction, you block him out entirely and lean forward, just as the wax reaches the lip of the glass container. Like Marcus had shown you on the one he did just before, you flick your wrist up and the flow of the wax drip, drip, drips until the last bit is stopped by the edge of the pot. 

For a moment, you worry about what you forgot to do or if you’ve missed a step – because everything looks too perfect. The wax is settling properly, a cinnamon apple smell pungent throughout the house, and the string holds strong. 

Firm, warm hands slide over your waist as Marcus kisses your neck. His breath smells like sugar, the weight behind you a balm and a praise all its own.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asks quietly as he noses your ear. “You’re a natural.” 

You bite your lip and run your palms over his knuckles, up to his elbows, then settling firmly on his forearms.

“I know I’m not as good as your sister, or your mom, but at least I didn’t spill everywhere.” You smile gently when he stiffens slightly behind you. Twisting in his arms, you put a hand on that smooth face you love with all your heart. He returns your smile, but it's dampened. You know he’s disappointed that the weather grounded all planes to Maine where the Pikes’ have a winter home – he had been so looking forward to introducing you to his family. “I hope I haven’t shamed your ancestors with my shoddy candle making.”

Marcus laughs and shakes his head, returning the hug around your waist. “You haven’t shamed anyone. I give that candle a ten out of ten.” 

“And I burned the wax only once!” This time you laugh with him as he kisses your cheek. You forget how easy a happy Marcus shows affection, someone entirely different from the forlorn man you met all those months ago after he moved to Washington from Austin. “What’s next for the Pike family Thanksgiving Olympics?”

“Well, for a championship gold medal like that, I think all contestants deserve a hot chocolate and a repeat viewing of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” He pats your butt and walks into the kitchen. “Save me a seat, will ya?”

You smirk then flex in a pose as you head for the couch like you’re showing off your muscles on the Miami boardwalk. “You got it, champ. Put me in, cap, I’ll bring home the gold yet again! Airbud ain’t got nothing on me! Those Rooskies can’t defeat my hockey skills and–,” 

A hand catches your elbow halfway through a pretend hockey stick swing and you stumble back into his arms. You have a second to see his half-lidded eyes before he kisses you, your cheeks nestled between his palms. And you, predictable, go as weak-kneed as a dame on a tarmac. Your hands curl around his wrists, his cashmere sweater as soft as he is.

He nips at your bottom lip, almost a more affectionate squeeze than a real bite and you sigh, adjusting yourself to get closer to him. When he finally pulls away, you feel a little lightning-struck. You lift your heavy lids to his rich, dark brown eyes. The smile he gives you is a full on Pike smile, nothing dampened or dimmed about it.

“Thank you for being here,” he murmurs to your lips. You can’t wait to kiss chocolate off his later. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.” 

There is no silence with Marcus, only quiet contentment. Outside, the snow patters softly against the windows, piling up in the eaves of the house and the bends of the trees and the curves of the cars, the miles of road – a truly snowed-in Thanksgiving.

“Marshmallows with whipped cream?”

“Marshmallows with whipped cream.” You nod seriously. He lets you go and you kiss him once more on the cheek before going to find a good blanket to snuggle under. His heart so full it truly might burst, he turns back to the kitchen to start heating up the milk. 

So the weather ruined his plans this time around, the small black box remaining hidden in the bottom of his suitcase. Well, there is always Christmas to do it in front of his family. And if the weather continued to thwart his perfect proposal, he’d do it in the damn driveway if he had to. 

He didn’t want to waste another second with his ring anywhere but your finger.

[canonicallyobserving911]

WIP Wednesday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 22 will be posted soon.

Currently 21 chapters completed: 797.4K Words; Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

[#1 Previous snippet from Several Sentences Sunday]

[#2 Previous snippet from WIP Wednesday]

[#3 Previous snippet from Several Sentences Sunday]

____________

I'm excited to finish writing Chapter 22 because there's less than one day remaining until Buck and Eddie get married.

For anyone who hasn't read Chapter 21, here's a brief overview: Buck and Eddie finalized everything before the three of them left L.A. on Friday, December 15th. On December 10th, Buck agreed to meet with his biological father and Eddie and Chris will be present with him when they meet at 12 noon at the restaurant Edward selected. Buck still doesn't know Chris is going to ask him to adopt him on Christmas morning and neither Buck nor Chris knows anything about the gift Eddie bought to commemorate the special moment. Also, Eddie's planning several big surprises for Buck on their wedding day and for a week later when they arrive in London but Eddie doesn't know Chris and Buck are planning a surprise for him too. The three of them are speaking Italian more frequently and finally, Maddie, the 118 and Athena are still planning to throw them an engagement party because they don't know they're getting married which means New Year's Eve at Maddie's and Chimney's is going to be interesting 😉.

Buck and Eddie will tie the knot before Christmas 2023 but they are NOT getting married in the U.S. and they won't have a wedding ceremony until May 2024. They've revealed their relationship, their engagement and the fact that they're going to Europe to their found family during the 118's Thanksgiving dinner (Chapter 17), to Eddie's parents, his sisters, his abuela and Tia Pepa (Chapter 18) and Buck told the Buckley parents he's getting married and that he has a son (Chapter 19). Only three people know they're getting married and they are Chris, Carla and Malone. They told Carla and Malone (Chapter 19) because they asked them to be their witnesses at the Italian Consulate and they told Chris (Chapter 20) that evening after they got the "Atto Notorio" (Declaration) signed but no one else knows. In Chapter 21, Buck, Eddie and Chris arrived in Rome, Italy and they're preparing for the big day.

___________

Here's another romantically fluffy snippet from Chapter 22 of Eddie and Buck having a conversation while they're in their villa in Roma, Italia.

___________

It’s 2:23PM and Eddie’s standing in the living area facing the hallway while Chris is sitting on the couch waiting for him to give him the signal.

When the door to Buck’s and Eddie’s bedroom opens, Eddie watches as he exits, then he turns and looks at Chris.  He nods his head and says, “Hit it!”

“Ok dad.”  He replies and he taps the screen on Eddie’s phone to select the song Eddie chose for this occasion.  He selected it two months ago after they got engaged and he’s been waiting to play a specific portion of it since the night they both said, “Yes, I’ll marry you” after their simultaneous proposals.

The song is at the beginning of his “He’s My Everything” playlist but he didn’t tell Buck about it while they were on the airplane discussing their playlists because this is one of the many surprises he has planned just for him.

After Chris taps play, the song starts and the melody plays through the villa’s Bluetooth sound system’s speakers.

As Buck continues to walk and get closer to the living area, he hears a group of melodic male voices repeatedly singing the same phrase over and over again.

“Let’s get married!”

“Let’s get married!”

“Let’s get married!”

He briefly wonders which group it is because he thinks he’s heard one of their other songs but he doesn’t have long to contemplate it.  When he looks up, he sees his fiancé, the love of his life, Eddie Diaz standing there with a big smile on his face.

Eddie’s hand is extended and waiting for him to put his hand in his and the sight of it causes Buck to remember the dream he had about this day back in September when he was still living at the loft.

After he takes the last steps forward, he puts his hand in Eddie’s then Eddie wraps his free arm around his waist and pulls him close.  Buck wraps his free arm around Eddie’s waist and with the group still singing “Let’s get married”, Eddie starts saying everything he said to him in his dream and the tears he thought he successfully blinked back while he was still in the bedroom, start streaming down his face.

Eddie whispers into his ear, “Buck?”

“Buck… my love.”

“Babe, I love you so much.”

“Evan, you’re my one true love.”

“Don’t you know… you’re the love of my life?”

Buck can’t speak because he's so emotional but he manages to nod his head while it rests on Eddie’s shoulder to let him know he hears him but the next statement that escapes Eddie’s lips is the one that makes him weep.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Buck hiccups on a sob and Eddie’s right there to hold onto him.  His knees buckle but Eddie holds him up just like always because he has his back and his heart.  After a few seconds, he composes himself and whispers, “I know and I’m sorry it took me so long to get here”.

He feels Eddie’s lips softly brush against his ear when he admits, “It’s ok because I’ll wait a lifetime for you.  We’re here now and it’s time for us to start our forever.”

“Our for—ever!”  Buck says as he exhales a shuddering breath.

“Evan, ti amo!”  [“Evan, I love you!”]

“Ti amo cosi tan—to!”   [“I love you too so much!”]

Then Eddie pulls back, meets those ocean blue eyes he loves so much and without releasing their joined hands, he takes his free hand and uses his thumb to wipe away Buck’s tears.  Then he emphatically says, “Amore mio, sposiamoci!”  [“My love, let’s get married!”]

Buck hiccups on the sob that’s caught in the back of his throat but he manages to respond, “Pic—cola, sì, sposiamoci!” [“Babe… yes, let’s get married!”]  And that’s all it takes for him to lean in and passionately kiss his fiancé.

What’s going to happen next? 🙃

Are they going to stop kissing in enough time to make it to their ceremony by 3:00PM? 🤷🏽‍♀️

___________

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it.  But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago.  They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial.  But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories.  Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie.  It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - As Buck and Eddie begin to prepare for their marriage ceremony that will take place in Rome, Italy in December 2023, they start planning their first international adventure as a romantic couple. Even though Chris is still the only person they’ve told about their relationship, several people who know them have already witnessed the love they share and as the days continue, others will witness it too.

Chapter 17 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to departing Los Angeles for their international adventure, a moment in time will remind them; life is fragile, tomorrow isn’t promised and every second of everyday should be cherished because everything can change in an instant. The result of that realization will cause them to hold onto each other even more.

Chapter 18 - As Buck, Eddie and Chris prepare for family gatherings before and during the Thanksgiving holiday, the “Santa Ana Winds” start to blow and all sorts of expected and unexpected familial drama ensues.

Chapter 19 - As Buck and Eddie get closer to their wedding day, the universe begins to align everything so that some of their parent and children's relationships are strengthened while others come to an abrupt end.

Chapter 20 - With only 14 days remaining until Buck, Eddie and Chris depart Los Angeles, CA traveling to Rome, Italy, for their first family adventure, an early morning conversation about “tying up loose ends” helps Buck and Eddie realize there are still several things left unfinished on their ‘To Do’ lists. The question is will there be enough time to complete all of them?

Chapter 21 - Buck, Eddie and Chris are finalizing their ‘To Do’ Lists, double checking their itineraries and packing their suitcases in preparation for their trip to Europe so they can board their flight that departs Los Angeles, CA on Friday, December 15, 2023 at 3:25PM.

Chapter 22 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-21 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapter 22 will be posted soon.

[icycoldninja]

Masterlist

Last updated: 03, 05, 2024

About me

Fluffcember 2023

DEVIL MAY CRY:

Dante:

Tired (Fluff)

Period headcannons

Pregnant (fluffy fanfic + headcannons)

Dirty talk headcannons

Ditching Prom (NSFW)

Fatherhood headcannons

Pregnancy care headcannons

Wedding day (fluff)

Nightmares (Angst/fluff)

Half angel SO headcannons

Cuddling headcannons

Ninja girlfriend headcannons

Childbirth comfort headcannons

Shadows of the past (angst/fluff/slight smut)

Forbidden Love

Dense (Funny-ish fluff)

Eating Pussy (NSFW)

NSFW alphabet

What's under there? (Smut kinda)

Perturbation (angst)

A problem (NSFW)

Strawberry panties (Suggestive, not quite NSFW)

S/O with teeth insecurities

Size kink headcannons (sfw & nsfw)

New pajamas (fluff)

Fated (angst)

Quiet night in (fluff)

Don't hurt yourself (angst)

Miscarriage comfort headcannons (angst)

Owning a cat headcannons

Hot (Yandere Dante)

Valentine’s Date

Caught a cold (fluff)

Rejected (angst)

Home invasion

Vergil:

I'll love you forever (Angst/NSFW)

Warm-up (Fluff)

Nsfw alphabet

Disquietude (angst)

S/O with teeth insecurities

Hot (Yandere Vergil)

NSFW headcannons

I'll hold you (angst/fluff)

S/O who stares a lot headcannons

Half-angel S/O headcannons

Nero:

Anxiety (angst)

S/O with teeth insecurities

NSFW headcannons

Half-angel S/O headcannons

V:

Hysteria (angst)

Dating headcannons

Nsfw alphabet

FINAL FANTASY VII:

Sephiroth:

Beauty day headcanons

S/O making them wear a dress headcanons

Anything for my baby (fluff)

Thanksgiving with S/O headcannons

Those eyes (angst)

Genesis:

Beauty day headcanons

S/O making them wear a dress headcanons

Attention (Fluff)

Thanksgiving with S/O headcannons

Dating headcannons

Angeal:

Beauty day headcanons

S/O making them wear a dress headcanons

Dating headcannons

Thanksgiving with S/O headcannons

Reno:

Dating Reno headcannons

A great misunderstanding (Yandere Reno x reader)

Kadaj:

Reunion (angst)

Final Fantasy 9:

Kuja:

They'd warned you (Yandere Kuja x reader)

Gone (angst)

Metal Gear (MG)

Raiden:

Pregnancy headcannons (fluff)

Pregnancy headcannons part 2 (fluff)

Pregnancy headcannons part 3 (fluff)

Childbirth headcannons (fluff)

Fatherhood headcannons (fluff)

Safe (angst/fluff)

Half Cyborg headcannons (sfw and nsfw)

NSFW headcannons

Succumb (NSFW)

Dominance (NSFW)

Eating pussy (NSFW)

Good boy (NSFW)

S/O who was man-made (angst)

I'm gonna a be a dad?!

S/O with a size difference kink

MGS2! NSFW alphabet

Mommy (NSFW)

Pregnant and horny (NSFW)

Bangin' in the shower (NSFW)

He picked Rose (angst)

Besotted (fluff)

Chilling out (fluff)

Cramps (hurt/comfort)

Misc:

If Vergil and Sephiroth met headcannons

How to use their, there, and they're

If Leon Kennedy and Dante met headcannons

Rapunzel (Sephiroth x Cloud)

[hooked-on-elvis]

Just a little wish for a Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to some blogs that have brought me joy this year

🎄🎁🎄

Awwww. You're so sweet!!! You made my day. I mean it.🥹 Thank you for sharing this with me. I'm glad my blog brought some joy to you this year. So glad! I love your blog too. Very much! ♥ Wishing you the happiest Christmas and that you have an excelent 2024 ahead, dear.

🎅🏼🎄✨🩵

Since we're on the thanksgiving mood, I'd like to thank my favorite blog owners here too, some of the wonderful people I got to talk a little bit this year - or not talk in a personal level but either way, I appreciate you very dearly

I feel you are my priceless gifts this year. ♥

First, I'd like to mention @elvisanddenise. I didn't have a one-on-one talk with you yet, but I'd like you to know you were the reason I wanted to rejoin Tumblr this year in the first place. I am 28 years old now, so I've been a Tumblr addict in my teenage years (for a different reason other than Elvis) but I lost that passion long ago. I didn't even actually use to share anything. Back then I used this account purely to read some fanfics on one of my favorite TV shows characters and that was all, until I got over it a bit. My Tumblr was forgotten for many, many years. This 2023, you were the reason I found it would be fun being active here again. Before I had my Elvis account here, I already accompanied your content daily. DAILY. Your account has a special tab in my browser, which I check on every single day. I mean it. It's been almost a year and, well... I gotta thank you for all the awesome posts you share, the great Elvis pictures and accurate info you upload to your blog, dear. Many great, even rare, pictures of EP are shared on your blog like, weekly. Yours is my favorite blog on Tumblr so far. Thank you so much for sharing your love on Elvis with us. I can see how you dedicate yourself to this passion and I highly appreciate it. ♥

Now, I got mention @eptodaytommorwforever as the first friend I got to talk when I came back to being active on Tumblr this year. I appreciate how kind and sweet you've always been to me. Thank you for all your wonderful, accurate info shares on your precious blog. ♥

Recently, I got to interact a lot with @jhoneybees @lookingforrainbows and @thetaoofzoe. You're so much fun, always making me laugh with the silliest things, which are the best kind of laughter ever! You've been nothing but the sweetest human beings to me and I also love the great content you share daily on each of your blogs, the fanfics, the pictures, everything! I hope you feel how much my words are true. A big hug from this new Elvis friend of yours here. I hope you're all safe and happy. ♥

@bellanotchewrites My dear, I hope you're doing fine. You're so sweet. I'm sorry if I'm shitty in answering my DMs. I really struggle on that, don't even know why, but you've been on my mind. Keep strong, sweetie. i'm wishing you the best! I care for you. ♥

@vintageshanny Always with the best tags, thank you for remembering me this year, dear. Although I don't always manage to participate on the tags content you share with me, I always have great fun seeing all the interaction from the other friends you tag. I love your blog so much! ♥

@dreamingofep I didn't got to read many fanfics this year because I have a hard time focusing on anything recently — and I know I'm missing a lot of great content from other friends here. I hope next year I manage to read a lot more of our talented Elvis writers. Anyway, I 'd like to say your "Sinned Awakening" series is my favorite! I love Vampire Elvis. You're doing an excellent job on that series, dear! I'm loving it! Thank you SO MUCH for sharing your writing gift with us. ♥

And last but not least, some of the people that are always sharing or liking my content here but much beyond that, the people I love following. You make everything better. I love interacting with you and I appreciate your shares deeply. All of you have wonderful blogs. ♥ @precious-little-scoundrel ♥ @claire-elvisgirl @nothing-but-elvis @i-r-i-n-a-a @lett-them-eatt-cake @vintagepresley @suraemoon @bigdaddyelvislover @velvetelvis @presleyenterprise @alvvaysonmymind @ccab @almightybigbrain @aliengoth3 @pinkcaddyconfessions @tupelomiss @loving-elvis @heartbrake-hotel @elvisflowerchild @peaceloveelvis @helen06dreamer @sissylittlefeather @yintoeveryonesyang ♥

I really hope I didn't forget to tag anyone I care for, I'd hate that. But if I did, I'll remember eventually so I can tag you later.

✨ THANK YOU SO MUCH, MY FRIENDS, FOR MAKING MY DAYS HAPPIER THIS YEAR.✨ I wish you all stay safe, healthy, feel loved and appreciated. I pray for you all. Wish all of you a wonderful Christmas and a great holiday season. Enjoy your families and loved ones this holidays, babies. May your 2024 be filled with laughter and joy.

And thank you once again, @precious-little-scoundrel. For inspiring me after pouring so much love on many of us today. God bless you. ♥

Sincerely yours, much love,

Lally.

[karahalloway]

WIP Update - 2024

Happy 2024! 🥳

Hope everyone had a great holiday period - got the chance to see friends and family, relax a bit - and is ready for the new year!

Harper and Drake certainly did! Thank you @nestledonthaveone for these pics!

Unfortunately, I was too busy to put together a 2023 Year In Review post, or something similar, but now that things are getting back to normal after the festivities, I wanted to take the time to let anyone who is still around (and reads my stuff) about a few updates.

Tumblr Projects for 2024

My overall plan for 2024 is to try and finish off my outstanding WIPs. These are (in no particular priority order):

(Less Than) Noble Intentions (including Extraction)

Thanksgiving

Mission: Cordonia

If I have time / the Muse feels supportive, I may post an additional installment for Tales from the Gypsea as well. I also have The Highwayman for January's Song Rewrite Challenge to write (at least the first part).

Please bear with me, as my posting will probably be chaotic. I was supposed to be working on the next chapter of Thanksgiving (as there is only one part left), or possibly the first installment of The Highwayman given that this has a deadline 😬, but instead, my brain decided that I must focus on the next chapter of Intentions 🤷‍♀️

So, I may be dropping one chapter of one fic here, another chapter for another fic there... or there could be a glut of chapters for one particular fic while the other ones gather dust in the corner. Who knows... I certainly don't!

Original Fiction Project(s) for 2024

In parallel to my TRR fanfic, I am also working on some original fiction in the background, that I hope to publish (as actual books) once they are done (I currently have 3 projects in progress or in pre-planning - I know - my brain is crazy - I blame my association with @angelasscribbles 🤣)

Definitely no ETA on this yet, but if I randomly go silent on Tumblr, then this is why.

Reading

In addition to this, there are several series that I want / need to catch up on, but again, please bear with me, as my primary focus will be wrapping up my outstanding series, so my reading/reblogging time may end up being limited (especially if work is also busy).

Thanks for your continued support and interest in my fics (I know the fandom is not quite what it used to be, but my OCD will not let me leave projects unfinished! 😅) and best wishes to everyone for 2024!

PS: If anyone wants on or off my taglist, please message me! I will not be offended - I know real life is busy, and most of us don't have as much free time anymore as we did during the successive lockdowns (kinda miss those, tbh 😅)

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fanfiction-she-wrote @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890

[sarahlizziewrites]

Where my WIPs are at:

Chrissie's of London - ~70% of the way through a second draft of Book 1 (Chrissie's, Strand), hopefully to be completed by start of September. I had promised I'd either start querying or get a Patreon set up by the time I finished this, but... I haven't done any querying at all. Motivate me?

Book 2 (The Electric Pavilion) is my go-to project at the moment when I'm sick of editing - currently 17k words.

The Adventures of Sitora Lux - Book 1 (Honesty's Cost) is still out for beta feedback after draft 2. I haven't really worked on Book 2 (A Different Kind of Courage) since last year (currently sitting at 13k words). This series is functionally on hiatus until I work out what to do with it. I think I need to pitch it solidly as YA even though it wasn't written that way.

Grey Sky Lark - this has always been a back-burner project and I haven't worked on it much lately. It's at about 12k words.

Brazen Sparrow - I got some good work done on this in the last few weeks, but I have to be in the right mood for my pirate girlies. Currently sitting at 12k words.

Crime-Fighting Husbands - I finished 'Til Death Do Us Part during NaNo 2023 and haven't really touched it since then. I have had two alpha readers provide feedback, but nobody has really been brutal enough about it. I know it needs more meat to the mystery but I can't figure out what. If there are any seasoned mystery readers/writers out there who are willing to give me brutal feedback, lmk!

Book 2 (The Ruby of Ranpur) is in the planning stage and I intend to start this for a chilled NaNo-esque challenge over October and November. Tbh this is a better mystery as a whole, and I learned a lot from my first one. I'm excited! Check on me by Thanksgiving lmao.

The Melody of Your Gravity is on hiatus. Sorry. I haven't updated since like, April, and I've also slipped out of the fandom a little. I'm not caught up on Campaign 3 and I'm lacking the motivation. I do want to finish this story, though. Maybe more news about the Mighty Nein Animated will get me excited. Fingers crossed!

Dawn Meeting - my interactive fiction thing over at @tell-me-a-poll-story. I know some people were really jazzed about this, but the pressure got to me. Idk. I don't hate the story so I might carry it on. But I remember crying over the outcome of the polls at times so it wasn't really healthy tbh. I didn't have a healthy relationship to writing in 2023 at all so it was good that I took a step back. On hiatus - not dead.

Anyway this was long lol. I want to make Chrissie's public so you all can finally read it, maybe with a goal of getting it self-published, but I know that something like a Patreon will stress me the fuck out and make me avoid it (as evidenced by the manufactured pressure of NaNo and the false accountability of publishing a fanfic and my own interactive story being really unhealthy for me). I'd love any and all advice about doing this shit professionally and not losing your mind lol.

Thanks for lending me your dividers, @saradika, they are so cute.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC Holidays 2023 - Week 1

✒️= Fanfic | 📱= Text Fics/Edits | 🎨= Fanart ✒️= Holidays 2023

CRIMES OF PASSION

Trystan Thorne x F!MC Holiday Art 🎨🌟by @bayleedraws-sometimesx

OPEN HEART

Improvision ✒️🌟| Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @jerzwriter

Thanksgiving 2023 📱🌟 | Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @genevievemd

Thanksgiving's Little Miracle 🎨✒️🌟| Bryce Lahela x F!OC 🎨 by @/artbyainna (IG) ✒️ by @storyofmychoices

Tis the Night to Bake ✒️🌟| Ethan Ramsey x F!MC - @zealouscanonindeer

NIGHTBOUND

A Meeting in Wyoming ✒️🌟| Nik Ryder x F!MC - @ladylamrian

Thank you for participating in week one!

Fandom writers and artists, you have until January 6, 2024, to participate! Three lucky participants will receive commissions from @mydemonsdrivealimo, @oh-so-youre-a-nerd, and @rosefuckinggenius! Please see event rules and prompts below!

EVENT INFO | PROMPTS