#that tag still sounds so goofy lol

[fbpsdumbtklblog]

that one basil ai is pretty fun to rp with ngl

[eyivibyemi]

✧ I won’t really write descriptions for these, but see original post tags for explanation/commentary on the song snippet ✧

[quin-ns]

Neighborhood Dilf (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: joel finds out he has a nickname and he asks you what it means

Tags: pre-outbreak this is a happy fic guys!! I didn’t specify a year but let’s put it at 2000 for funsies so sarah is like 11 and joel is like 30ish. also fluff, humor, flirting, age gap, goofy plot (I don’t know what this is honestly), joel being the definition of a dilf and not knowing it, crushes, overall cuteness. also suburbia

A/N: I saw a tiktok where someone said they just knew joel was the neighborhood dilf and they were so real for that I had to write it. and no I don’t care that the word was popularized online we’re using it here. I’m here to provide a cute fluffy fanfic not a historically accurate one lol. also sorry if your name is bee, I tried to come up with a name for the friend that was a nickname so if it was someone’s actual name they could just imagine their full name (I overthink)

TLOU masterlist + main masterlist

The loud music coming from outside woke you up from your afternoon nap. After spending a semester at college struggling to find even an hour of sleep, you were taking as many of those as possible. You were a little grouchy at first as you threw your covers off and stormed to your window, but quickly calmed down when you realized it was the annual block party your neighborhood hosted during the summer.

You���d gotten an in-person invite from Bee, another girl home from college who you’d been friends with in high school before going your separate ways. You still kept in touch since she was nice enough, which is how you found out her family was hosting this year. She’d confided in you personally that she would quote “go crazy if it was all kids and old people.”

As you looked out into their front yard, which was diagonal to yours, you saw that’s pretty much all it was. Since you were such a good friend, you decided that you’d go. 

You were getting dressed (at a leisurely pace) when your phone started to ring. You picked it up from your desk after you pulled your pink sundress on and flipped it open. The caller ID read Bee’s name and you answered, ready to tell her you were on your way.

“He’s here,” she said, sounding mistified, before you could even open your mouth. 

“Who?” you wondered, furrowing your brows a little to yourself as you went to the window.

“The neighborhood dilf,” Bee replied under her breath. 

The nickname made you laugh. It reminded you of high school. It had started as a joke, something you had started calling the new guy who’d moved into the neighborhood with his daughter a few years back. Later you found out his name was Joel Miller, but the nickname spread like wildfire to all the other girls in the neighborhood and it just stuck. 

Everyone knew about it; the girls of course, their confused parents, jealous boys who thought Joel was stealing their attention—the only person who wasn't aware of the moniker (as far as you knew) was Joel. Well, you hoped his daughter didn’t know either. Thankfully, after time, everyone forgot that you had started it. It was a bit embarrassing.

You walked away from the window to your closet and slid on your flip flops—it was summer in Texas, after all.

“You need to get over here, Y/N—what?” the last word sounded distant from the phone. “Yeah, she’s supposed to be on her way,” Bee replied, but to someone else.

“Um, hello?” you asked, waiting.

Bee was quiet for a few seconds, then whisper shouted into the phone, “you’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Let me guess, Joel just walked up and professed his love for you,” you teased, laughing at your own joke. “What, were my parents asking for me or something?” you guessed for real that time, recalling the small bit you had heard her say.

“Unfortunately no, and also no,” she sounded a little too disappointed about the first part, which made you chuckle again. “He did just ask me about you though.”

“Who?”

“The dilf.”

“Just use his name,” you told her with a roll of your eyes, heading out of your room to the stairs. “Wait.” You stopped for a second. “Joel asked about me?” 

“Yeah. I changed my mind, you’re not invited.”  If it wasn’t for her obvious sarcasm you might’ve thought she was serious. “He heard me say your name and asked if you’d be here soon. I—hey!” she yelled, causing you to pull the phone from your ear for a second. You continued your descent down the stairs as she yelled something about ‘kids’ and ‘stay out of there’. “I gotta go,” she said suddenly, then hung up.

You just shook your head with a small, amused smile and left your phone on the counter. Stupid dress and no pockets. 

You headed out the front door and walked across the street towards the party. 

It was in full swing. Music, games, food table—it looked like something out of a magazine. The Grants had a huge front yard—it was one of the nicer houses in the neighborhood—and it seemed like everyone was there. There were kids running around, adults all mingling—some sitting at the fold out tables, others walking around, others chasing their kids—there was also a group of dads surrounding the grill. You glanced that way and didn’t see Joel. You wondered where he was and if you should find him, but Bee found you first.

“The kids aren’t supposed to go inside alone and two of those little jerks went into my room,” Bee complained right away, straightening out her white blouse over her jean shorts. Her pinned back brown hair was a little messy, though. You wondered what happened, which she quickly answered. “I saw them jumping on my bed through the window.”

“Sounds like fun,” you commented sarcastically. Bee looped her arm through yours. 

“My dad set up ring toss and it’s all little kids, I don’t wanna be the only adult playing. Come on.” She dragged you along in that direction and you willingly went with.

You saw a few kids from the neighborhood playing, mostly the preteens who were too old for hopscotch but whose parents had told them they weren't old enough for the mini golf (one of the boys had overshared that little comment). 

“Y/N!” a girl's voice called. You looked that way and saw Sarah Miller walking towards you. A few days out of the week when her dad was working late, you’d go over to their house and keep an eye on her (before you left for college). It was the easiest babysitting gig you ever had; she was polite, always did her school work, and hardly caused any problems. Her dad had raised her very well. 

She looked older than you remembered her being, but you had been gone for both fall and spring semesters—well, you had been home for winter break briefly, but not enough to see anyone other than your parents.

“Sarah, hi!” you greeted, accepting the hug she offered when she got close. “How are you?”

“Good!” she said with a smile. “Are you guys gonna play with us?” she asked you and Bee. “I keep beating them and it’s not fun anymore.” 

You and Bee both laughed at that. “Sure, why not.”

“It feels weird playing with her after talking about how hot her dad is,” Bee whispered in your ear when Sarah went first. “You think he’ll come over here?”

“And what would you do if he did?” you challenged while hiding a chuckle, raising your brows at her.

“Um, probably nothing,” she admitted, cheeks a little pink. “He’s fun to look at though.” 

You hummed. “You’re not wrong.” 

The two of you played a few rounds of ring toss, although Bee got very bored quickly. “Can we go get some drinks?” she asked after not that long of playing.

“Sure,” you decided. You waved bye to Sarah and the others as the two of you walked off towards the cooler.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed some of the other girls in the neighborhood that hadn’t been in attendance before. For a couple that you knew, it didn’t seem like their scene. 

“What are they doing here?” you asked Bee.

“I may or may not have also told them the neighborhood dilf was here. They, uh, wanted to… see him,” she answered, avoiding eye contact.

You raised your brows in slight disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

“I wanted more people our age here,” Bee defended. “I wasn’t sure if you were even gonna show.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” you told her.

You reached the cooler and knelt down. You handed Bee a water, but she didn’t accept it. You looked up at her.

“Keep an eye out for the dilf, I haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll be right back,” Bee told you, taking off before you could say anything. You guessed the bathroom given her speed walking inside.

You laughed a little to yourself as you stood back up. You kept the water for yourself. You looked out amongst the crowd, realizing you were now on your own while everyone was in groups. You saw a couple people you were friends with and thought of maybe going up and joining them, but someone else spotted you first.

Joel Miller, the aforementioned neighborhood dilf, was walking towards you. Bee would be jealous, especially if she knew you and Joel were actually friends.

You had thought about telling Bee and some of the other girls that you were friends with Joel, given how much they just loved to gossip about him (how he was still single, how he looked really good in his pajamas getting the mail, that one time he took his shirt off while mowing the lawn—that was a big day) but then you thought better of it, not wanting to be run out of town by a jealous mob.

You were already getting glances by the time Joel stopped by your side so maybe your humbleness was pointless.

“Saw you all alone, thought I’d come keep you company,” Joel broke the ice with ease.

How long had he been watching you? The thought made your cheeks feel warm.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” you teased lightly, causing Joel to chuckle.

“I try,” he joked back, shooting you a small wink.

When you had first met Joel you were nervous around him. It was much easier to talk to him now that the two of you had become friends rather than acquaintances. He was an easy guy to get along with and you found yourself genuinely enjoying his company rather than just gawking at him in his yard from your window (like you used to do in high school). Your crush hadn’t disappeared though, so you joked around with him as a way to keep things casual and avoid getting in your own head. 

“Sarah told me you were finally here, she was happy to see you,” Joel mentioned with a light smile.

That made you smile back. “She’s a sweet kid,” you told him. “I was happy to see her too.”

You fiddled with the water bottle in your hand as you spoke, trying to unscrew the cap. The stupid thing was stuck and after a few seconds you gave up.

Joel gave you an amused look, glancing between your face and hands. “You want help with that?”

“Yes, please,” you handed it to him. “There you go again, proving chivalry isn’t dead. Thank you.”

Joel unscrewed the cap with ease and handed it back. “Happy to be at your service.”

“So, you guys been here a while?” you asked, sparking up conversation.

“Not too long, only an hour or so. It’s been fun though,” Joel explained. “More for Sarah than for me,” he admitted, glancing around to find his daughter. He spotted her and she waved, then continued playing with her friends.

“Why’s that?” you wondered, looking up at him just as he looked down at you. 

“Just… I mean, everyone is nice and all,” he started. “But I just feel like I got nothin’ to talk about with them, y’know? Except you.”

“Really?” You tried to not sound too thrown off by that, but you didn’t know he felt like that. It was interesting to say the least. 

“Is that such a surprise?” he wondered, raising an eyebrow curiously.

You shrugged. “Maybe a little. I get it though, I haven’t really talked to anyone other than Bee yet.”

“I don’t know if you’re friends with them, but I saw a bunch of girls your age walking around,” Joel said as a suggestion. 

“Nah, I’d rather just talk to you,” you said casually, before you could even think about what you had said. The look on Joel’s face changed a little, like he was trying to bite back a bigger smile.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he said after a moment. Your eyes met his and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. You had to look away to be able to breathe, almost certain you were reading into things. You really, really did not want to be disappointed.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Joel said, making you realize you hadn’t spoken yet.

“Sure, yeah.”

“You know… young person lingo, don't you?”

You laughed at the awkward wording. If it had been any of the other adults here using the word “lingo” you would’ve cringed, but there was something cute about the way Joel said it. You tried to snap that thought out of your head.

“Mostly, yeah,” you replied with a little chuckle paired with a curious tone. “What’s up?”

“Do you know what a dilf is?” he asked bluntly. That alone told you he had no idea. 

You were so stunned, all you could think to say was, “why?”

“Well, those girls I mentioned… I overhead some of them calling me that,” he explained, his eyebrows furrowing a little. “It’s not bad, is it?” 

Was this karma coming back to you for starting the nickname? It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“It’s not bad, no,” you assured while also avoiding the main question.

“What is it then?” Joel’s interest was piqued now and while you couldn’t blame him, you also couldn’t think of a way to make this not weird.

“It’s an acronym,” you started. Joel watched you intently, waiting for an explanation. “It means dad I’d like to…” you trailed off, hinting at him the word to fill in the blank.

Joel just looked even more confused. “To what?”

Somehow he made cluelessness incredibly attractive.

Screw it, you thought. This was already weird. Rip the bandaid off, right? “Fuck,” you finished before you could think better of it. 

“Oh,” he stated. You knew it took a second for realization to hit. “Oh. So that means they, um,”

“It’s basically like saying you’re hot,” you explained, filling in when he couldn’t. You hoped he wouldn’t find it insulting or anything like that.

Joel looked a little bashful but found amusement in the situation nonetheless. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you suggested, then sipped your water. You looked out at the people milling about rather than meeting his gaze.

“Do you think I’m one?”

You nearly choked on your water. “What?”

“Sorry,” Joel apologized quickly, trying to laugh it off. “I shouldn't've asked that.”

“It’s alright,” you assured him. You paused for a minute, contemplating what you might say to that. You got a rush of bravery. “If you’re asking if I think you’re attractive… the answer is yes.”

Joel couldn’t hold back his smile. He tried, but it was a failed effort. It was like he was trying to contain his anticipation. “What about if I wanted to ask you out? What would your answer be then?”

“Yes.”

Joel grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s voice caused the two of you to look away from one another. You saw her running up to you guys and hoped she hadn’t heard a word of your conversation. “Can you come play with me? Mr. Grant just set up a bean bag toss!” 

“Sure, kiddo,” he told her. She grabbed his hand and started to drag him away. 

You smiled a little to yourself at the interaction—he was such a good dad.

Joel slowed her down a little bit to look back at you. “I’ll call you later, okay?” 

“Sounds good,” you replied, chuckling lightly. 

The Millers disappeared into the roaming people. You tried to follow them with your gaze but your attention got torn away.

“Waiting in a line for the bathroom in my own house is messed up,” Bee said, popping out seemingly out of nowhere. “What’s got you so happy?” she wondered, eyeing the smile on your face that couldn’t be erased.

“You won’t believe what just happened,” you replied. A part of you still couldn’t believe it. “I’ve got a date with the neighborhood dilf.”

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @dontphunkwithmylove @cilliansangel @amethystwonders11 @frogsmuahh037 @andy-rocks @melllinaa @alitaar @melanie451 @b00kw0rmsworld @reverieisaway @avengersfan25 @aheadfullofsteverogers @strangeh0rizons @spideysimpossiblegirl @shannonmariebee

if you would like to be added to the joel taglist just send me an ask or a message! <3

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

[iovebarca]

One Tap - Pau Cubarsi

Authors note: sorry for dissapearing lol ive had a whole ass situationship and like other things

WC: 1500+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!

It all started with a random tap.

You can’t even remember where you saw his username. Maybe it popped up on your “Quick Add” list, or perhaps you had seen him tagged in one of your friend’s stories. Either way, it was a quiet night, and out of sheer boredom, you tapped “Add.” It wasn’t a big deal—you added people on Snapchat all the time. But this time was different.

This time, the guy you added was Pau.

At first, you didn’t really expect anything to come from it. He was just another random addition to your Snapchat feed—a footballer from Barcelona you vaguely recognized from TV or headlines. You sent a snap of something silly, probably your dog or whatever show you were watching, and forgot about it. But then, he snapped back.

A picture of him after training, his messy hair sticking to his forehead, with a lazy grin and a “How’s it going?” scrawled across the screen in simple white text.

That’s how it all began.

You didn’t think much of it at first—just harmless snaps exchanged throughout the day, keeping things casual. But over time, it turned into something more. The randomness of it faded, and you found yourself looking forward to his snaps. His smile, the goofy faces he’d send when he was tired after training, and the way he’d always ask about your day even if he was exhausted from practice in Barcelona, far away from your home in Córdoba.

There was an easy connection between you two, the kind that felt so natural you didn’t even realize how close you were getting. It wasn’t just about streaks anymore or sending photos of sunsets or what you were eating for dinner. It became long conversations over Snapchat, then texts, and eventually video calls late into the night.

You’d talk about anything and everything. He told you what it was like to balance life as a footballer, the highs of being on the field and the lows of dealing with pressure. You’d share stories about school, your life in Córdoba, and how you’d sneak in time to watch him play whenever you could catch the games on TV.

He’d laugh at your stories, always making you feel like you were the most interesting person in the world. And his laugh—it was addictive. It came out in bursts, sometimes making his whole face light up through the screen, and every time you heard it, you’d feel a little warmer inside.

You didn’t know exactly when your feelings shifted, but suddenly, he wasn’t just a footballer in Barcelona anymore. He was Pau, the guy who made you laugh, who would send you a picture of his breakfast with a silly caption just to brighten your day, who always seemed to know exactly what to say when you were feeling low.

It was innocent, sweet, and yet a little bittersweet too. He was there, on the other side of the screen, but also miles away.

You were in Córdoba. He was in Barcelona.

Still, you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Every morning, you’d wake up to a sleepy selfie from Pau—his hair a mess, his eyes half-closed, but always with a “Buenos días” just for you. And at night, you’d talk until one of you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore, ending the conversation with a quiet “Goodnight.”

One night, after months of this back-and-forth, Pau brought it up.

“I really want to see you,” he said softly over the phone. It was late, and you were both lying in bed, the only sound being his quiet voice and the occasional rustle of sheets as he shifted.

You felt your heart skip a beat, that warm, nervous feeling bubbling up in your stomach. You’d been thinking about it too—about what it would be like to see him in person. But it felt impossible. “I want to see you too,” you whispered, a smile pulling at your lips. “But I mean... how? You’re there, I’m here…”

“I’ll come to Córdoba,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t care. I want to see you.”

You laughed softly, not entirely sure if he was serious. “Yeah? You’re just going to show up at my door?”

“Maybe I will,” he teased. “You never know.”

You brushed it off, not thinking much of it. But in the following days, Pau became a little quieter, not snapping as much, not calling as often. He mentioned being busy with training and travel, and you tried not to worry. Still, you missed him, and the distance felt heavier without your daily chats.

A few days later, you were home alone, lounging on the couch and flipping through your phone. The day had been long, and you felt restless, wishing Pau would call or at least send one of his usual goofy snaps to cheer you up.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. Not a snap—your doorbell.

Confused, you got up and made your way to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and when you peeked out of the window, your heart stopped.

Pau was standing on your doorstep.

It didn’t seem real at first. Your brain struggled to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. He was just standing there, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jacket, looking a little nervous but with that familiar, lopsided grin on his face. He gave a small wave, as if he wasn’t sure what else to do.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft but filled with that quiet confidence you knew so well.

You stood there, speechless, for what felt like forever. How was he here? He was supposed to be in Barcelona. Was this a dream? It had to be a dream.

But it wasn’t. This was real. He was real.

“Pau…” you finally whispered, your voice shaky. “What… how…”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I told you I’d show up at your door.”

Before you could say anything else, you threw your arms around him. The second you felt his solid, warm presence against you, everything else melted away. He hugged you back immediately, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had.

It was the first time you’d ever felt him, really felt him, and it was overwhelming. His heartbeat against your chest, the way he smelled like fresh air and the faint hint of cologne, the warmth of his embrace—it all felt like everything had fallen into place. He held you like he didn’t want to let go, and for the longest time, neither of you moved, just standing there in each other’s arms.

You finally pulled back, just enough to look up at him. His face was inches from yours, his eyes soft and searching as he studied you. He looked nervous, almost shy, like he couldn’t quite believe he was really standing in front of you.

“You’re actually here,” you breathed, still trying to wrap your head around it.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “I told you I couldn’t wait anymore.”

And then, before either of you could second-guess it, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft at first, tentative, like neither of you were sure how to handle the moment. But when your lips met his, everything just clicked. His hands cradled your face as he kissed you, his touch gentle but firm, pulling you closer as if he needed to feel you, to know you were real.

The kiss was everything you had imagined and more—sweet, slow, a little awkward in the best way possible. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly as his lips moved softly against yours, your heart pounding in your chest. It was a kiss that felt like the culmination of months of waiting, of longing, of wanting something more than just a screen between you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. His eyes were soft, his lips still curled into that small, shy smile you adored.

“That was… better than I thought it’d be,” he whispered, his voice low and a little shaky, like he was just as overwhelmed as you were.

You laughed softly, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his jacket. “Same.”

He laughed too, the sound light and warm, and suddenly, the nervousness that had been hanging between you disappeared. You felt at ease with him, like you had always known you would.

“So,” you asked, smiling up at him, “how long are you staying?”

“As long as you’ll have me,” he said with a grin, his arms tightening around your waist. “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

“Good,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him again, “because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

And as you stood there, wrapped up in each other, everything felt right. The distance didn’t matter anymore. It was just you and Pau, together at last, and you knew this was only the beginning of something incredible.

[cherie-writez]

ミ★ {Can I get a Hug?}... ft: S. Gojo

⇢Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Gn!Reader ⇢Tags: Fluff & A little hint of angst ⇢Author's Note: I've recently gotten back into writing and wanted to take my hand at writing for tumblr, so this is my attempt at that lol. ⇢Word Count:1.1k ˜”*°•.˜”*°• ★ •°*”˜.•°*”˜

The night began like any other for you. After arriving home to your shared apartment, you started your usual post-work routine- cooking, cleaning and of course exchanging the occasional text with your boyfriend about whether he’d make it home on time. Unfortunately, tonight was one of those nights he would not. But you didn't mind, you knew how important Satoru’s job was. After all, his work was crucial—he was saving the world from curses. Though with that in mind, you carried on, sending a quick yet slightly sad text back saying ‘okay’ and that you loved him, before setting a plate for him to the side

Time seemed to drag after that brief exchange with your goofy sorcerer boyfriend, but you pushed through. With dinner eaten, the apartment spotless, and everything prepared for tomorrow, you found yourself in a rare moment of stillness. You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time before deciding to settle down on the couch with a book and wait up for him. But you hadn’t accounted for the unpredictable nature of his work. Just 30 minutes into your reading, you found yourself dozing off.

You had only intended to close your eyes for a few minutes, but when you opened them, you found yourself in complete darkness. Noticing the sudden change in lighting, you guessed Satoru was probably home by now. Slowly rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sat up on the couch with a yawn. Your vision now adjusted, you couldn’t help but jump back in slight terror—there he was, sitting on the floor, just staring at you with his cerulean, blue eyes.

“Satoru?...” you called out, but there was no response. You tried again, with the same result. “How long have you been sitting here, love?” you asked, your eyes scanning his disheveled form before glancing at the clock. Still, no response. You knew that sometimes the cases he dealt with were hard, but you’ve never seen him like this before. Growing concerned, you slowly got off the couch, moving carefully so as not to startle him, and began to approach him.

But before you could speak, he tilted his head and looked up at you. “Can I get a hug?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and sadness. He sat there, arms slightly extended, his eyes searching yours for a sign of acceptance and warmth. The atmosphere thickened with unspoken emotions, the simple request carrying a semi-unsettling weight on your heart. Unsure of the reason behind this sudden shift, you give in anyway, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he pulls you closer to his chest. 

You decide not to speak at first, not wanting to disrupt the calming atmosphere, but the rapid beating of his heart and the sound of his uneven breaths weigh heavily on your mind. Gently, you begin to stroke the vibrant white locks atop his head, hoping to soothe him. Gradually, you begin to notice the change—his heart slows, and his breathing steadies. Sensing this is your moment, you approach carefully. “Toru…” you coo softly, pulling away slightly to take his face into your hands. He hums in response, eyes closed as if he's trying to avoid you. “...Do you want to talk about it?” you ask softly, your eyes tracing his features. Even in distress, he looks beautiful, you muse to yourself as you wait for his response. But as the silence stretches on, you take it as his answer. Not wanting to push him any further tonight, you start to get up, intending to help him through his nightly routine, before just getting in bed and cuddling. Though just as you reach your full height, Satoru quickly grabs your hand. “...The case today,” he mumbles. “Hm?” you ask, glancing down at him. “The case today,” he repeats, a bit louder this time. “What about it?” you ask curiously, slowly lowering yourself back down. “They really got to me today…” he swallows before continuing, “The curse... it got in my head.” “Got in your head how?” you ask softly, trying to mask the nervousness in your voice. “It used you to throw me off… but it felt so real,” Satoru adds almost blankly, his gaze fixed on your thighs. “Toru… talk to me,” you murmur gently, placing your hand on his cheek in a final attempt to remind him that you’re real & right in front of him. Your heart aching as you watch the usual confidence in your boyfriend’s eyes give way to something softer, almost fragile. "You were so mean..." he mumbles clear enough for you to hear, "kept saying it was all a joke, and how you could never love a fucked monster like me," he continued, his voice trembling. "Said you were going to leave... I-I don’t want you to leave, y/n." He adds, his voice breaking in the process, 'I’ll do better! I promise! I love you… please, just don’t leave… please." he pleads, leaving you to sit in stunned silence as tears well up in your eyes. 'Oh, Toru...' you whisper softly, before encasing yourself around him once more.

You hold him tightly, feeling the weight of his fears and the depth of his vulnerability. The room is quiet except for the sound of his uneven breathing, gradually calming as he buries his face into your shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, Toru," you whisper, your voice steady despite the tears that threaten to spill over. "I love you, and nothing will change that." His grip on you tightens as if he's trying to anchor himself in your presence. Slowly, you feel the tension in his body begin to ease. You gently stroke his hair, offering him the comfort he so desperately needs. 

"Let's get some rest," you suggest softly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, still filled with a lingering sadness but softened by your words. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Together, you help him up, guiding him through the familiar motions of your nightly routine. As you finally crawl into bed, he pulls you close, holding you as if he's afraid to let go. And there, in the quiet of the night, you both find solace in each other's arms, knowing that no matter what, you're in this together.

[moonxytcn]

Heyy, I have a request if that's okay! Billie eilish x reader (ofc) lol. Reader is mourning the loss of her pet doggie. 🥺

memories and comfort

| Billie Eilish x fem!reader

summary – billie comforts you when you experience the loss of your pet dog.

tags & warnings – slight anguish, fluffy, talks about the loss of a pet.

a/n – Thanks for the request anon!! I hope you enjoy

| English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

| Masterlist —✽— Pinned post

   ㅤ✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

–––

The rain taps gently against the windowpane, a soft, rhythmic sound that usually soothes you. Tonight, it feels like the sky is weeping alongside you. You sit curled up on your bed, clutching a small, worn-out blanket that once belonged to your beloved dog. The emptiness in the room is palpable, an echo of the hole in your heart left by the loss of your furry companion.

You don’t hear the door open, nor do you notice the quiet footsteps approaching. It’s only when a soft voice breaks the silence that you look up.

“Hey, I brought you some tea.”

Billie stands in the doorway, her eyes filled with concern and compassion. She carries a steaming mug in her hands, the fragrant aroma of chamomile wafting through the air. You manage a weak smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Thank you.” You whisper, your voice hoarse from hours of crying.

She walks over to you, setting the mug on your bedside table before sitting down beside you. Her presence is warm and comforting, like a soft blanket on a cold night. She doesn’t say anything at first, just wraps her arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. The silent support is exactly what you need, and you lean into her, grateful for the comfort.

“I know how much you loved him.” Billie says softly, her voice a soothing balm to your aching heart. “He was such a sweet dog. Always so happy to see you.”

Tears well up in your eyes again, and you nod, unable to speak. The memories flood your mind — his wagging tail, his joyful barks, the way he’d snuggle up to you when you were feeling down. The pain is almost too much to bear.

Billie doesn’t try to stop your tears. Instead, she holds you tighter, letting you cry into her shoulder. The rain outside continues its steady rhythm, a backdrop to your sorrow. Minutes pass, or maybe hours — time seems irrelevant in your grief. Billie stays with you, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

Eventually, your sobs begin to subside, leaving you feeling drained and hollow. Billie gently strokes your hair, her touch tender and comforting.

“Do you want to talk about him?” She asks after a while. “Or maybe we can look at some photos together?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. Talking about him, remembering the good times, might help. Billie reaches for your phone and hands it to you. Together, you scroll through the photos, each one a cherished memory. She smiles and laughs at the pictures, her joy a stark contrast to your sorrow, but it’s exactly what you need. Her laughter is infectious, and soon, you find yourself smiling through your tears.

“Remember this one?” Billie points to a photo of your dog with a goofy expression, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “He looks so silly here!”

You chuckle, a genuine sound that surprises you. “He always had the funniest faces.” You say, your voice still shaky but a bit stronger.

As the night wears on, Billie stays by your side, sharing stories and memories. Her presence is a soothing balm, helping to ease the ache in your heart. She makes you laugh, reminds you of the joy your dog brought into your life, and slowly, the weight of your grief begins to lift, just a little.

At some point, Billie gets up and moves to your desk, rummaging through the drawers. You watch curiously as she pulls out a small notebook and a pen.

“I have an idea.” She says, sitting back down beside you. “Let’s write down all our favorite memories of him. It might help to have something to look back on, to remember all the good times.”

You nod, feeling a sense of purpose. Together, you start to write, jotting down the moments that made you smile, the times he was there for you, the way he made you feel loved. Billie’s handwriting is neat and careful, and she occasionally adds little doodles of paw prints and hearts.

Hours pass, and the rain outside begins to let up. The notebook fills with your shared memories, a testament to the bond you had with your beloved pet. By the time you finish, you’re exhausted but also feeling a sense of peace. Billie closes the notebook and sets it on your bedside table, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’re not alone.” She says softly. “I’m here for you, always.”

You look into her eyes, grateful beyond words. “Thank you, Billie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiles, a warm, reassuring smile that makes your heart feel a little lighter. “You’ll get through this.” She says. “And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”

As you settle back into your bed, Billie stays with you, her hand in yours. The room is still and quiet, but it no longer feels empty. The rain has stopped, and a soft, calming silence fills the air. With Billie by your side, you know you’ll be okay. The pain will fade, and the memories will remain, a reminder of the love you shared and the comfort of a friend who’s always there for you.

[misscouchpotatobew]

💥SO... I wanted to propose something the tumblr rae community could do for fun!💥

What it says if it's hard to read: Goofy Gas Day every Tuesday! Make art(and other stuff) with atleast Billy Bob or Looney Bird(or both) on Tuesday! Use the tag " #goofy gas tuesday "

I apologize if it doesn't make any sense. It sounded better in my head lol.

I'll explain more below ⬇️

I've kinda been thinking about this since last week and I wanted to put it into action. So every week from now on. If you want to, you can make something a little special (like art or other stuff you can come up with) that has Billy Bob and Looney Bird in it. You can add other characters but you have to have atleast Billy Bob or Looney Bird in it.

This is just for fun and no, you don't have to do it every Tuesday. It's just when you want to! for example: if you make art of Billy bob and Looney Bird, you could wait until Tuesday to post it and use the tag "#goofy gas tuesday"

I got inspiration from the Godzilla fandom and one of the Rae showtapes where Billy Bob said that Tuesday was Goofy Gas Day.

The Godzilla fandom has made this thing called: "Minilla Monday" (Minilla is Godzilla's son) They make art with Minilla and they post it using that tag. (If ur still confused, you could look up the minilla Monday tag to see examples!)

G fans don't always follow it and they post art of him on there when it's not Monday (I've done it myself lol)

So yea! Even if it's not Tuesday and you have art of Billy bob and Looney, you can post it on there anyway! It's not like I would get mad at you if you do. I want this to be for fun!!! I really want us to adopt something that we could possibly do weekly. I don't want to be an "admin" so you don't need to tag me in it (unless you want me to see it. I'll probably see it anyway. I watch people's art like a hawk 😅) I want it to be something we can do as a community on here (I also want more positive things after recent events.)

So yea! Questions, comments, opinions?

[zero-in-kyoto]

[Dance to forget] Five x reader

tags/warnings: Slight alcohol mentions, season 3 spoilers, cringe, unfunny jokes, no beta we die like klaus, I was bored, no prominent romantic interactions so it can be taken platonic.

[Dance to forget]

The lights were bright and everyone was enjoying themselves at Sloane and Luther’s wedding. Drinking, dancing, conversing, however there was some underlying tension in the air. Throughout Viktor, Allison, and a stressed Five, who was drinking down beers like it was nothing. His tolerance must be high. You slid into the seat next to him and too drunk beer. It burned and you coughed it up. “How do people enjoy drinking this stuff?” You cough out, and Five starts patting you back to help. Yet he still seemed so deep it thought.

You poked him then knocked on his head like it was a door , and he recoiled as a response then turned to you with an unamused expression. “What’s going on upstairs? You’re thinking so hard, you’re sweating. Your mind must be in a track meet.” You question and joke with him. He drunk more of his beer before throwing the bottle in a corner, it shattering, and momentarily getting everyone’s attention. Everyone turned to look at you both, rather Five, for about 16 seconds before returning to what they were doing.

“There was no need to do something so melodramatic.” You subconsciously scolded him for doing that. “It’s not like it matters. Nothing we do matters anymore.” He muttered, and what he said made you double take. It was true, however it felt weird hearing him sound so crushed. Fair enough though, they’d saved the world several times and there wasn’t a lot to do this time around but just wait till the all withered away with the rest of the hotel. 

you chugged down a beer, and got another to chug down. Five stopped you from chugging down the second. “Slow down, alcohol poisoning would be a much more unpleasant death.” You retract the drink from the lips and unexpectedly grab his hand and take him to the floor to dance. You had drunk just enough to be tipsy. “What are you doing?” He growled out.

“We are.. going to dance to get you out your bad mood.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Me neither, but we are now.”

I grabbed his hands and placed them on my waist and I put mine on his shoulder. At this angle, I could truly appreciate how beautiful this wedding was set up. The lights and all the white combining together.

“Just try to mirror me, okay?” You mumble softly with a bit of hesitance on your ability to make it work, hardly even knowing to dance yourself.

You stepped back, and he stuttered a step forward. He looked down, and you giggled. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ve got it. Just focus okay.” You said to him to soothe him.

He looked up at you and just seemed to zone out, all he could hear was the clicking on both of your shoes, and muffled out music as he was drowning it out. It surely was distracting him, so much so that he truly was not and it pained him to think about anything but dancing with you. However, things were on his mind, how could there not be? It’s not that he wanted his mind to work overtime, to prolong his work, but he just couldn’t help but to think that there was more that could have been done.

You smiled, and continued dancing, the light sparkled in your eyes. It was trippy to look at. In fact, it made you quite dizzy. You both stepped back, but this time you tripped really hard, but he managed to catch you.

“Careful, dumbass.”

“That was.. amazing.. thank you, shithead..” you mumble.

———————

goofy ahhh.. I wrote this at 12am and posted it after finishing it. Sorry it’s lowkey bad LMFAO. Love yaaa, hope to write some more for you guys soon, requests open!! Btw is there a specific way to do that? I’ve never written on here before this and I’m confused LOL.

[pepsiconcoction]

hi hi, i enjoy reading your content so much that I wanted to make a request! A Lee Know Fluff inspired by this song “Take A Chance With Me” by NIKI. It can literally be a drabble, one shot, series or whatever pleases you! thanks again <3

hi i'm so sorry i disappeared for like, so long? idk honestly, so i have no idea when you posted this, or if you even still want it lol. i finally have some free time AND i'm feeling creative again so that's fun! anyways hope you like this, i did it in like an hour and a half and its barely proofread, i hope u love it tho <3

Take A Chance With Me - Lee Know x Reader

pairing: Lee Know x gn!Reader

tags: non-idol AU, fluff, tiny amount of angst if you squint?, lee know is a goofy guy i guess

wc: 891

Being in love with Minho was hard. Unfortunately, it was a hardship you had been dealing with for a while now. He was everything to you, your best friend, your soulmate even, although he would always say that soulmates don’t actually call each other that.

The moment you finally realised you were in love with Lee Minho, the two of you were nursing hangovers, a bowl of sundaeguk steaming your face. You had both finally graduated from University, the same place you had met almost 4 years ago. He had finally introduced himself to you after sitting next to you every Tuesday at 9am, after the professor had introduced the fact that group work was required for a project. You hadn’t even heard him speak up until that point, you were kinda beginning to think that was a figment of your imagination until he spoke. 

A year later he told you that he decided to sit next to you because you were the first person who seemed ‘normal’ when he first entered and looked around the room. This confession, of course, had the two of you in fits of giggles at how neither of you turned out to be normal. You had realised you both shared a passion for dance despite your degree studying computer science and had even attended each other's dance showcases and competitions, watching him dance was like nothing else. The way he moved with such practiced precision was so captivating, that it was almost impossible to ever look away.

Beyond that, he was the kindest person you knew. He cared in ways that you had never expected of him. When your boyfriend cheated on you in the summer between years 2 and 3, he showed up to your apartment with kind words and snacks, and he did your dishes for you and even ironed your shirt for work the next day so that you could cry.

Back to the sundaeguk. It was still steaming.

The glint in his eye as he threw his head back giggling at some stupid joke you made you realise. It made you realise a lot of things actually. 

“What happens now?” you ask.

“I don’t know about you but I’m gonna eat this,” he says pointing at his bowl with the chopsticks in his hand.

“No, I mean, now that we’ve graduated.”

He stops mid sausage-to-mouth and blinks at you. 

“We get… jobs, I guess.” The sausage reaches his mouth. You laugh. You let the moment pass.

A month later you’re at a party, he asked you to be his plus one to the after-party of one of his dance shows and you’re talking to one of the other members of the choreography team. She tells you how Minho talks about you and has such admiration for you. When Minho waves at you from across the room, she asks you how you’re not dating. You manage to ramble off something about just being close friends but even you don’t fully believe it. You don’t want this night to end the way it always did. He walks you home, you hold his arm, you let go, and you both say good night. 

You watch him from across the room, the room blaring with music, the sound of voices almost competing. He’s beautiful, you know that, everyone who has ever met him knows that. He’s talking to a friend, one you vaguely recognise, and you feel a pang in your chest, a feeling of impending doom. There’s a fear in your heart that something will take him from you, a job, a person, you don’t know, but you need him to stay with you. You need him.

You finish the drink in your hand and put the empty glass back on the table. You excuse yourself from the group and walk over to him. He notices you and his smile grows wide. 

“Hey! I was just talking about you.” He’s grinning as he says it.

“Only good things I hope.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Of course.”

“Can I talk to you for a second?” you turn a little more serious for a moment. He excuses himself from his friend and the two of you walk outside into the quiet of the night, the cool summer air refreshing.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a hint of concern showing in his eyes.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about things.” you sigh.

“Oh, that’s never good.” 

“I was thinking about you, dumbass.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, now I’m interested,” he smirks.

You pause as you look at him. You spare a moment thinking of what to say, and how he’ll react, will he accept or reject you? You don’t know. The only thing you do know is Lee Minho, you know him as if you are him, as if you’re connected somehow. You feel like this is already written for you.

“I love you,” you say. He blinks.

“I love you too.”

“No, like, I love you Minho. More than just besties.”

“But if we date, who will be my bestie?” Of course, he jokes. Of course, you laugh.

“You’d have to find a new one.” You giggle.

“Well, looks like I’ll have to get started then.” He leans into you. “I wasn’t kidding,” he says in a softer, quieter voice. “I do love you.”

Being in love with Minho was suddenly so easy, but it always was.

taglist: @lethallyprotected @lieslab @jeyelleohe @lilykatelyn-blog @mimiibear @jisungfanpage47 send me an ask if you want to be added!!

[libbytwq]

hey can i be sappy for a moment, i feel like getting a thing off my chest (positive vent)

I love you all in the SMG4 Tumblr community so much. Y'all are absolutely epic and amazing and so creative and just. chill.

I've always been so nervous about joining set fandoms/fandom communities, cuz usually the community is huge and overwhelming, toxic, scary, crazy, and the idea of being in those communities and interacting with people in those communities and being in there not just to post a dingle fanart from it and dip, but to help be a big part of the community and whatnot sounded... overwhelming.

Then I slowly began getting super hyperfixated on SMG4, much more than I usually am, leading me to post more about it. Fanart, things I notice, goofy theories... more than just me saying a couple things i like about it, posting a fanart, then moving onto something else.

I started kinda just exploring the SMG4 tags and gradually, I began recognizing most of the people in this community more and more -- recognizing art styles, etc. I noticed how small a community it was.

And it was a mostly chill community. I wasn't really seeing much drama or questionable things, maybe some criticisms about the show or theories or whatever, but nobody was at each others throats. Plus, the fan OCs were super neat.

I had begun posting more and more SMG4 content, drawing fanart, their OCs, and the fact people were so just... chill and welcoming about it was so nice. It wasn't nearly as scary -- we are all just vibing here. Most of the artists you look up to will probably see your work, and give it attention too.

It feels super strange to be considered an SMG4 Tumblr artist, having people literally enjoying the things I make and making things for me when they make things for SMG4 fanartists... its honestly super surreal. But so so exciting and euphoric.

Cuz yall are so awesome!! Yall make my day so bright. Yall are the best.

I'll be honest, when I first was slowly being a part of the SMG4 community -- sometime right after summer vacation began -- I had been dealing with some petty but difficult irl person issues.

I don't want to get into it too much, but I had basically messed up in a pretty bad way (enough to make me feel bad the moment I did it, but not enough that we couldn't move on and mature from it), and the people involved were hurt worse than I thought they were, and instead of trying to talk it out they resorted lying about being my friends for months before school ended, and over summer break, tried to cancel one of my Scratch account and drag my followers there into drama that they had no business being in, for the simple reason being "you don't deserve all that fame".

Despite their attempt at trying to cancel me not really working out very well, it very much affected me negatively and made me very very scared about using Scratch again. I still post projects there sometimes, but i felt weird when i do it. I felt like those people were watching my every move, waiting to try and drag me down again. It felt so strange and scary to feel like the people I once cared so deeply about are breathing down my neck, waiting for me to make another wrong move and add it to their proof of why I'm an awful person.

It sucks ass.

The SMG4 community here on Tumblr, despite none of you knowing I was going through anything at all, you all helped a lot. Just existing.

Being a welcoming community that I feel safe to be silly and normal in.

I've never been the best at expressing appreciation, but let me just say:

I think of you all so highly and I never want you to change.

Keep making silly art. Or fanfics. Or AUs. Or OCs. Or whatever you like doing in this tiny close-knit fandom.

Keep doing everything you're doing to make this community mean so much to me.

❤️❤️❤️

...this sounds like im leaving the community,, IM NOT I just wanted to get it off my chest cuz ive been experiencing the emotions™ yknow, sorry that its not like my regular posts lol, im not gonna post like this much LMAOOO

TL;DR: yall are fuckin awesome please keep being awesome forever and ever ily bye

[manysketchbook]

Firffels: the Wuzzles Competitor That Disappeared

Recently, I found this toy at my local thrift store. I thought it was an oddly cute nativity toy, but upon closer inspection the tush tag read "FIRFFELS. I'm glad to be a SHAMEL." I did a quick search online and the first result was this page on Ghost of the Doll, a toy collector's site that archives information about 80s/90s toys and includes a forum where anyone can seek help with identifying toys. This lead me down a rabbit hole of figuring out just what Firffels were: a failed line of toys promised to be the next hot phenomenon, with minimal documentation online and a handful of toys floating around in thrift stores.

Other than Ghost of the Doll, I found info about Firffels in this 2010 blog post by Trish Babbles (written in an edgy, mean-to-be-funny style that I think is too uncharitable, but it was a different time to be online lol) and this blog post by AF Blog. My other info comes from Othello Bach's website dedicated to the book itself (her personal site is no longer functional) and from a handful of youtube videos I found of a Firffels commercial. Many thanks to these sources, without them there'd be like, nothing online about these creatures.

Firffels are based on the children's book Who ever Heard of a Fird? by Othello Bach, first edition published in 1984 by Caedmon Childrens Books (upon Googling, it appears that Caedmon is owned by HarperCollins now and focuses on audiobooks). The story follows Fird, a fish-bird hybrid, as he travels the world to find other firds. Along the way he encounters a goofy, lovable cast of other hybrid animals who have all never heard of a fird. The story ends with fird learning to love his uniqueness and find peace with being who he is. As is apparent in the Amazon link above (not sponsored, just showing my work), a used copy is $86 dollars right now. An audiobook narrated by Joel Grey (an actor that I'm unfamiliar with who is apparently known for his role in Cabaret) was also released on cassette, listed on Ebay for $75+. Luckily, there is a youtube video of someone doing a complete read through of the book, but the camera angle is poor. This is the only visual record I could find online of the interior illustrations by Michelle Dorman, other than a brief look at a few in a low quality VHS promo rip I'll get to in a minute, and the image below from an Ebay listing. There may be a few more photos in some Etsy listings that I missed.

In Trish's blog post they complain that Shamel is an ugly monstrosity and there were a few comments on Ghost of the Doll's forum of the same nature about Shamel, but I think Shamel is the cutest one! It just looks like a new breed of camel, meanwhile Fird in the background here is...he's so cartoonishly goofy. Idk how else to describe him. He's so fuckin' goofy. He'd make squeaky Spongebob-esque sound effects when he walks, I imagine.

The book was allegedly a hit and Remco bought the merchandising rights. They went all in, as is detailed in the 5 minute promotional video below. Based on a cast of 6 characters, plush toys and posable action figures hit the market with a promise that Hanna Barbera would develop an animated tv show starring Firffels, housewares would be made, there'd be a clothing line, and Design-a-Firffel contests would be held. A few housewares seem to have been made and plush toy sewing patterns were released, but I was unable to find evidence that anything else moved forward.

Absolutely fucking insane fact: according to this video, Caedmon Publishing was owned by Raytheon at the time. Thanks Raytheon for these cuddly children's toys and also, uh, horrific weapons of war?

After I bought Shamel, I went back to the store to see if there were more. There were! I found Bertle and Elephonkey, who still had the original tags. I swear the day earlier I had seen a frog toy with butterfly wings but it wasn't there anymore. I remember passing over it and thinking "eh, butterfly wings on a frog aren't cute," and did not bothering even looking at the tags. My mistake. Turns out that toy was worth a decent amount of money and was part of this whole story.

Bertle's pink belly super bright in real life, like neon. There is a sunbleached spot on it's front.

Elephonkey is the only one with original tags. I also included an image of the tush tag. For each toy the tush tag is the same but displays the character's name.

Hybrid animals are not a unique concept. Wuzzles, a line of plush toys that were animal hybrids with wings and likely made to compete with Care Bears, are brought up in most posts and forums where Firffels are mentioned--usually to disparage Firffels as being knock off, less successful Wuzzles. Wuzzles weren't exactly successful either, though they definitely lasted longer and had more reach, likely due to the backing of a Disney/Hasbro budget. AF Blog in 2015 makes a good point that I agree with: it's unlikely that Wuzzles and Firffels were ripping each other off due to production timelines. Toy lines can be in development for years before any information is made public. It takes a long time to design toys, then get them to a manufacturer, then go through the revisions process. Not to mention the time it takes to ship things out, negotiate contracts at every step of the way, etc. And, as AF Blog notes, Whoever Heard of a Fird? was released in 1984, a year before the first Wuzzles tv episode aired, and Firffels hit the market a year later.

People draw hybrid animals all the time. For example, furry adoptable artists draw hybrids all the time (take a shot every time you find a closed species that is a feline with a fish tail or deer feet or some other animal's defining trait), the Lego movie had Unikitty, and I literally went to Walmart today and in the toy section there was a miniature rabbit-like rainbow animal with wings and a unicorn horn there. The thing that makes these toys potentially appealing, in my opinion, is that they choose safe and popular traits: sparkly horns and feathery wings, for the most part. Things that are easily marketable.

The thing with Firffels is that they combined animals with traits that are less immediately appealing. Image below from Ghost of the Doll.

Some of them are cute but the others miss the mark. Personally I like Shamel and Bertle (the plush version only tbh).

Worth pointing out is that the character illustrations do not match the toy designs. If you go back and watch the commercials included in the 5 minute promo video, you can see that the Bertle plush and action figure are brown and green rather than pink and blue, and that Shamel's hair is brown instead of purple. I saw varied photos of the Butterfrog plush: some were lighter green while others were darker. Could be an issue with differing cameras, but I don't know for certain. And then there's Elephonkey, who is the most inconsistent of the bunch:

The first image is the prototype toy as it appears in the commercial. It is grey and flesh colored, with odd looking plastic hair. The second image is from Ghost of the Doll, of how the Elephonkey action figure actually appeared in stores. Third is a photo of my Elephonkey plush. Compare it with the official character art...well, he's not my favorite design in any incarnation.

I think the toys in the commercials were prototypes that were changed to brighter colors so as to appeal more towards girls. In the 30 second plush commercial there are 4 girl actors and 1 boy actor, with the camera shots getting closer to and focusing more on the girls' faces, so it would make sense. In contrast, the action figure commercial features 1 girl and 2 boys, and most of the camera shots are of the kids' hands playing with the toys, giving off a more boyish, gender-neutral vibe. Classics of gendered marketing, am I right? lol. But I think the change was a good one. I wouldn't have picked up Shamel if I hadn't seen the purple hair, and I definitely would not like Bertle if he wasn't pink. It gives the toys more of a cohesive style, a unique identity, and they fit in more alongside the Wuzzles/Care Bears visuals with the vibrant, happy colors. There's more of a toy-like quality to them, which increases the cuddle-ability and inspires more of an urge to play.

Discovering and logging all this inconsistency has been pretty fun. But it makes me think that these toys were probably doomed by a chaotic, unorganized development process behind the scenes. And given that the book was published in '84 and toys hit the market in '85...the signs seem to point to production being rushed.

To be fair to Firffels, it was probably a little harder in the 80s to hit it big with kids. You had to be lucky, you had to have connections with the right distributors, you had to anticipate what is universally appealing to children--one of the most unpredictable audiences out there--and you had to pay to air your commercials during prime child viewing hours. These are all things that are still true, but we have the internet now and the advertising power of the internet is scary. Going viral on TikTok has the potential to skibidi someone's toilet career. iPad babies are growing up into grade school kids who throw birthday parties every year and get toys as gifts. We are living in an era where mass-producing cheap little polyester plushies and plastic figures is easier than ever and corporations have massive budgets to pump into kids' eyeballs through every advertising avenue they possibly can. They don't even need to come up with the designs anymore, they can just partner with whatever Roblox game is popular right now and capitalize on that. Maybe Othello Bach should get on Roblox.

Actually, it appears that Bach was given the short end of the stick by the time Firffels were pulled. Though her personal website is no longer up, her other website dedicated entirely to Whoever Heard of a Fird? has some info:

At the height of Fird's success, with over 100 licensees cramming the store shelves with children’s merchandise and an animation contract with Hanna-Barbera, the book and all the merchandise suddenly vanished from the shelves.  Although she lost the rights to several other published children’s books at the same time, Othello has never received a reasonable explanation for what happened.

So this passage actually clears something up for me. This whole time something that hasn't really lined up is that I had assumed that Othello Bach published the book first and then was approached for merchandising rights after the book sold well. I actually think now it's possible that from the get-go the book was written with the intention for it to become a worldwide sensation. Not so much Bach's intent, though. I have some professional familiarity with licensing and other such creative publishing contracts, particularly with books. Based on what I know, I believe it's more likely that Bach pitched her manuscript to Caedmon Publishing and Caedmon, seeking to create popular IP, was like, "this has potential and we are going to sign you on not only for the book, but for more." That might be why the character designs are so strange: they were trying too hard to get famous quick and had instructed the illustrator (it is regular practice for publishers to pair authors with an illustrator and given how much was on the line for this IP, Bach might not've had much input here) to design characters that could also become toys. It's unlikely that Michelle Dorman, a kids book illustrator, had product design skills needed to make standout, awesome toy designs. Not a knock on her, illustrators just have niches within their field that they're best at it. It's why you see so many illustrators complain about how often they get approached to design logos--that's not what we do, thank you.

What's sad is that clearly Bach had signed a bad contract that gave away most of her rights as the writer to the publisher. She openly says so above. My guess is that Caedmon told her they needed more rights than usual to be able to conduct so much merchandising (like signing contracts with Remco, much easier to do when you don't have a third party also involved), and because they were pouring so much effort into it on their end. Bach is just the writer, so while the original idea is hers, Caedmon would have matched her with an illustrator and taken charge of all the licensing and merchandising. For a publisher this is a huge commitment financially and personnel-wise, so it makes sense why they would have put forth a contract that gave them so many rights. If Firffels had become as popular as they'd hoped, they don't want to not own the IP. They would have poured all those resources into it and not be able to reap all the rewards because that pesky author would own it. It's almost like contracts like these are predatory and only serve the interests of the publisher. Almost like publishers are companies existing in a capitalistic system and therefore only serve profit, not people. Almost like companies will never truly have artist's best interests at heart, and if you are ever to sign a contract with a big publisher you need to have a good lawyer by your side.

It makes me so sad to read that they didn't even give her a reasonable explanation as to why everything was cancelled. She does not even appear to have any of the merchandise on hand, as all the photos on her website are from Ghost of the Doll. In hindsight we can guess, obviously, why the cancellation happened but I'm in the moment it was probably upsetting. It's still upsetting, given that she has included this in her website for the...revamped book!

However, like Fird, Othello refused to give up. For the next 20 years, she tried to regain the rights to her work. Entertainment attorneys assured her it would never happen.  They said, "It can't be done!" But... it could be done and Othello did it, regaining the rights back to all her work.

Yeah, so, I actually think this is the saddest part about the whole thing. She managed to get some of the rights back and republished the book with...new art...that looks so fucking BAD. Image from her website:

Sorry to this illustrator, but got damn. There is no sauce to this art whatsoever. It is unseasoned, not even salt and pepper. This looks like ass and would never fucking fly with any editor worth their chops. It took me ages to figure out that the long yellow curved line is Fird's tail. Like, this is so unbelievably sad to me. I don't even really like the original art a whole lot, but compared to this...

My informed guess as to what happened is that Bach lawyered up and fought. As we know, Caedmon is now owned by HarperCollins. I can't say for certain but there was probably some case to be made that Caedmon being sold breached the contract, or nullified parts of it, or perhaps the contract expired. It could even just be that HarperCollins didn't care about an old, unprofitable IP and granted Bach her rights back. There is also Remco to consider: they also hold some of the rights, but probably just for the merchandise? Given how prominently their logo is displayed on the toy tags, they might actually own a significant share. Perhaps they were happy not to have anything to do with the book so long as the merch rights weren't touched. I don't know! There's no info about it on the site and this stuff is usually under NDA.

So Bach got her rights back, but she's just the writer. She doesn't own any of the art, so in order to republish the book she had to hire a new illustrator. She likely did not have a huge budget for it, maybe even paying for it out of her pocket because the Choice Books logo she has in several spots on the Fird website appears to be for a distribute on demand service, in place of a traditional publisher.

As the writer, she also would not have gotten the rights to use the original audiobook, so she had one re-recorded. It also appears like she does not have the rights to the name "Firffels" either, as the only places it appears on the site are in photographs of merchandise and in titles specifically referring to the work that is still owned by Caedmon. She carefully refers to her own work as "Fird" for short or the book's full title, probably because she cannot legally imply that she owns or made anything else.

I dug into this thinking it would be a quick look at some strange, forgotten toys from a bygone era. Instead I found a story about how an artist can so easily be shafted by publishers. Everything always loops back around to workers' rights, it seems. Stories like this about shitty publishing contracts (see: Webtoon if you want to get into something current) still appear so often, man. It's depressing, and indicative that the publishing industry needs some reforming ASAP. Like, Illustrators, when are we getting a proper union?

But I'm glad Bach got her rights back and got her book republished within her lifetime. I'm sad she didn't have the budgets for a better illustrator. Sorry to bring that up again, I work as an illustrator irl and I have opinions about craft, lol. Also I just think that given how hard Bach had to fight, she deserved to have better art made. That being said, here's another link to her current website. There's not much there but what is there is a monument to a battle she fought and won, and is proud of.

The lack of detailed, clear, centralized documentation of these toys frustrates me. One of the most frustrating things about the internet for me is that there are few easily accessible, publicly available archives of toys--even for modern toys. I've had to use Amazon reviews and Ebay listings and broken online stores to decipher publication years. With this in mind I decided to do a write up and provide clearer pictures of the toys that I have (I'll take hi res pics in natural lighting too someday). Archives are important to me and the internet kinda sucks for it, I say as someone who started this blog for that purpose. If Tumblr goes down, so does everything I've posted here. As an artist who works primarily digitally, one of the scariest things is knowing that I'm laboring over an ephemeral body of work. It's just not going to exist for very long unless I print it out on archival materials. Data is not the same as a physical object. My Firffels have survived for 39 years but the digital art I draw every day is unlikely to last past 10 years because websites die and files get deleted.

I bought the Firffels from my thrift store thinking I'd resell them. I'm low income so I sell many of the things I thrift. I prefer to buy the older toys or the ones that need cleaning because it makes me feel better about being a reseller (I don't want to take away options from low income kids in my area, ya know?). But I'm putting in the labor to freshen them up and I'm putting in the effort to make unavailable toys available again, at least for one person. And I don't have a whole lot of shelf space to display the toys in my collection...but for now I think I'll keep them.

[just-some-random-blogger]

hello!! would it be possible to request a daemon/reader inspired by ‘wildest dreams’? like they’re in a secret relationship or something,, the lyrics just really fit with him i think🤭 thank you<3

Red Lips

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: The prince had a taste for things he couldn't have. Whoever knew he'd see the day he'd have to work for something to get it.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, i made up yn's house, enemies to lovers lol jk emenies to enemies, angst?, daemon annoying af, pining, typos, etc.

A/N: i put the second part of your ask below the gif cos i wanna see his goofy face when i get notes T_T and nah you're so right i love this song as a prompt. i think slay. i wanted to write while listening to wildest dreams (taylor's version) but i was jamming too hard T_T also nonnie, i tweaked your req like a lot T_T cos i was focusing on the music to much and the music told me make it angsty just a lil bit ig idk if its angst at all tbh. if anything its taylor's fault ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i hope you like it <3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

"Hello, bitch," he mutters, smiling, as his fingers trace the rim of his cup. I release a sigh at the unfortunately familiar sound. Suddenly, the open air was ruined by the foul scent of dragon.

I turn over my shoulder, raising my brows, "funny of you to address yourself, ser."

"Prince," he snips in correction, leaning in against my hair.

I side eye him, "no actually, I take that back. I'm horrified," I look out to the field where lord what's-his-face, was standing, telling a story about himself on his nameday; it didn't make his story any more worth listening to though. Surely the people were only listening out of pity.

"You should have the maesters check your sanity."

I turn to the wretched muggins, who downed his drink and chucked the cup over his shoulder. I away not wanting to burn my eyes more over the sight of his repulsive topaz tunic and stupidly long hair, "what was it they said about your kind?"

He scoffs a dry chuckle, "my kind?"

"Flip a coin and you'll determine if they're mad or not.

He chuckles louder.

I wave him off, grimacing at the sound of his laughter mixed with celebrant's, "you should go and do that. I'm sure your brother broke the backs of enough serfs to get a coin for youself"

He mumbles something in High Valyrian but then he cuts himself off when lord what's-his-face, who thought standing on his chair was a good idea in all his drunkenness, falls over on his back, making everyone gasp and circle around him.

I eye the felled man in annoyance, lips curled in disgust as the oaf beside me cheers, clapping his hand, "now that's festive!" He turns to me, "I'm sure you'd know nothing about merrymaking whatsoever with how high that stick up your arse is."

I offer him a pulled smile, bowing mockingly, "Prince Daemon."

The twat does not get the hint and follows after me when I walk away. He places his hands behind his back, "what's say we steal the bloke's mounts and ride off to the city?"

I roll my eyes at him, "good luck with that. I wholly express my wishes for you to fall just like him and break your spine along the way."

"Hmm," he says, grabbing a drink from a random person, who was about to protest but then bit his tongue upon seeing the thief. Daemon downs the liquid and throws the cup away haphazardly, "sounds like something you want."

I turn to him like face twisted with incredulous annoyance, "I would want nothing more."

"For yourself," he leans in, grabbing my arm, making me growl at him, "I can break your back if you want it so bad."

I pull away from him, grunting and groaning as I did, "qogralbar hen, doru-borto."

Also know as fuck off, stupid, in his very own mother tongue.

Daemon laughs as I walk away, gathering my skirts tightly in anger. He follows still, like the irritating fly that he is, "I'm honored to have gotten you to learn my language, gevie riña."

The sound of his boots crunching against the rocks riled me up twice as much when I could hear him fucking breathing behind me. I shoot him a glare, shoving him away from me, which he evades, "stop following me, Daemon!"

"I'm not following you," he lies, pursing his lips plainly, brows raising.

I stop in my tracks, "fine then! where are you going?"

"Wherever you're going."

I rip out a sharp, exasperated huff through my cheeks, wiping my face in annoyance, "I'm not in the mood for your games today."

"Tonight then."

"Pah! You've clearly need help," I scoff, storming away, far enough to reach the lake nearby. I am fooled that I am alone because of how he silently trials behind me in his momentary silence.

I stop in my tracks when the fucker kicks water towards my dress.

"You're the only one that can help me."

"WITH WHAT?" I snap, digging my heals into the ground as I turn to him. Daemon stills, hair blowing back with the wind as mine flies onto my face, "what makes you think I would ever help you, cretin?"

"You owe me," he mutters, walking forward, "you cannot think to kiss me and pretend like nothing happened."

"Why would I owe you?! I did not kiss you, your grace," I shake my head, "you kissed me!"

Daemon's lips quirk as he counters, "you were the one that was drunk, not I."

"Then leave it at that!" I shriek, "you'd get away with so much more if you used that excuse!"

"I will not excuse a lowly troll such as you for committing treason."

"Treason?!" I scoff sharply. I turn away from him, crossing my arms, "you are, by far, the most dramatic-"

"YOU MAKE ME ILL!" he barks, grabbing my shoulders. I jolt at his actions. He seethes, "YOURE FUCKING KILLING ME!"

In all his life, through our family's feuds, and our childhood hatred, he never once touched me, thus my perturbed reaction. My breathing becomes strained, my heartbeat was racketing in my ribcage.

"I am slipping into madness-" he continues, "-because I cannot get you out of my mind!"

If my pulse was not quick enough before he said that, it was surely quick now.

I take in the sour expression on his face, lifting my eyes up to his stupid eyes, stupid nose, stupid jaw, stupid- ugh! How did anyone ever think that he was handsome? There was nothing at all pleasant about this- this- this fiend! This- this ninnyhammer! This-

Daemon crushed his lips against mine.

Time stopped, as so did my breathing.

He was warm, as were his palms that found my cheeks.

And he smelled good, gods, he smelled so, so goo-

I shove him away. I heave arudously.

What the fuck am I saying?

Daemon was heaving too.

My mind is spinning. I cannot believe I allowed myself to think what I did.

"I cannot get that night out of my mind," he breathes heavily, "I must," he points, "have you," he noted, "I will die if I do not."

I gulp the bile rising up my throat. My lips curl in disgust. I wipe my lips with my wrist, "then perish."

[sleepy-wyvern]

Can I request some smut with Eddie, where he’s not quite a virgin but he’s very inexperienced and him and reader have been together a good chunk of time. They are finally getting down to business and Eddie is so unsure of himself, but he’s hitting the most wonderful spots, but he keeps slowing and questioning reader if he’s good and if she’s okay and she’s just like “shut up, don’t stop, fuck me” not in a mean way just that she needs Eddie sooooo bad

Thanks so much for the request darling! What a fun idea <3 and tbh this prompt is definitely a head canon, he would completely act that way! I've literally been writing fan fics for hourrrrs and I proofread it but I hope it sounds legible lol. Hope you enjoy thanks so much for sending a request! <3

Dinner and a Movie | Eddie Munson x female!Reader Smut <3

Synopsis: Tag along on a drive in movie (horror!) date while you’re a bundle of nerves about planning yours and Eddie’s first time.

SMUT! 18+ Only, please DNI if you are a minor!

Tags: inexperienced sex, couch sex, vanilla, fingering, p in v, condom, pet names: darling, sweetheart

Words: ~4.8k, AO3 link here

Tonight’s the night you were finally going to have sex with the one and only Eddie Munson. 

Your stomach was an empty pit of nerves and butterflies fluttering against your rib cage. It seemed a good idea at the time, to mutually decide to take your relationship slow and steady. You hadn’t wanted a relationship centred around just sex, yet today that’s all you could think about. 

You and Eddie have been dating a while now and it wasn’t hard to tell he was the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. He hates to see you sad, whenever you were even a little discontent he worked so hard to make you happy. Stupid, goofy jokes and gags even in public just to make you laugh. Snacks and your favourite food and movies whenever you were too depressed to get out of bed. 

Well now you couldn’t sit still, bouncing your leg as you sat on the edge of the bed staring blankly into your closet. 

What the hell do I wear? Is there a designated first-time-having sex-with-my-boyfriend outfit?

Staring at yourself in the mirror you can’t help but be critical of yourself as he’ll see you naked in merely hours. 

Eddie assured you that he would follow your lead in the relationship, taking things as slow or fast as you wanted to. He really was fine with anything either way, you treasured that knowing it wasn’t always the easiest thing to find in a guy. 

Regardless, you hadn’t told him yet but you planned on initiating more than your usual steamy make outs tonight. Your body couldn’t take it anymore, after last night when you kissed in his van your thighs were soaking. The way he tasted lingered on your tongue, planting himself deep inside you. Your dreams were filled with desire for him. You couldn’t wait any longer, calling him as soon as you woke up to plan a date tonight. 

“Hey,” his sleepy voice answered the phone, slightly raspy which made things worse in a beautiful, wonderful way “everything alright?” you could almost feel his large brown eyes looking at you through the phone.

“Yeah, everythings perfect,” you press your lips into a tight line nervously, receding into the soft security of your bed sheets. “I was uh, just wondering if you wanted to do something tonight.”

You heard a slight ruffling noise, presumably from him shifting his position, “of course I would. Did you want to do anything in particular?”

Your mind blanked and you answered honestly, “I have no idea. I just wanted to be with you.”

He chuckled into the phone making you shiver “well, dinner and a movie?”

“Cheesy,” you smile into the phone.

“I mean, both at once,” he continues.

“Oh?”

More ruffling from his end of the line before he replies “The drive in movie theatre, they’re playing a scary movie, your favvvooourrrite” he teases trying to make it sound more appealing. Truth be told, he didn’t need to play it up for you, you loved the idea.

He answers for you “I’ll pick you up at 7, good spots are taken early” the confidence in his voice makes you giddy like your crushes you had as a teenager.

“Sounds like you have that all figured out then,” you twirl your hair around your finger making a small curl.

The entire Saturday you couldn’t sit still. You puzzled for nearly an hour on what to wear, your spotify playlist beaming in your ears.

“Fuck it,” you sigh grabbing ripped jeans, a Metallica t-shirt, and your favourite underwear set, hidden beneath your outfit.

You fussed with your hair, trying to make it look as effortless as possible, yet with a shit ton of effort. You knew Eddie didn’t care- you could show in pyjamas or hell, even naked and he’d be happy. Maybe too happy. 

The time seemed to go both fast and slow until 7 rolled around. You had been waiting all day for this yet your body jumped as the door knocked. You open the door to see him standing there, hair pulled back into a sweet, casual messy bun with wild strands framing his face. In his hands he held some flowers, looking down at them you blush. 

“What’s the occasion?” You ask after thanking him, taking them from him after letting him in. 

He folded his arms, leaning back against the wall watching you look for a vase “Do I need one to give my girlfriend flowers?”

You glance back at him seeing his cocky smile “if you were a normal guy” you reply hauling out an old vase. 

You fill it high with water, placing the flowers in carefully as he speaks “Well I’m everything but normal.”

The purple, pink and white flowers rest lazily in the vase, creating an ornate centrepiece for your kitchen table. 

You walk up to him wrapping your arms around his torso in a tight hug. You could feel his heartbeat as you pressed your chest into his, the thumping rising the longer you stayed there. 

“Thank you,” You murmur, “they’re beautiful. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

You looked up at him and you knew he didn't need reassurance to act himself, but it felt nice for him to hear that you liked him just the way he was and accepted his differences. He kissed the top of your head, running his hand along your upper back. 

“Let’s go, there’s some popcorn calling my name,” you smile against his chest before you pull back to put your shoes on. 

“Don’t forget the mysterious cant-legally-call-it-butter popcorn topping” he laughs at his own joke quietly and you roll your eyes. 

“It must be made with drugs,” you say, fixing your shoes. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” he agreed, “are you ready?” He whispered. 

You nod “I think so.”

Music blasted through the radio as he drove you in his esteemed van, windows down and wind cooling your nerves. Although his driving was reckless, you loved riding in the passenger side, sitting back listening to music with him next to you. The epitome of summer, and of near meditation, stripping any stress off of your body. Before you knew it, the van slowed to a stop as he paid for your tickets. 

“Thanks Eddie,” you spoke as soon as you drove away from the ticketer. 

“For what?” He asked and you knew he wouldn’t accept thanks for paying for the ticket. 

You turned your head to watch him concentrate on the road, and to find a parking spot. His brows are furrowed as he squints looking around.

“For everything,” you reply and he looks at you, confused for a moment.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything, sweetheart” he leans towards you to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re watching?” you ask just now realising you have no idea what movie you’re going to see.

He pulls into a parking spot where you both have a nice view of the screen, white against the setting sky, “Nope. You’ll have to find out the hard way” he grins.

You and Eddie make your way to the concession stand as you were sure he wouldn’t add enough mysterious topping to your popcorn, despite insisting he knows how much you like. While waiting for your turn for the gooey goodness, he practises throwing popcorn up in the air, one piece at a time trying to catch it in his mouth. 

“Eddie,” you scold as he finally catches one, unable to keep a wide goofy grin off of his face while he chews. 

You smack him lightly on the chest while he laughs at you “Eddie,” you repeat “they’re going to kick us out!”

He rolls back on the balls of his feet, careful not to spill the popcorn. Clearly he wasn’t made for standing still. It made things like waiting in line more interesting though, as he found new ways to make you laugh, hopefully without getting you both kicked out on date night. It didn’t take too long to get your turn, and you returned back to his van with your haul in your arms. Darkness spread further in the horizon, only a faint line of sun remained and you knew the movie would start soon.

“Okay so I lied,” he said in between chips “nachos and popcorn isn’t exactly the best meal…” he trailed off. 

“Actually I love it. Everyone’s childhood dream honestly” you smile warmly at him, taking a chip and dipping it in the cheese sauce. 

The screen lit up as the projector flickered to life. Eddie moved his hand quickly to the portable radio, switching the dials until tuned into the correct station, flipping through some music and news broadcasts as he did. 

You watch the screen as crickets chirp and campfire music starts playing through the speaker and you almost whip your head over to smile at him “Friday the 13th!” You cheer. 

“Shhh,” he said with a smirk “no talking at the movies,” 

You throw a piece of popcorn at him before looking back at the screen; Camp Crystal Lake 1958.

Eddie turns to you mimicking the ch ch ch ha ha ha of the music. 

“No talking!” You scold. 

After swallowing some popcorn he answers “hey, that was humming and that’s much better than their singing.”

You laugh, batting at him, “that’s talking!”

“Shhh, you’re going to miss the sex scene,” he teases, making you roll your eyes. 

All it made you think of was what you had planned for later tonight, making you readjust your position suddenly nervous. Well, it won’t go this bad right?

You’re lost in your thoughts as the movie zooms into the girls’ face in a still shot of her screaming, fading into the roll of intro credits as most older movies tended to have early in the movie. 

“Coke?” Eddie offers his drink to you and you raise your eyebrow. 

“Really? You’re offering me coke when I ordered Diet Coke?” You let out a small snort of a laugh. 

He shrugs innocently “it tastes different!”

You laugh “please don’t get me hooked on the hard stuff again.” You wave off his offer, taking a sip of your own drink out of the red and white striped straw. 

As the movie plays and you finish the nachos, you lean against his shoulder snuggling in as you work on the popcorn. Your hands brush together as you laugh at the first girl for ignoring every red flag. You share giggles in the darkness of the van over the comical kills of old movies. You made fun of them, sure, but that was part of the charm with old school slashers. 

Normally with movies you’d be yawning by the end of it, trying to stay awake. But you were nervous, and determined to make tonight as perfect- or at least as good as you possibly could. 

Looking over at him watching the movie intently filled you with a hot desire. His black leather jacket fit the atmosphere entirely and framed his body underneath. The feeling of his firm chest against your head was comforting but you wanted- no, needed- more of him. You wanted to feel his body on top of you, engulfed in everything that is him. Perfect dark brown wavy hair, tired droopy eyes filled with laughter, slim torso and a delicious waist. 

Perhaps he knew you wanted more, you wondered as he raised an arm putting it over your shoulder rendering you even closer to him. 

By the end of the movie, when they zoom the camera into the lake, your heart was pounding in your chest. Eddie had turned the van on to start it, putting the warm air on you hadn’t noticed how cool the air was. 

“Always love that” he smiles tapping his fingers against the van door. 

“Me too. Wanna come back to my place?” It took all of your courage to say it tonight, although every other night it came easily. Tonight was different, everything was different. 

“Yeah, are you okay?” He says noticing something off about you “we can call it a night if you want.”

“No” you said a little too quickly, redness rising to your cheeks “Yeah everything’s okay. Perfect actually,” and it was. Then why were you so nervous?

“Okay” he smiled, squeezing your knee gently.

You move your fingers to the car radio, switching to Bluetooth to play some music through Spotify on your phone. You put on the playlist Eddie had tailored for you, of his favourite music he’d thought you’d like. And it did help, before long you were fumbling with the keys to your apartment. 

Switching on the lights, your small apartment felt somehow different than you left it, even though no nook or cranny had been touched. The soft arrangement of flowers still held strong in their vase, slurping up the water you provided. You lazily lay your purse on the kitchen table next to them, leaving your shoes at the door. Eddie does the same, making himself at home as he always does, with a carefree attitude.

“Thirsty?” you ask, you grab the remote flipping on some sitcom on the tv. 

“Naw,” he shakes his head, taking off his leather jacket revealing a dark long sleeved shirt beneath.

Flopping yourself on the couch you sigh as he sits next to you. He was much more relaxed than you, leaning back into the couch as if it were his own, tapping his fingers against his knee. The tv hums in your ears as you connect your phone to Bluetooth, switching the playlist on through your speakers, quiet enough to not disturb any neighbours. You curl up into him, pressing your thighs against his legs and leaning your head against his chest. 

After a moment of music playing, his foot tapping against the floorboards, the words leave your lips cautiously “I had fun tonight Ed’s…”

“Me too,” he whispered into you, brushing his lips along your hair. “I always have fun when I’m with you” his whisper was louder as his lips touched your ear, making you shudder.

Suddenly you’re looking up at him as the butterflies inside your chest take over, brown eyes staring down, hypnotising you. Your lips meet in a deep kiss for the first time this evening, a sweet relief. 

He pulls back for a moment to say “You know, you don’t have to feel pressured to do anything. I’m happy with the way things are, with whatever you want.” 

You blush realising he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

“I-I know…” you trail off “yeah I’m just really nervous” your eyes meet his “but it’s because I really want this, and I want it to be perfect.”

He smiles at you, and you’re worried you said something wrong “I’ve been so nervous about this since the day we started dating.” He runs his hand through his hair, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this nervous “I don’t exactly have much in terms of experience.” He admits, red rising to his cheeks, a rare sight. 

“Anything with you would be perfect,” you say to him with a smile. 

“Actually, that’s my line here sweetheart” brown eyes glistened with joy. 

“You know,” You admit “I called you this morning because I had this dream and…” you trail off cheeks even redder. 

“A dream?” He smirked down at you, running his thumb along your waist. Clearly, he understood what he needed to do, “tell me about it,” he whispered. 

You recount the dream you had, suddenly feeling flustered but you wanted him to know exactly how badly you wanted him “we-we we’re at the beach,” you start and he hums. 

“Sex on the beach?” He smirks at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “lovely drink too.”

“No, silly. Well yes but… we went swimming” you think back to the dream, the sky was dark and the moon illuminated both of you, dancing off the water. “You dragged me into the water, asshole move by the way,” you glare at him. 

He sighs “dream me getting me in trouble.”

“You say that like you wouldn't do it in reality.”

“Okay fair” he laughs as you smack his shoulder “continue.”

“You dunked me under water, so I pulled you in. Then we started kissing…” his hand trailed up under the fabric of your shirt ever so slightly. “You started grabbing my thighs…”

“Like this?” He asks, bringing his hand to your thigh. 

Strong fingers grasp it, his thumb traces random patterns on your jeans “mmhmm,” you whisper as he slowly moves up. Your legs heat up as you feel yourself starting to wetten. 

“And then, you untied my swimsuit top, throwing it into the ocean so I couldn’t grab it” he twisted his body to face you as you spoke, bringing his free hand to the small of your back. 

“Go me,” he whispered with a smile. 

You laugh before continuing “and you kissed me. Everywhere. I mean, everywhere.”

“You know,” he snuck his hand underneath your shirt, running over the bare skin of your waist. “I could do that for you, if you like.”

You find yourself climbing on top of his lap, straddling his hips. He was taken aback but pleasantly so, eyes staring up at you in wonder. He grabbed both of your love thighs, trailing his hands back to your ass. You lean down kissing him deeply, feeling his tongue against yours tasting his sweetness. He grabs your ass lovingly as you kiss, hard and deep while you release his wild hair from the confines of his messy bun.

You run your fingers through his hair lovingly, kissing him passionately, gasping into each others’ mouths. His hands are up and cupping your breasts through the light fabric of your bra. You imagine riding him then and there, letting out an ever so slight moan. His breath was shaky, first you were a little embarrassed by the noise but clearly it fed something in him. 

He moves his hands to the clasp of your bra, fiddling with it for a few moments before you feel the band slacken. You shimmy the straps off of your shoulders, letting the bra fall out of your t-shirt onto your thighs. You look up at him innocently as he looks at your bra in wonder “go me” he whispered with a playful grin. 

You feel your nipples stiffen against your shirt as you pull it up and over your head, his jaw nearly dropped, “you are so damn gorgeous…” he mumbles, bringing his mouth to your breast. 

Your head falls back as he kisses your nipple, licking his tongue hungrily along your breast. He brushes his tongue quickly against your nipple, back and forth making you let out a moan. He moves to the other one to show it some love, alternating between sucking and licking as his strong hands hold you steady. His wavy hair tickles against your skin, a pleasant sensation. 

You bring your hands down to the rim of his long sleeve shirt, lifting it up. He pulls his head back, taking over to lift his shirt over his head. You put your hand against his chest, tracing your finger over his tattoos “you’re beautiful…”

“Hey, that’s my line again,” he kissed your neck playfully, you let out a laugh as it tickled. 

The feeling of his body pressed into yours was heavenly mixed with his lips against the delicate skin of your neck. He pecked gentle kisses into you, making his way to your mouth. Bringing his hands to your waist he gently guided you to lay down on the couch, your back pressed into the cushion. 

He lowers himself on top of you, holding himself steady against the couch. He seemed nervous as he did, breaths unsteady. You pull his head down to you, locking your lips together. You were addicted to the taste of him, you wanted to stay there forever inhaling him. Smoke and sweet soda intertwined, taking over you. Suddenly though, there were too much clothes keeping you apart.

Your hands instinctively move down his chest, over his stomach and grabbing at his belt buckle. His bulge didn’t even try to hide from you as his cock pressed tightly against his jeans. 

His lips brushed yours, breath catching in his throat as you wiggle your fingers underneath the fabric. You fumble with his belt buckle as he moves to nibble at your neck, breath hot against your ear. You slide the belt out, dropping it to the floor with the sound of metal clinking. 

You move your fingers back, undoing the button of his jeans, unzipping them gracefully. You can hear the gulp heavy in his throat, adams’ apple bobbing. He moves a hand to your jeans to reciprocate, undoing the button much easier than you had. You feel your thighs start moving instinctively as his hands are now dangerously close to your cunt. Your body shivers, feeling weak beneath his touch, wanting to succumb to all of him. 

You shimmy out of your jeans, discarding them along with your socks to the floor rendering you naked below him save for your soaking panties. 

“Wow,” he says, shaking his head, flashing his perfect teeth at you in shock, running his tongue over them thirstily, “you’re absolutely soaked for me darling.”

You manage a nod “I want you, so bad,” you look up at him with begging eyes “all of you, tonight.”

He couldn’t say no, not that he ever would refuse you, “anything you want,” he whispers, standing and removing the last of his fabric keeping him apart from you. 

He pressed his naked body against yours, heat mingling together. You kiss him, love drunk on his taste and scent, wanting to consume it all. 

“Please,” you murmur, your cunt throbbing with every heartbeat. 

He moves a hand to your panties, sliding them down over your goosebump covered thighs until they reach the floor and it’s just you and him. His hot, firm body against your cool, shivering, soft one. Bodies now connected by the chapped lips on his pale marble body.

You wrap your arms around his neck as he brings his hand to your wet cunt. He looks to you for confirmation and you nod eagerly. He had fingered you before but you savoured it every damn time. 

He wasted no time plunging his fingers inside tonight. The sight of your back arching as you moan makes his cock throb, letting out precum for you as you squirm under his grip. His fingers rub against the walls of your cunt methodologically, his rings adding a new form of pleasure to the experience. He takes his sweet time preparing you for him, making sure you're soaked and stretched. 

“Eds,” You say, bringing your hand down to catch his wrist, shivering at the sigh of his fingers inside you “I’m ready.”

“A-are you sure…?” His voice is low. 

You nod eagerly “yes, yes please.”

He reaches down into his jean pockets, long forgotten, pulling out his wallet. He reaches into the old worn leather grabbing a small packet, which you eagerly grab from him.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to” he reminds you, dropping his wallet to the floor but you’ve already got the condom opened. 

“I want to” You look him deep into his eyes, bringing your gentle fingers to touch his shaft. 

He groans and throbs against your touch as you roll the condom down over his cock, fitting perfectly. He takes over, lining up his tip with your cunt. He looks at your face, studying your expression and you nod. 

Slowly, he slides in until about halfway when you let out a groan of wonderful, tight pressure, your walls clenching against him. He squeezes your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, letting yourself relax against the couch. 

“Okay, okay” you breathe deep “you can keep going.”

He slowly starts pushing himself into you again, your toes curl as all of him is finally inside. You both let out a gasp of air, smiling at each other. 

“Finally,” you whisper, not intending that to be out loud. 

You longed for this since the day you met him, feeling him deep inside you right where he belongs, fitting perfectly inside.  

He pushes your hair back away from your face, “you look so beautiful with my cock in you, sweetheart” he wears a proud grin looking down at your naked body. 

“Keep going” you urge him along. 

He pulls out, not entirely but enough for him to thrust back inside, smoother this time. He sits there for a moment, checking in again. 

“Is that okay?” He asks. 

“Uh-huh,” You nod more confidently this time. 

He repeats the process, thrusting in a little faster this time and he’s rewarded with a sweet, high pitched moan. He continues at a steady pace for more thrusts, getting used to the feeling of sliding in and out of you. 

He reaches down to a couch pillow discarded to the floor, picking it up. He pulls out for just a moment, lifting your ass into the air, he shoves the small pillow underneath you. 

He brings his cock to your entrance for the second time, sliding it in much more easily this time. Thrusting in the second time he brushes against the wonderful spot deep inside you, making you grasp the couch and moan louder this time. 

He smiles knowing he found your spot, pulling out and thrusting back over it again “how’s that darling?” 

“‘S good, so good” your toes curl against the couch. 

He continues ramming his cock against that wonderful spot, and just as you feel your pleasure climb he slows a little. 

“How are you doing?” Eddie asks, a little nervous. 

“Please Eds” you whimper “shut up and fuck me, and don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He chuckles at your reaction and obliges, having his confidence return “whatever pleases my lady.”

You grasp at his back for dear life then as he no longer holds back. Your body is pressed hard into the couch as he rams into you over and over, “yes Eddie! Right there right there baby,” you encourage, chasing that sweet ecstasy. 

He grunts in response, sweating as his cock pushes you along the trail of pleasure, higher and higher.

“Yes Eddie, yes, I need you so bad” Your voice is almost a shout. 

Your hands grasp desperately at his firm back, muscles tensing as he fucks you. He pushes you over the edge of orgasm as you let out a breathless moan, mouth draped open as your eyes practically roll back. 

Seeing you writhing in pleasure below him was too much, he releases his orgasm inside of the condom with a deep, husky moan that makes your spine shiver. 

He lays on top of you, still inside, breathing heavy as his sweat drips onto you. You bring your numb hands up to his head, running your fingers through his sweaty hair, brushing it back and out of his face. 

“Wow” you whisper after a moment, enjoying the comforting pressure of his weight against you. 

“Wow,” he confirms with a quick nod and you can feel his heart pumping in his chest. 

You lay there for maybe minutes that only feel like seconds before he pulls himself out of you. You realise how cold the air is as his body leaves yours, standing up and tossing the used condom in the trash. 

“Come here” you reach your hands out beckoning him to come forward.

He obliged almost curiously, as you pulled him by the waist closer to you. Mouth watering, you take his soaking cock into the embrace of your tongue, licking up every last drop of his orgasm. With any other guy before Eddie you honestly hated it, the taste and the feel. But with Eddie, you felt like you couldn’t live without it as your tongue begged for him.

“Okay, okay,” He pulled out when the sensations became too much, lifting himself behind you to snuggle into your back, nuzzling sweetly into your neck.

He pressed his warm body up against you, holding you securely in his grasp. 

“Better than the dream?” He asked playfully, kissing your ear. 

“Better than my dream” you confirm, sharing a sweet giggle. As he held you tightly then and there, you knew this would be the first time of many.

----

💙💙💙💙

Thanks so much for reading, if you enjoyed leave a like/reblog/comment if you feel so inclined, no matter how old/new this fic is when you read it!

My requests are currently OPEN! Turnaround time is usually 1-2 days depending on length <3

Have a great day my lovely reader!

-Wyv

[hiccupids]

Hello!!

I saw u.nder.t@le (i suck at censoring) in ur list of things you would write about, and that you take requests so !!!

Could you do hiccup + tummy stuff with s.an.$ ? I’m fine with headcanons but feel free to do anything else if u want!! I’ve always been very into that kinda stuff lol

ahhh i got so excited when i saw this ask!!! ♡ i’ve been kinda nervous to post on here but i'd be silly not to ramble about the funny bone man… hopefully this is what you were asking for! i just sorta let my mind wander to headcanon the heck outta this guy

(and i also hope that my censors have done the trick… not used to this whole posting thing yet /lh)

☆ CWs - embarrassment? i dunno, lemme know if anything else needs tagging-- ☆ kinks - hiccups, tummy stuff, and an allusion to stuffing?

💙 first and foremost, i will never get tired of s@n.s with a magic tummy… he deserves some chub on him and i think that his stomach being that slightly translucent + glowing blue colour is super cute!

💙 in addition to that, i’d like to think that he takes great pride in his figure! no worries if any snacking from the night before has left his shirt just a little too tight - he’d let his white t-shirt ride up without a care in the world (heck, he’d probably make some joke about being ‘big boned’ and leave it at that)

💙 when he’s lounging around and not doing much, he likes to put his hands in his hoodie pockets and lightly push down into his tummy for no reason other than it’s kinda like a stim

💙 this goofy skeleton is also incapable of saying no to any food t0r.iel makes - whether you view them as platonic, romantic, or a secret third thing; he’s always happy to taste test her baking cause it leaves him with a nice cosy tummy to massage as he falls asleep

and here’s the ramble-y hiccuppy part:

💙 $an.s isn’t very prone to hiccups - but this doesn’t mean he doesn’t get them. when he gets a case, he gets em *hard* (not painful, just very deep and making his body rock a whole bunch)

💙 eating too much would probably bring them about for him. ‘this thing’s sensitive’, he says, patting his stomach, knowing full well that he’s not going to live by this warning at all

💙 going back to their sound - if i were to write them, i’d probably opt for onomatopoeias such as “*hURk*” or “*HMP’a*” or “*HUC’p* – *huCK-HK*” (excuse the strange writing ^^” i’m still trying to work out that part...)

💙 funnily enough, despite being loud and proud about his figure, he prefers to find a quiet place to go when hiccupping - he usually comes up with some lame excuse when he feels a case ‘brewing’, before taking a shortcut back to his and his brother’s house.

💙 he knows perfectly effective cures (thanks to the ‘genius’ that is his brother and trying to get him to stop before he “scares away a human”) but… you know him. he just sits around and waits them out. ‘too much of a hassle’ he says.

💙 his hiccups are a one-bout-and-done deal - although his cases can last pretty long (he’d recount a time they lasted for over an hour), and the speed of them is unpredictable

💙 every time he hiccups, his stomach jolts, kind of ‘puffing out’ (for lack of a better word) as he has his mittened hand gently massaging it back and forth. again, sensitive tummy, although the sensations of his cases bring about more conflicting, ‘nice’ feelings in his stomach - he’s probably embarrassed about it.

sorry if these are a little all over the place - i hope people like them regardless! still trying to adjust to writing down my thoughts in a way that isn’t just keysmashing… maybe one day i’ll gain the courage to post some of my writing ♡

[lover-of-mine]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday!

I was tagged by @wikiangela and @daffi-990 thank you 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

I'm in a silly goofy mood as I try to cross the finish line with this fic listening to sad music so have this tiny bit of the new fic just to tease y'all lol prev snippet

“Why can't you just believe that?” Buck pleads and he looks away, because he knows Buck means it but he can't deal with how that makes him feel now, it would just make it worse when it stopped being true. “You said it was the worst night of your life,” he adds after a few too long seconds of charged silence and Eddie nods, still not looking at him. “It's up there, yeah.” “But you've been pulling away from me for months.” Buck sounds so heartbroken about it forces him to look back at him. “I-” “Losing me was the worst night of your life but you keep pushing me out. Why?”

No pressure tagging 🩷: @eddiebabygirldiaz @bucks118 @try-set-me-on-fire @honestlyeddie @sherlockcrossing @watchyourbuck @housewifebuck @aspecbuddie @wildlife4life @giddyupbuck @captain-hen and you if you have something to share 💜