#i made this set a full year ago and never posted it

[hollowed-theory-hall]

How does the protection magic that Lily's sacrifice placed on Harry work? On that note- how do the blood wards placed on the Dursley household operate?

Like- does the latter act as a notice me not/ fidelius of its own? Protecting Harry's location from other magicals? (It would have been easy for another Longbottom tragedy to occur after all) from what I remember the blood wards have no affect on the protection cast by Lily's sacrifice, and instead sort of extend the effect to the household???

Also on the topic of the protection- we saw the end Quirrel met. And... I just wondered- why didn't this sort of reaction extend to all the people - the Dursleys included- who laid their hands + spells on Harry with the intent to harm? By all means the blood wards should have fallen the moment The Dursleys tried to physically harm Harry. Can't see a protection powered by Lily's intent, extending to people who mean her son harm.

Unless of course the magic and the wards are targetted at Riddle specifically. Which brings the question- why didn't it set on fire/ harm anything considering even the traces of Riddle's presence/ influence. Eg. The people with the death Eater brands, the horcruxes, the soul shard inside Harry himself??

Ugh. Just so many questions.

Ps. Could the blood wards have been transferred/ worked in a residence comprising of the people Harry considered as his family and who reciprocated this sentiment? (based on the importance of intent to keep the spell going)

Wow, @ana-lyz, just like with the veil and death asks, I just started drafting a post about Lily's blood protections and what Dumbledore says about them. So...

Lily's Love Protection and Dumbledore's Blood Wards

Alright, strap in...

Okay, so let's start by seeing what we're told about the blood protections and whether we can gather something cohesive that makes magical sense out of it.

We have Voldemort's statement on this piece of magic:

“...I wanted Harry Potter’s blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago . . . for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too. . . . “But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy’s future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy’s protection as long as he is in his relations’ care. Not even I can touch him there. . . .

(GoF, 657)

Notice there is the lingering protection from Lily's magic and the ancient magic Dumbledore invoked. These are, I believe separate spells.

Dumbledore's statements:

“But why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?” “Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

(PS, 215)

“But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother’s blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.” “She doesn’t love me,” said Harry at once. “She doesn’t give a damn —” “But she took you,” Dumbledore cut across him. “She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the charm I placed upon you. Your mother’s sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you.” “I still don’t —” “While you can still call home the place where your mother’s blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You need return there only once a year, but as long as you can still call it home, there he cannot hurt you. Your aunt knows this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knows that allowing you houseroom may well have kept you alive for the past fifteen years.”

(OotP, 835-836)

Here again, Dumbledore mentions the ancient magic he made the decision to protect Harry with as a separate thing from the lingering protection from Lily.

And (as per this post) the Dumbledore Harry hallucinates statement:

“He took my blood.” said Harry. “Precisely!” said Dumbledore. “He took your blood and rebuilt his living body with it! Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you! He tethered you to life while he lives!”

(DH, 598)

And then we have what happened to Quirrell:

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry, by instinct, reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face — “AAAARGH!” Quirrell rolled off him, his face blistering, too, and then Harry knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch his bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain — his only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse. Harry jumped to his feet, caught Quirrell by the arm, and hung on as tight as he could. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off — the pain in Harry’s head was building — he couldn’t see — he could only hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!”

(PS, 212)

What we know from this

Well, from the above quotes we can divide the magical protections on Harry into 2 different spells as I mentioned above:

Lily's sacrificial love protection - the intention magic Lily cast by protecting her son. This is the magic that blocked the Killing Curse and killed Quirrell.

Dumbledore's blood ward - this is the spell Dumbledore cast that (supposedly) protects Harry in his relatives' home. Voldemort says Dumbledore invoked this magic, and Dumbledore also mentions it's a ward he left that built upon Lily's protection, but it's not a spell Lily left.

So, what can Lil'y Sacrificial Love Protection do:

Makes the Killing Curse not kill Harry.

Returns the Killing Curse back to the sender.

Continues to hurt that initial "sender" whenever he tries to kill Harry.

What about Dumbledore's Blood Wards what do they do:

Nothing.

Dumbledore and Voldemort say this magic exists but it never does anything. We never see it active, it never protects Harry from anyone, neither his relatives nor Death Eaters. So, we don't know what it's supposed to be doing since it doesn't do anything in the books.

Voldemort says it won't allow him to touch Harry in his relatives' house.

How I think these spells actually work

I'll start with Dumbledore's Blood Wards:

I simply don't think this ward actually exists.

Dumbledore isn't very consistent with how this protection works. He says Harry needs to return for a bit to live with Petunia for the magic to work, but if that's all the requirement, why long weeks? Couldn't he return for a shorter time? And each year he spends a different amount of time at Private Drive? Couldn't he always be sent back just for the minimal required time? At first, the ward was about love but then it isn't, he says this: "While you can still call home the place where your mother’s blood dwells, there you cannot be touched or harmed by Voldemort."

Harry didn't think of Private Drive as a home:

Harry could hardly believe it when he realized that he’d already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had.

(PS, 123)

“I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet,” said Dumbledore. “Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home.” Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts too.

(HBP, 431)

Harry never considered Private Drive and the Dursleys his home. Hogwarts was his first home.

If there is no love and it isn't a home, even if Dumbledore did cast a blood ward based on Petunia and Lily's sacrifice it won't actually be active. But personally, I don't think this ward actually exists.

Dumbledore needs a reason to keep Harry with his relatives.

Dumbledore needs Harry malleable, low on self-esteem, and lacking in a support network. Because he knew since October 1981 (but probably before) that he'd likely need Harry to die. He suspected Harry was a Horcrux from practically day 1:

Under a tuft of jetblack hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. “Is that where —?” whispered Professor McGonagall. “Yes,” said Dumbledore. “He’ll have that scar forever.” “Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?” “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy...

(PS, 13-14)

And being raised by the Dursleys ensured that when the time came, when Dumbledore needed Harry to die to destroy Voldemort, Harry would be willing. Because Harry would not put much worth in his own life. Because of that, I think it's not outside the realm of possibility Dumbledore would lie about this ward to have an excuse to keep sending Harry to the Dursleys.

(Sure, Dumbledore would've preferred not to kill Harry if it could be avoided, but he had been preparing for the situation since October 1981)

It's not like he did anything to better their treatment of Harry until book 6, when he needed Harry to start trusting him more...

And like I mentioned above, even if the ward was there, it would not be active because Private Drive was never a home for Harry. And after year 4, when Voldemort took his blood, any protection from any blood-related magic would be moot. Because Voldemort would not be counted as a threat by the ward.

So Dumbledore sending Harry back to the Dursleys after he knew the wards he left (if they were there at all) were gone, proves to me Harry's placement at the Dursleys was never about the wards to begin with. Because if the blood wards are gone, literally anywhere else around wizards who could protect Harry would be safer than at the Dursleys, even when thinking of Death Eaters and Voldemort as the only threat. If they came to find Harry at Private Drive, nothing would've stopped them (except Harry himself).

I could guess wards like this, if they actually were active, would have been an extension of Lily's protection and stopped Voldemrot from being able to enter the Dursleys' residence. From what's said, it seems this ward seems to target Voldemrot specifically, and no one else. But, as I mentioned, I don't think it's really there.

Lil'y Sacrificial Love Protection:

I mentioned in the past how intention and emotion mean a lot for magic in the HP universe. Lily, a witch who we are told repeatedly was powerful, intelligent, and talented, could very well cast a powerful protection out of her love and intention to protect her son. That is 100% possible with what we see magic is capable of and how magic seems to work.

That being said, the fact this never happened before suggests to me Lily did something different than just having a very strong wish for her son to survive. Dumbledore says it's because she had a choice, and in a way it is, but not because Voldemort gave her the option not to die, but because she chose to die instead of Harry.

I'll try to explain it, bear with me.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” “Stand aside, you silly girl. . . stand aside now.” “Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—” “This is my last warning—” “Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy. . . have mercy. . . . Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I’ll do anything—” “Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

(DH, 297)

This is the "spell" Lily casts — the incantation. This is her wish moments before her death: "Not Harry, kill me instead," that's what she says, that's her promise, that's her wish, that's the magic.

Lily's protection only works on Voldemort because her spell essentially made a bargain with Voldemort (that he didn't agree to). that he'd kill her instead of Harry. Once he killed Lily, he couldn't kill Harry because that was the protection she left him, and Voldemort won't be able to kill him because she died in his stead.

That's why we don't see the same thing happen after James dies to buy Lily and Harry time, why when others die to protect someone they aren't protected from the killing curse. What Lily did is a combination of a few extraordinary circumstances coming together:

She's an incredibly powerful witch (shown by her childhood magic that was very controlled and advanced (not unlike Tom Riddle) and Slughorn's boasting)

She loved Harry dearly. Loved him enough to power an accidental spell.

Chose and intended to die instead of her son. She had intent when making her plea, intent required for any spell.

So what essentially happened is that Lily created a situation where Voldemort physically can't kill Harry because Lily died in his stead. If, for example, Quirrell touched Harry without intending to kill him (like he did when they shook hands in Diagon Alley or when he pulled Harry to stand in front of the mirror) the protection won't activate. All it does is stop Voldemort from killing Harry because he already killed Lily in Harry's stead.

So, Voldemort, as I mentioned in the past, wants to kill Harry, this is his only ambition in the 2nd war. So he takes Harry's blood into himself so the protection won't work anymore. And we see it doesn't in the woods when Voldemort casts the killing curse and it doesn't rebound back on him (which would've happened otherwise).

This love protection from Lily doesn't require anything to stay active. It was cast because Voldemort killed her and Harry doesn't need to do anything to keep it active. Staying with the Dursleys wasn't for the sake of Lily's spell but for Dumbledore's ward.

As for Lily's spell not protecting Hary from anything else, like I mentioned, the bargain was that Voldemort would kill her instead of Harry, it would only protect Harry from being killed by Voldemort. If Voldemort just asked a random Death Eater to kill Harry it still wouldn't have worked, but that won't be because of Lily's love magic, but because of Harry pretty much always being the Master of Death.

Basically, Voldemort was doomed because he had no chance of killing Harry. Ever.

But what about when Harry died in book 7 and said he cast the same sacrificial love?

Well, I don't think Harry cast the same sacrificial love. His feelings and intentions were completely different. In his case, I think he just took the mastership of the Elder Wand so it wasn't performing as well for Voldemort afterward.

Conclusions

There are actually two different and distinct spells referred to by the characters when it comes to the protections Lily left for Harry.

The first is Lily's Sacrificial Love Spell which worked like a bargain. She pleaded with Voldemort to kill her instead of Harry and after he killed her, he could no longer kill Harry because he was protected.

Voldemort taking Harry's blood does indeed circumvent this spell and allows him to kill Harry in the woods (if temporarily).

The second is the Blood Ward Dumbledore talks about that is supposedly placed on the Dursleys' home. This spell was invoked by Dumbledore and is not part of Lily's spell.

It's supposed to build on and strengthen Lily's protection from what's implied.

this second spell would've stopped its activity the moment Harry stopped considering number 4, Private Drive his home (which happened quite young, as he doesn't remember ever considering it a home)

Personally, I don't think this blood ward ever existed, but even if it did, it was moot from the get-go and never done anything.

Voldemort taking Harry's blood in year 4, circumvented this ward too.

Basically, Dumbledore kept Harry at the Durselys less because of the wards and more because it suited him to ensure Harry would become the martyr he needed him to be (something I should write a full post about eventually).

#harry potter #hp #asks #ana-lyz #harry james potter #lily potter #harry potter meta #hp meta #hollowedtheory #albus dumbledore #lily evans

[homesweetgoodneighbor]

I made mention of this a few posts ago, but here is a full reminder from Auntie Kami, fiber artist:

It is that time of year, folks, when the fiber artists in your life need you the most. It matters not what holiday you celebrate; there are fiber artists who are, as we speak, insisting I AM GOING TO MAKE ALL THE GIFTS BECAUSE STORE-BOUGHT SUCKS. They have pre-purchased their season pass for the train to Crazy Town, and it is not round trip.

If you want to take care of the fiber artist in your life during this most manic time of year, lemme offer some suggestions:

DO:

Make sure they eat and stay hydrated. Making sure they eat an actual meal is best, but any food works at this point. Also, remind them that water exists and it isn't just to make coffee/tea.

Offer a listening ear and support when they start convulsively crying because they found a major mistake and have to undo two weeks worth of work. Although, I also suggest retreating out of the initial blast radius to avoid being collateral damage. A usual sign it is safe to approach is when they stop flailing and the flying debris of tools and fiber have settled.

Remind them to get up and stretch and walk around. Even if it's to make more coffee/tea. In fact, it is suggested you do not make those beverages for them because it is a good excuse for them to move around as they most likely have forgotten they have legs.

Remind them to sleep

DO NOT:

Suggest they set smaller goals. Yes, it makes sense, and They KNOW it makes sense, but they will still assume you are silly for even suggesting such an idea. (Don't push it. You will only piss them off.)

Refer to what they are working on as "grandma craft". Even If they are a grandma. It is dismissive of the time and effort and money they are lovingly putting into their projects, and they will, in return, dismiss your reason for living.

EVER NEVER FOR ANY REASON AT ALL say, "You can get it cheaper at Walmart." You at that point don't just forfeit your life, you forfeit your existence in their life. You will be vaporized from their memory. You just suggested their art, their craft, their effort is lesser than fucking Walmart. You want a quick way to oblivion, then by all be this crass and demeaning. I just won't guarantee it will be painless.

Thank you for your support.

#fiber crafts #fiber arts #crochet #knitting #embroidery #sewing

[williamsracinggf]

✧.* just like dad / ls2 *.✧

little luna sargeant's got her mind set on one thing: she wants to be just like dad when she grows up.

notes: HURRRR THEY WONT TAKE ME OFF SHADOWBAN SO I'M POSTING HERE UNTIL THEY TAKE ME OFF and yes i'm still tagging it under dpm LMFAOOO

“i’m nervous.” logan glances at the sleeping 5-year-old sprawled across the backseat with her koala stuffie covering her face. he sits back again and glances at you, eyes stuck on the road ahead.

you hum and glance over at him, shaking his leg as he twists his body and takes another look at your daughter. “it’s not even your race, babe.”

you hear logan sigh exasperatedly, staring longingly at the snoring kid. “i know it’s her race. but you know,” he trails off, tilting his head slightly.

he doesn’t get nervous about his races anymore. so when the then 4-year-old daughter came up to him after his race in miami talking about how she wanted to register for a karting race this year, he was more than flabbergasted. he remembers looking over at you in shock while you just shrugged and told him, “you heard the lady.”

while you’re not entirely pleased by your daughter’s decision to start karting, you wouldn’t ever dare to be the parent who told her what she can and cannot do. it’s a value that you and logan had discussed earlier in your relationship and something you’ve tried to stick to heavily.

if you have the means to ensure that your daughter can do what her heart desires, then why would you ever deny her?

logan would have preferred for his carbon copy to not subject herself to the brutality of the sport he’s gotten himself into, but he also cannot help the feeling of pride growing in his chest at the thought of his daughter taking after him. there is something so endearing about the way she wants to be just like him — in her words, not his.

“you can always tell her not to race,” you shrug. “no harm in saying no.”

he throws his head back as he gets comfortable in his seat again. “i can’t do that,” he shakes his head, “you saw how excited she was when we signed her up for her classes.”

you laugh. “besides, you’ve got the perfect gift for luna.” you reach over for his leg in the passenger seat, squeezing him as you smile at him. “she’ll love it.”

that’s another thing: the custom helmet that logan had gotten made for luna’s first race ever. your daughter initially only insisted on her own race suit, which you went and got customised together without logan on a weekend he was away for a race.

it wasn’t until little luna had seen one of logan’s helmets on one of your bedroom shelves that she decided she wanted one for herself. but by that point, it never would have made it in time for her first race.

though, logan being the proud dad that he is (and luna being daddy’s little girl), he already had a custom helmet in the works with a much cuter motif. it’s pink and grey with koalas plastered all over it, thanks to oscar’s influence on the little girl during their trip to australia early last year.

“that design was sent in months ago. what if she doesn’t even like pink anymore?”

logan’s concern is valid. the little girl had taken after your indecisiveness, often changing her claims for things that are her favourite every other day. one time she had sobbed for a solid half hour after logan came home with blue raspberry flavoured candy, suddenly claiming that strawberries are actually her favourite flavour of candy.

logan looked at you hopelessly for help, but neither of you had gotten the memo that her blue raspberry obsession was short-lived. he wound up walking out the front door and coming back with a bag full of strawberry-flavoured candies, feeling like the worst dad that he had somehow let it slip his mind what her favourite candy was.

both of you struggled to finish the blue raspberry candy for weeks, having to start giving it away in the paddocks during his next race.

“i’m sure she still likes pink as much as she did yesterday,” you explain, glancing at your daughter through your rearview mirror. “look at her — it looks like the pink panther threw up all over her.”

he looks back at her, almost bursting out in laughter at how right you are. she’s taken the liberty to dress herself in a pink tutu with a random grey shirt, topped off with a bow that held her hair in a ponytail. “are you sure? what if she wakes up and changes her mind?”

your car comes to a slow stop, surrounded by several other cars in the parking lot of the karting track. you turn to logan and sigh as you shake your head. “you’re overthinking this, babe. she’ll love it,” you reach over for his hand, “because it’s from you.”

he raises an eyebrow, staring at you with clear scepticism. being away for weeks at a time didn’t make him feel like a great dad, despite the young girl always clinging to him whenever he was back in town for breaks, always rambling on about how much she missed her dad while he was gone and that she watched his race.

it’s managed to make him feel so disconnected in her life, sometimes even jealous of how much time you’ve gotten to spend with luna as she grew up. he just doesn’t feel like he knows a lot about her, despite him passing the random quizzes from his giggly daughter right before bed.

“are we here?”

logan flinches at the tiny face that’s slotted herself between their seats, clutching his chest while the 2 girls burst into laughter. “you’re sneaky! i didn’t even notice you were awake!”

“the car stopped moving!” luna shrieks, climbing between the two seats to throw herself onto logan. “and i’m excited!”

“of course, you are!” you cheer, reaching over to pat her head. “it’s your first race, isn’t it?”

she turns her head to look at you with a wide smile, her familiar green eyes shining in the sun that hits your car. your genetics hadn’t had a chance against logan’s — the small girl sported identical green eyes and dirty blonde hair, with dimples to complete the mission of being his clone.

“uncle ozzy will be here too, right? with aunty lily?” she scrambles to press her face against the window, hands cupped over her eyes as she scopes out for her parents’ best friends in the crowd outside the car. “what about uncle alex?”

“they promised to be here to watch your race, lu,” logan laughs, peeling her away from the window. he sits his daughter on his lap, leaning back as he enjoys their time in the cold of the car. “i actually got you a present for the race today.”

“a present! where?”

“it’s in the back, but-”

“then let’s go!” luna squirms in her father’s grip, reaching forward to unlock his door. she almost falls out when she opens it, giggling when logan’s grip on her arm refrains her from hitting the ground face first.

she wiggles out of his grasp, logan tiredly looking over his shoulder at you, still sitting peacefully in the driver’s seat. you shrug as you pull down the visor and grab your makeup bag. “you told her about your present. you know how she feels about presents.”

he opens his mouth to shoot back an explanation, but is cut short by his daughter screeching and running back up to his side of the car. “daddy, my present!”

she reaches up for logan’s hand, forcefully pulling him out of the car. he nods, stumbling over himself as he hurriedly reaches back to release his seatbelt and lets her drag him to the trunk of your family car.

“what is it? is it a toy?” she beams, hopping next to logan as he scavages the several bags in the back for the black dustbag that contains her new helmet. “did you get it while you were away?”

“it’s no longer a surprise if i tell you,” logan laughs.

“is it a toy?”

logan shrugs, reappearing with a bag in his hand. luna’s eyes widened at the far larger gift than she had expected. she reaches up for the bag, whining when logan doesn’t immediately give it to her.

“do you want to guess what it is?” he teases, lifting it further out of her grasp.

“no!” she shrieks, now wrapping her arms and legs around her father’s body at an attempt to climb him to get to her promised present. “please, daddy! my present! i wanna see it!”

“how can daddy give you the present when you’re climbing him like a little monkey, my love?” you laugh, coming around the corner to tear her off logan’s body. “are you our little monkey baby?”

you burst into laughter watching the tiny girl screech in response, shaking her head aggressively as she tries to rebuke your accusations.

alas, logan finally gets on his knees to match her height. he holds out the bag to her, grinning when her green eyes stare into his, her body shaking in excitement. “present time?”

she nods, biting down on her lip. “present time.”

she drops to the ground when logan hands it over. she immediately grabs at the bag, tugging it off the helmet and grunts when there’s another layer of paper packaging that shies it away from her prying hands and curious eyes.

when she does get around to it, though, it’s like time stops when she lays eyes on the large drawing of the koala on the top of the helmet. just 3 weeks ago, she had finally come to terms that she wouldn’t have her own custom helmet for her first ever race ( against her best wishes). now here’s a helmet with her name in black at the corner.

she breaks into a mind-curling scream as she jumps to her feet excitedly. she certainly doesn’t notice the eyes heavily staring at your family, but you do, simply shrugging before returning your attention to luna.

“daddy!” she screams, throwing her arms around logan’s neck, knocking him back into the ground. she doesn’t even notice the soft thud when the back of his head hits the car. “it’s pink and there’s a koala! oh, my days!”

you snort at her vocabulary, suddenly wishing that you hadn’t taken george up on the free babysitting in the paddocks whenever you’re there. her vocabulary never fails to shock you, seemingly being the perfect mix of a kid growing up in the uk with a dash of american from her dad’s side of the family.

she pulls away from him, picking the helmet up from the ground and hops on over to you. “look at it, mummy! it’s got a koala on it!”

you feign excitement and shock. logan had consulted you with the design about a month or two ago, asking you for opinions and any additional designs to satisfy his little girl. you’d even seen the helmet just this morning before getting out of bed to make breakfast for the family.

she turns back to logan, who simply grins. “you like it?”

“i love it!” she screeches. she places the helmet over the dustbag on the ground, whirling around to throw her arms over logan again. “it’s the best present ever! i really really love it!” she throws her head back. “you’re the best dad in the world! i love you!”

she grabs logan’s face, mushing his cheeks as she presses a sloppy kiss on his cheeks. “thank you, thank you!”

“little luna!” oscar’s voice makes the young girl perk up, turning around at the call of her favourite uncle.

she picks up the helmet and sprints over to the couple not too far away, stopping in their tracks when she practically throws herself into oscar’s arms with the helmet in her hands. “look what daddy got me!”

oscar and lily immediately gawk at the girl’s amazement of her dad’s present, showing them all of the things she’s noticed since she laid eyes on it about 5 minutes ago.

logan finally turns to you, sighing in relief. he rests his head on your shoulder and you chuckle as you wrap your arms around him and pat his back. “you’re too hard on yourself, love,” you hum, swaying slightly as you take a quick glance at luna, now surrounded by alex and george who are also congratulating her on her first helmet. “she sees you, you know.”

he pulls away and leans into your touch when you cup his cheek. perhaps he’s too hard on himself. but when you’re away from your daughter most of the year, you’re bound to start thinking that you’re no better than an absent parent.

“i just always feel so disconnected from you guys.” he clenches his jaw, throwing himself over your smaller frame again to hide his face in your hair. “i wish i was around more. it feels like i’m losing her with each day i’m not around.”

“she talks about you all the time and how cool you are.” you pull away and grin slightly, caressing his cheek with your thumbs. “look at her — entering her first karting race. she goes on and on about being just like daddy. you’re her hero.”

logan raises his eyebrow and clenches his jaw. “again — i wouldn’t say i should be her role model when it comes to racing.”

“you can’t change her mind,” you shrug, forcefully turning logan around to look at luna, now in fits of giggles as oscar helps her to try on the helmet. “you’re always with her even when you’re not.” you rest your cheek on his arm, wrapping an arm around his and intertwining your fingers together.

“i just miss you guys so much all the time.” he throws his head back with a groan, turning back to you. “i miss you all the fucking time.”

“don’t be like that.” you tiptoe and pucker your lips, giggling sheepishly when he bends down to press his lips on yours. “luna loves watching the races and she looks forward to you coming home with trinkets and candy. she never forgets you.”

before he can answer, a hand is hitting his thigh, forcing him to pull away to look down at what’s cut your intimate time short.

the girl looks up with her helmet on, her small hands struggling to pull up the visor. “daddy, mummy, look.”

“oh, luna, you look so cool!” logan gushes, helping the girl lift the visor.

her cheeks are mushed in the helmet, green eyes shining through as she throws her head back with a loud giggle. “as cool as you, daddy?”

“even cooler!” logan bends down, taking the young girl into his arms. he hoists her into the air, and then sits her on his hip before reaching for your hand. “come on, let’s get ready for your first race, lulu.”

@cashtons-wife @nikfigueiredo @darleneslane @happy-nico @namgification

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #ls2 #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke mab

[macfrog]

wish you were here | one shot

thank you lovely anon for this gorgeous request which felt like a huge mug of hot chocolate and a pair of socks fresh from the dryer to write. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time. (not that kind you filthy animals it’s the HOLIDAYS)

warnings: fluff lmao, thirty-year age gap and u can stay mad, set around the holidays but no mention of christmas etc, nothing but love and two hints of sex. that's all. oh and no guitars were harmed in the making of this - joel canonically goes and gets the guitar after the fic ends. dw.

word count: 1.9k 

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤎

Jackson is alive with a thrumming heartbeat. Pulsing through the air, bumping gently against the quick-lying snow and filling the otherwise silent night. A steady, rhythmic heartbeat.  

A heartbeat which sounds a lot like Blue Monday, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

The holiday party is in full swing down in the Tipsy Bison. Seven o’clock ‘til late! on flyers plastered all over the commune for the last month. Tommy had tried relentlessly to convince Joel this morning on patrol – It’ll be a good night; You oughta come along, show face at least. At the same time, Maria was on your back about it in the stables.

Y’all hardly come to anything fun, she’d argued.

We come to stuff.

When’s the last time you came to anythin’?

We were – we were at Mike’s birthday dinner.

What – five months ago?

We like alone time.

Alone time? You’re never apart from one another.

Alone time – together.

Neither attempt had been successful. Tommy and Maria had exchanged a disheartened glance as the two brothers passed their horses to you on their return. Joel clipped your cheek, took his gloves off and fixed them onto your frozen hands before making off for home, a proud grin on his face. You’d held your own as well as he had: you two had a clear evening ahead.

He had lit and nurtured a fire, had made himself a coffee and heaped half a damn bag of tiny marshmallows into a hot chocolate for you, but when he’d come through to take his place on the couch, you were already stood out front.

It’s bitter out – a soft breeze, but a thick chill on its wings. The sky a washed gray, heavy clouds overhead. He slips outside, setting the mugs down on the table, and slings a blanket over your shoulders. Kisses the curve of your neck, scruff of his beard tickling your skin.

‘s freezing, pretty bird.

Then keep me warm, you whisper, turning into his arms. He steps back, settling into his chair, flicking his fingers for you to fall down into his wide lap.

You curl up against his torso, your head hooked beneath his jaw. Wonder how drunk Tommy is by now. What is it – nine?

His wrist lifts, moonlight gleaming in the reflection of his broken watch face. Just gone ten. I bet he’s on his ass already.

You giggle into his shirt, breathing in the scent of the pine trees, the smoke from stoking the fire inside, the bite of hot coffee. The echo of voices swelling in merry song turns your attention down the street – two figures hooked onto one another, stumbling through the powdered snow. Some slurred rendition of September melting into All Night Long before the smaller of the two tugs their partner off into a darkened house.

Joel laughs to himself, the bristle of his beard catching on your hair as he shakes his head.

You ask him softly, Will you play me something?

His breath soars, a cloud hot and pale white, past your temple and up into the pastel sky. Gets swallowed somewhere overhead by the wash of warmth from the porch light. He turns his mug until the owl faces the street, the bottom gnawing against the wooden armrest of his chair.

I’m serious.

What do you wanna hear?

That one you’re always practicin’. The plucking one.

Another rumble between your shoulder blades. His chest jolts with a solid laugh. The pluckin’ one.

You know the one.

I know the one.

Will you play it, if I go get the guitar?

Baby, his lungs nudge on your back as they fill, it’s late. We’ll wake the neighbors.

Everyone’s at the dance. C’mon.

And he can’t argue with that. The entire street lies dark, vacant. Yours is the only house with soft-glowing eyes, the muted orange of the fire flickering behind closed blinds. Two figures, tangled in a chair on the dim front porch; a hunting jacket around his shoulders, and his body around yours.

You tug on the blanket, wrapping it around your elbows as you stand. Just once. Play me it once.

Joel’s looking up at you, setting his mug down on the table. Play you it as many times as you want, pretty bird. Just – quietly.

There’s a spring in your step that drags another chuckle from Joel’s lips: the kind that drips like honey down your throat and warms the pit of your stomach – a sweet, comforting thing, a sound you swear was made purposefully for you. Divine and deliberate.

Like – all of him. Like the shape of your name in his mouth, the curl of his tongue as the sound surfs over it. Like the curve of his hand and the way yours so neatly molds into it.

The way it did the day he found you, crouched in the gray backroom of some butchers deep in the city, and took you all the way back to Jackson. Let you cling to him on the back of his horse; your weak arms around his waist, anchored by the heavy jacket he’d thrown over your back. Your ear between his shoulder blades. And that was that.

Fifty-six. One brown-turned-silver hair away from thirty years your senior. He still remembers before. Talks about movies, talks about computers. Talks about Sarah, when the sun hits the wall at a certain angle and he reckons he could see her standing right there, the soft shadow of her hair dark against the golden wall. When you make a joke and he laughs a ghostly sort of laugh, like he’s hearing the echo of her voice make the same quip three decades ago. He always says she would’ve loved you; you like to think he’s right.

He found you: a lonely little broken heart, and he pulled you to your feet with a rough palm against your own. Hands calloused only from years spent carving wood and pressing the hard strings of his guitar into the fretboard, and nothing else. No violence and no bloodshed; no survival or threat. Music, and patience, and kindness.

And maybe you found him, too, in the same sort of way: roughened up, awkward and messy stitches holding him together. Maybe the two of you nursed one another back to life; each brush of your hands in the dining hall and each meaningful glance while out on patrol sewing those wounds up a little tighter, a little safer.

He sits forward when you hold the instrument out, sweeping a broad palm down the slope of the body. Pinches the pegs one by one, twisting them while his thumb taps on each string.

Come here, he says, beckoning you forward with a flick of his chin. He taps on the seam of his jeans, widens his legs for you to curl up between them at his feet – the way you always do.

Your elbows hook over his thigh, ear pressed against the inside of his knee. Staring up, blinking slowly, eyes glazed with the cold and with the light and with love.

He plucks gently, slow at first. Letting the strings snap with a twang, vibrating enough that you feel the small rattle in your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, head rocking with the light tap of his heel on the porch. When you peer at him through your lashes, he’s watching the skilled movements of his fingers intently; as if he’s as much a spectator as you are – his body doing all of the thinking and working for him.

 So, he sings, and your stomach melts to a puddle, so you think you can tell –

Your eyes close again, the low rumble of his voice crisp in your ears. Like thunder, like the promise of something great and mighty. Something moving, something rolling and changing the landscape of your body, your mind and your soul. The lines between living and dying begin to blur, the seam tearing between this plain and the next.

Did they get you to trade – your lips parting to whisper the words with him – your heroes for ghosts?

His thumbnail dragging down the strings, his strong fingers flitting between chords. Like he was made to sit here, in the dead of night, and carve a space in the world for himself and his voice and for you – lain in the safe scope of his body, protected by his breadth and brawn and lulled by his sweet song.

His breadth and brawn – the parts of him which have kept him standing here. His skeleton, his muscle. But the thing that keeps you warm at night, buried side by side under a threadbare woolen sheet together, the thing that you link your arms around as he leads you home from the nights you dare to visit the Tipsy Bison: are his heart, his flesh, the gray-singed hair which falls in a featherlight wave over his forehead. The hair you sweep from his eyes when he’s on top of you, his hips cradled in yours, that all-encompassing feeling of every part of him filling every part of you.

It all feels that way. The warmth of him, the feeling of being wrapped around him. Hooked around his body, bones intertwined. Absorbing one another, his words breathing life into yours, slowly growing louder and braver with each pluck and strum of music.

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

Your makeups entangling, ribcages locking together, flesh meeting flesh and hair twisting until one day, Tommy will come looking for his brother and find the two of you here on your porch, your arms still draped over Joel’s thigh and his fingers still mid-song. Stuck, alone, together.

What have we found? Joel looks down to you as though asking the question – his eyebrows raised – and you reply, a dumb smile across your lips, The same old fears, and then, together –

Wish you were here.

He plays until his fingers must start to hurt, the way he clenches and loosens his fist. Setting the guitar against your chair, hands hooking under your arms to pull you back up to him.

That one your favorite? he asks, the cold tip of his nose circling yours.

You nod. Only when you sing it.

I like the way we sound together.

You smile, shrinking into his chest again, your fingers surfing back and forth on the worn shirt. I like the way we do a lot of things together.

His hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, massaging your waist. He dots a trail of light, damp kisses along your forehead, dipping to your temple, the angle of your cheek until your jaw lifts and his lips are against yours, his tongue parting to lick purposefully at yours.

I love you, pretty bird, he whispers, the words falling sweet and fair on your tongue.

You take a moment to let them seep into your skin. ‘s the first time you’ve ever said that, you tell him.

Joel smiles. He knows. But you knew it already, he counters.

You know, too. Mhm.

Alright, he groans, slipping his hands under your thighs and hoisting you up to his height, bedtime.

It’s only ten, you complain, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he carries you inside. It’s too early to sleep – Joel.

Didn’t say we were goin’ to sleep, he mumbles, kicking the door shut.

#happy max monday is this becoming a thing? can i claim mondays? boomtown rats move the fuck over #i just wanted to sit between joel miller's legs and look up at him all dumb and in love ok? #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #jackson!joel #joel miller fluff

[christinesficrecs]

I had a request for newer fics, so here you go! Also, some other recent fics were posted here.

They’re all together ooky, the Hale family… (Snap, Snap) by DropsOfAddiction | 12.4K | Explicit

Derek realises that he’s probably squashing Stiles a little bit, right at the same moment that Stiles apparently realises that he’s still holding onto Derek’s face.

They both definitely acknowledge Derek’s nakedness at the same exact time, judging by the alarmed look on Stiles’ face.

“So, you have no clothes on,” Stiles removes his hands and holds them above his head in surrender, cheeks a muddy red.

“In my defence, I was covered in fur less than two minutes ago,” Derek rolls his eyes and he pushes himself up and off him, hands covering his junk for Stiles’ sake.

“You’re still kind of furry now…” Stiles sits up, blinking rapidly, clearly just as weirded out as Derek. “Oh my god, pretend I didn’t say that. I’m not looking or anything.”

Derek smirks, because that… that was a lie and he cocks an eyebrow at him.

as dear as a brother by endversed | 10.3K | Explicit

“You are not allowed to sleep with him,” Scott says.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Stiles scoffs.

Stiles and Scott become best friends at college. Derek is Scott's hot older brother.

Take Me Away From Here by Hedwig221b | 33.5K | Explicit

Derek Hale looked terrifying. With his broad frame and muscles, with his wild black hair and thick beard, with his eyes the color of blood and fangs of a killer. Despite his kindness and his apparent attraction to Stiles, he was still a stranger, a predator, a wolf.

The thing is, Stiles would deal, but others might not. People found Lord Hale horrid, monstrous and unapproachable.

If Stiles stood behind him, no one would touch him.

He’d be safe with the wolf. If not from him, then definitely from everyone else. And that was enough.

Messily Ever After by KaliopeShipsIt | 20.3K

When Stiles and his blue slushie have a literal and quite splashy run-in with an adorable five-year old flower girl and her panicking daddy in the middle of the mall, the last thing he expects is to get a date to a stranger's wedding out of it.

Let alone, a boyfriend and a kid.

His Accidental Touch by Hidden_Orchard | 12.8K | Explicit

It happened accidentally, the first time. All the many and varied times afterwards, Stiles would hold his hands up and admit full responsibility for. But that first time – pure chance.

Derek needs a cuddle. Stiles - generous man that he is - would never deny Derek something he needs.

An Alpha's Misunderstandings by Dexterous_Sinistrous | 48.5K | Mature

And Derek was there, as if it was a simple twist of fate.

There were so many ways Stiles wanted to forgive Derek, but then he came to his senses.

He wouldn’t risk Charlotte’s safety for that hope–never again. ~*~ Stiles and Derek are parted by war and misunderstandings, only to find each other again.

Red, Red, Red by loserchildhotpants | 9.4K | Explicit

“Just… it’s weird, I’ve been - uh. You ever, like, dream of something? Something you’ve never seen before, but then you see it out in the world?”

everywhere, everything (every day) by nerdy-stilinski (Captain_Ameriyeah), S3anchaidh | 14.3K

Derek’s never been the best at making decisions. That’s how he keeps waking up with Stiles in his arms, but never under the right circumstances.

Or: Derek agrees to a pack vacation and instantly regrets it.

Matchmaking in Fandom by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | 13K

It wasn’t like it was a secret that the showrunners made terrible decisions when it came to their own show, so why he’d had actual faith in them not fucking the movie up, he had no idea. Really, it was his own fault.

He hadn’t even set the bar high for the movie! The bar was so incredibly low, like mid-shin height, and they somehow managed to get it subterranean. That was talent. A bad talent, but still a talent.

if i'm not made for you, then why does my heart tell me that i am? by EvanesDust | 13K

When Derek’s kids write out their Christmas lists, they insist he writes one too. Not long after it's deposited in Santa's mailbox, he's reunited with the man of his dreams.

Stiles.

Derek can't help but fall for him again. It's really too bad Stiles is so obviously taken.

...or the one where Derek’s a grump who makes assumptions about his pregnant omega neighbor.

#sterek #sterek fics #ficrecs #fic rec friday

[fandomxpreferences]

Knight in a Flight Suit

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female!reader

TW: swearing, violence, groping

Summary: You like to run your mouth and have no problem stepping up to a man. Why? Because you have your very own security guard.(Based off this post)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: GIF is same energy just not fresh out of the shower. Also, you know that scene of Jax in sons of anarchy where he's smoking and suddenly throws a hook that sends the guy into another dimension? That's exactly what im imagining. 

Over the years you've gained a reputation for being rather..feisty. Especially with men. You didn't get to where you are in your career by taking things lying down, and you've never had a problem going toe to toe with anybody.

Sure it's gotten you in some situations a few times, namely when you square up to a man whose mother didn't teach them not to hit women. But you've never had issues with holding your own. 

Then you met the dagger squad. If it wasn't your husband watching your back, it was Rooster. And if it's not Rooster it's Maverick. If not maverick, then Coyote, and so on. You basically have your own security team, so yea, you're pretty confident in your ability to talk shit to any man who looks at you the wrong way. 

Usually though, Jake is the only line of defense you need. Ever since the two of you started dating three years ago, a man hasn't gotten within five feet of you. It only amplified when you got married. Jake would set fire to the world if it meant keeping you safe, and he'd do it with a smile. Tonight is a perfect example of that. 

You're standing at the bar waiting for yours and Jake's beers when you feel a hand skim across your back about two inches too far south. You don't like someone touching you at all, but when the man's hand lingers on your ass and gives a light squeeze, you whip around to face him.

"Get your grimy fucking hands off of me." You smack his hand away and the man chuckles. "Looks like we've got a live one." He smirks and you see red. 

You size the man up, and he takes it as you checking him out. You don't correct him, usually playing the helpless victim works out in your favor. He's got maybe 40 pounds and half a foot on you but that's never stopped you before. 

He reaches out for your waist and you quickly step back to avoid him. At this point you're fairly certain you know how this will end and you're just playing along to see how far he'll take it. 

The man laughs and quirks his head to the side, clearly taking it as a challenge. "Playing hard to get, huh? That's fine, I like the chase." 

His grin reminds you of the Cheshire Cat and your face contorts in disgust. His smile drops when he sees your reaction and this time it's your turn to smirk. Let the games begin. 

You square your shoulders and straighten up to your full height. You go to take a step forward and the man's eyes darken. "You think you can fight me? I don't give a fuck you're a woman, I'll knock your ass clean out." He laughs. 

You watch him stand up straight and your eyes never leave his face, even as you have to adjust your angle to be looking up at him. Before either of you can say or do anything else, Jake is standing in front of you. 

He has his back to the man, forming a physical barrier and putting a few feet of space between the two of you. "What's going on here, sweet cheeks?" His eyes are glued to yours, never even looking at the man he'd most likely be in the parking lot with in the next five minutes. 

Your posture relaxes in his presence, knowing Jake just made whatever problem you were about to have his own. Your eyebrows shoot up as you gesture to the man behind him.

"Shrimp dick over there decided to grope me. When I didn't let it slide he threatened to knock me out cold." You explain, eyes still on the threat. 

The man points his finger angrily in your direction, ignoring the blonde pilot. "Watch your fucking mouth." 

Jake visibly tenses and you laugh at the man, fully aware of the mistake he just made. It's one thing for you to tell Jake about it, but for someone to have the balls to disrespect and threaten you in front of him? 

You shake your head at the man. "Now you've really got a problem." You mock and Jake slowly turns around. The two men are about the same size, though Jake is clearly more muscular. Not that it matters, Jake would lay a 10-foot giant out on their ass for talking to you like that. 

The only thing scarier than a loud angry Jake is a calm angry Jake. Every word and movement is precise and calculated. He stares the man down for a second before speaking slowly. 

"Apologize." He isn't asking, he's telling. "For what?" The man laughs and Jake feels his blood boil. 

"For touching my wife without her permission and then threatening to hurt her. And for swearing at a lady. Where I'm from those are justified grounds for murder." His voice is low and it sends shivers up your spine. 

"And if I don't?" The man scoffs and Jake takes another step forward, now fully in the stranger's personal space. "Then I'll make you." He cracks his neck and pops his wrists and elbows. That should've been this asshole's sign to walk away.

By now you've noticed a crowd forming and the rest of the dagger squad are making their way over. You see two men heading your way and can immediately tell they're this dick's backup. 

You reach forward and press a hand gently to his shoulder. "Jake." You try to get his attention but he doesn't take his eyes off his target. "I see them. I'm not worried about it." He knows he's got his own backup, and they outnumber the three men twofold.

You shake your head. "No, I know. It's Penny I'm worried about if you start a brawl in her bar." You feel Rooster and Maverick's presence and they push you behind them protectively. Phoenix interlocks her arm with yours and pulls you back further so neither of you are in the line of fire. 

The three men take in their opponents and weigh their options. After a couple minutes, the one that started it looks at you. "You're lucky you have backup, bitch."

Not even a second passes before you hear a loud crack followed by a thud. Your eyes widen at the heap laying on the ground. Jake threw a right hook from hell and the man was out before his body could catch up. You're no doctor, but you'd guess his jaw is broken. 

Jake doesn't even flinch at the impact, instead turning to the two remaining men. He doesn't bother to move back or put his hands up to block any attacks. Your body tingles when you realize it's because he's so confident that he doesn't even feel the need to play defense.

"Anyone else?" He smirks and the men quickly shake their heads and grab their friend to drag him out. Once the three of them are gone, the bar erupts in cheers. 

Jake turns to face you and you jump up in his arms with a squeal. He laughs and you start attacking his face with kisses. You pull back after a few seconds and he smiles brightly at you. 

Your eyes are filled with worry and you cup both of his cheeks. "Are you okay?"

Jake's heart swells at your concern for him and he gives you a sweet kiss. "Just fine, sweet cheeks. I've been boxing in the gym since you like to run your mouth so much." He smirks.

Your mouth drops open and you stare at him in disbelief. "You've been training to protect me?" He laughs at your reaction and slides his hands down to your ass. 

"I'd do anything to protect you. Sooner or later you're going to piss off the wrong person and I need to be sure I can beat the shit out of them." He shrugs. 

"Well aren't you my knight in shining armor?" You tease and Jake shakes his head. "More like knight in a flight suit." He smirks before continuing. 

"Seriously though, you don't need a knight to save you. You're a badass in your own right. But I wouldn't be a good husband if I let you fight your battles alone."

You smile at the sentiment and lean in for another kiss. "I love you. Thank you." He shrugs again and kisses you on your cheek. "I love you too sweets. You don't need to thank me, it's my pleasure." 

Taglist:

@drakelover78

#jake seresin #Jake seresin imagine #jake seresin top gun #Jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman imagine #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #protective jake #protective hangman #Jake seresin protective #hangman protective

[denjjisgf]

untitled 2.03

eren jaeger x reader

SYNOPSIS ✧˚⋆｡ when the end of the semester gets busy, you find yourself swamped with grading papers. if only you could get some time away from your needy boyfriend.

CONTENT WARNINGS✧˚⋆｡ general: 18+ minors dni, (afab) grad student reader nsfw: somno/cnc, m! masturbation, oral (f! receiving), squirting, panty sniffing

W/C✧˚⋆｡ 2.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE✧˚⋆｡i was thinking about this post while writing it (nsfw gif!!)

finals week on campus is nothing more than the school buildings being powered by stress and caffeine as students and professors scramble to meet deadlines. it’s your final stretch. its been a nonstop course schedules and years of thinking, “is this even worth it?”, but this past year, you were accepted into university x’s graduate accelerated course. you were just a stack of 1st years’ papers and a couple eren-free nights away from graduating.

“i don’t know why i have to suffer when it's your fault for assigning the homework to begin with,” he’s tugging at the hem of your shirt as you pour coffee into a mug. you're both off today- free from classes and work- and situated in the breakfast nook of your “shared” apartment. shared is a loose term the two of you choose to describe your living situation. you find stray socks that don’t belong to you under the couch and he buys new hangers to hang up his clothes in your closet.

“i know, but we both know i'd get no work done with you here. i’m absolutely drowning in my students final papers.” eren separates from your hip to pull open the fridge, grabbing the creamer from the door, "so stay away for just this weekend. please?" he twists the lid off and begins to pour some into your mugs, "what am i supposed to do in the meantime?" he pouts.

he sets the carton onto the counter with attitude, the liquid sloshing as it hits the sides aggressively. with bed head and a frustrated knit of his brows, he looks like a spoiled child, you can't help but laugh, "i trust you'll find something to do with yourself. you're resourceful!"

you hear him huff, unsatisfied and extremely discouraged by your firm stance. he drops it and for the rest of the morning, you two sipped from your mugs and soaked in the sun, tucked under bed sheets.

you didn't hear any lip from eren for the rest of the week. you were honestly shocked- not once has he listened to you so easily, with such little resistance. he had to be up to something, you thought. but you let that worming feeling of suspicion recede into your thoughts and brought your tasks to your forefront. you got a full eight hours of sleep every night for the first time in ages.

on saturday night, you ordered yourself some take out, set up a pillow fort on the couch, and readied yourself to grade the stack of research papers sitting on the coffee table. halfway through the folder, your eyes began to feel heavy, the words blurring and floating off the pages. you had been at it for hours, the sun long set. shifting your work off your lap and onto the floor, you let your head hit the cushion and drifted off to sleep.

you had a key made for eren months ago. he never used it, choosing to pick you up and go home with you on most days, so he never needed it. but on the rare chance, he'd let himself in to surprise you with dinner or tidy up after a long day. tonight, when he slipped his key into the keyhole, he caught his heartbeat in his throat, turning the knob so slowly, urging the hinges not to creak as he snuck into your place.

he knew he wasn't supposed to be here. you had specifically asked him to stay home for the weekend and let you be. but it was saturday and it was late. it had been so long since he spent a weekend alone, in bed, alone, and the tickle that pulled his abdomen tight and made his cock jerk at the thought of you guided him here.

slipping his shoes off, he straightened them along the wall and walked softly to the living room. he smiled to himself, his chest warming with adoration at you curled on the couch. you just looked so cute!

his eyes traced your face, locs of hair framing your sleeping face and the slight open of your mouth puffing sweet exhales. he was in love all over again, like seeing you for the first time, he let the butterflies settle in his stomach. you rolled to your stomach and let one leg roll off the side of the couch.

eren swallowed, this time, his gaze latched to the little exposed skin peeking out from under the blanket. in an instant, he dropped to his knees, crawling to the edge of the couch. his hand skated across pages and he panicked, hoping the shuffling sound wouldn't wake you while he reorganized your work stuff and slid it out of the way.

eren felt silly getting so worked up over your bare leg, like a virgin, his mind raced. he was dizzy on your scent filling the familiar apartment, dizzy from your figure outlined under the blanket, dizzy from the painful ache of his cock. he let his palm fall to his lap, languidly jerking it over his sweats to alleviate himself.

he imagined you waking up, overjoyed to see your boyfriend, not angry at all that he let himself in and started jerking off to you sleeping, and smacking kisses over his face and neck.

after a few minutes, teasing hands dipped below the waistband of his sweats. eren toyed with the idea, taking a sigh as he watched you sleep and pulled his fully hard dick out of its confinement. he dragged his finger to collect the precum beading at his tip and continued to fuck into his fist, trying his hardest not to let the wet squelching stir you awake. he was panting, a fist in his mouth to hold in his weak moans. it had been so long since he'd seen you (not even week), he was dying for your touch, to feel you in his grasp, it was driving him crazy.

so he let himself go closer and pulled the blanket up over your side, carefully, and let it fall off the couch. long abandoning his cock, he let his hands roam your lower body. eren was grateful you were on your tummy, you must've felt him coming, he thought giddily.

he let his hands run along your legs, kissing at your ankles and making his way up. situating himself on the floor and between your legs, his hands made work of dragging you closer to the edge until your knees were resting just over his shoulders and your cunt was at eye level.

his cock bobbed against his abs, red and angry, and his chest hot with desire. he fought the urge to touch himself, if he wanted to jerk off, he could’ve just stayed home! he came here for you, he told himself, he wanted a taste of that sweet honeyed slick you were keeping from him.

he let himself go. he let his fingers toy with your shorts, massaging your thighs under the fabric, letting himself re familiarize with the curve of your ass. curious fingers slid to tug at the fabric and in one swoop, he was freeing you of your pajamas. he slipped them off each leg, his nails dragging against your skin to watch the way you shiver in your sleep.

all that stood in the way was your underwear now. eren sat and admired the wet spot growing between your legs, soaking the fabric. his breath was shaky as he was tried to keep his cool, but it was getting harder for him to want to hold back. you were whimpering with every touch now and eren could feel your skin getting hot.

it was risky taking your shorts off completely, he thought, worried you'd wake up any minute. he was getting bolder with his actions, and you were reacting so well to him, he was sure you wouldn't mind if he took it another step farther. so he planted kisses against your skin, pushing up on his feet to get closer to your clothed cunt. his fingers worked to shimmy the band of your panties lower until the material was slipping off and onto his face.

he let himself breath in the scent, his mind fraying as he pressed your panties to his face. his tongue wet the fabric and he groaned when he finally got to taste you. his hands were still on you, pulling your cheeks apart as he stared with fervor at your tight holes inches away from him. eren knew he was getting rough, a little too rough if he intended on keeping you asleep the entire time.

"you know i can't live without this," he stuck two fingers in his mouth to wet them, then brought them to your pussy messily. he lets them roam without intention; he didn't want you feel good yet, he wanted you so worked up, you needed to feel good. he smiled when you moaned softly at the sensation of his tongue, the warm stripe of his saliva hot as he swallows the sticky precum collecting with every pulse of your pussy.

he lapped up everything you gave him. his fingers worked nonstop, molding your ass between them, pushing his face further between your legs. it's not enough, he was growing tired of waiting, tired of being gentle, and tired of hearing you so quietly moan his name, he needed you to scream it. he moaned when his tongue dipped into your tight hole and you clenched down at the intrusion. your slick poured over his tongue and his eyes rolled at the taste.

"to think you thought you could keep this from me," he groaned as he roughly grabbed you, rolling your plump ass cheeks between his hands, kneading at the fat and landing a harsh slap against it. you jerked awake at the impact, legs locking in fear and eyes foggy with sleep. you tried to get away, squirming on the couch, only to be held tight in someone's grasp. your heart raced and goosebumps raised on your skin, anxious of the situation you were in.

"good morning, sweetheart," he cooed with another smack of your ass.

eren. of course it was him. your body was hot and your head was light, every nerve and sensation focused on eren between your legs. his hand clapped against your ass again, this time harder than the other two and you yelped at the pain. his thumb was circling your clit, each time it dragged down, the pad of it pulled its hood back and sent chills down your spine.

with you now awake, eren felt no need to go gentle on you anymore. he smiled into your pussy and pushed two fingers deep, letting them curve down to caress your g spot. you were grinding down into his hand and stringy drips of slick and saliva made a mess on the couch cushion.

his mind was thick in fog, his vision narrowed on the sweet pull of your cunt as his fingers plunged in and out, deeper in and watched them strain to pull out. his cock was begging to be touched, pleading for eren to snap and shove his length inside of you, but he couldn't tear his lips away, his moans buzzing against your clit and making you tremble.

another slap against your ass, another roll of your hips, and eren was cumming, thick ropes spilling out from his cock and spreading messily on his lower abdomen. his face flushed bright red and he was panting against your pussy, still eating you out while he came. fat droplets dripped onto the carpet below him while he let out whines, his balls drained empty.

but he couldn't stop, he had waited for you all week, and after all you were so stressed, he wanted to be of some use. he winced as he grabbed his softening cock in his hand, jerking it a few times to get himself hard once again. you were grinding along his tongue now, he could tell with each needy drag that you were chasing your orgasm.

"well would ya look at that? all you needed was a little relief- dontcha feel better now baby," he said teasingly, smiling like a fool with every kiss against your ass. his hand was furious as he overstimulated you, the flat of three fingers rubbing your cunt raw in mind numbing circles. each slow drag of his palm, the middle finger catching to hook inside of your hole, slipping in so slightly before pulling out with pressure.

your muscles felt tight, the strain in your calves burned, willing you to collapse into his touch, crying, "stop- mmph- i can't take anymore!" your lewd slick was everywhere, coating his hand, your plush thighs, and left your skin cold as the air hit it. you ached, grasping at straws and for your breath, for any moment to think straight, "e-eren, please," you hiccup. he took his time; slowly, he breathed against your skin and selfishly inhaled your scent.

he plunged his fingers inside of you, long enough to make you throb around them but too short to feel any pleasure, he teased you relentlessly. and he grinned a shit eating smile, lost entirely in the loud squelch of your cunt. he spat on your clit and let his fingers work fast on rubbing circles.

your chest flushed and you felt the familiar coil pull tight in your gut, you were so close, it hurt. eren was all too much, his fingers still dragging against your walls. each pull had wetness spilling from your hole and into his greedy mouth. your legs were about to give out, they were shaking around his head and your back bowed when he pushed you deeper into the couch, his hands coming around your waist to hold you in place.

he could tell you were close, you moans were short and quick as you gasped for air. in the corner of his eye, he could see your hands grasping for stability on the cushion as he finger fucked you to heaven.

he pushed a third finger in and you both moaned at the stretch. a strange sensation filled your womb and you felt your body go cold. your entire body seized up in eren's hands, but he continued his assault, slow strokes of his fingers now faster. your hands shot down to shove his hands away as you came, clear liquid shooting out from you as you cried in pleasure. your mind felt blank as your body went rigid, and eren fought with your fingers to let his own back in your cunt. he desperately craved the feeling of your clenching down on him.

he selfishly swallowed your cum, letting his face get drenched in you. his cock was hard now, again, as you tried to regain your breath. you rolled onto your back and shot him a look of disapproval, "what the fuck, eren?!" still between your legs, he squirmed up from the floor and to lay on top of you.

he pouted and nuzzled his head against your chest. "i just missed you, that's all," he said, his bottom lip pushed out and puppy dog eyes at work. you tossed your head to the side, away from his gaze, and sighed, "still i thought i told you not to come over. don't you ever listen?'

despite your scolding words, you couldn't help but deny you missed your boyfriend. however, he complete disregarded what you said all the time and gets away with it every time! you're weak to his efforts of persuasion. so when you turn to meet his gaze, unfaltering and only full of love, you smile and lean in for a kiss.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren smut #eren jaeger #aot smut #aot fanfiction #snk smut #snk x reader #aot x reader #denjjisgf #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger x you #attack on titan #eren yeager

[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,��� he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

[l-e-e-woso]

Movin’ - Alexia Putellas

Italics = Spanish

2x Ballon D’or winner Alexia Putellas is set to move to Chelsea from Barcelona.

Fans are shocked to find out that Alexia Putellas is leaving Barcelona after 10 years.

Chelsea signed Alexia Putellas for a world record transfer fee of £700,000.

Alexia Putellas Instagram Post

“To all the fans, I will always love Barcelona with my whole heart but I need a new challenge. I was at Barca from a young age being there shaped who I am today, I would not be where I am today without the coaches and players of Barca. Especially the fans without you none of this would be possible.

To my Barca family, just know that I will always support you. You have my full support as long as you are not playing against Chelsea. I am only a phone call or text away, I will always be there for you all. You are all my family and I love you.

To Chelsea, I look forward to playing in blue, I’m told it brings out the colour in my eyes. I’m excited to win more trophies and have a new challenge. I cannot wait to meet my new teammates and training staff.

Thank you! Forca Barca! Forca Chelsea!”

Hear what Chelsea manager Emma Hayes has to say…

“I never thought the day where I would be able to sign Alexia Putellas would ever exist. Everyone knows how amazing of a player and person she is, she will fit in perfectly with all of the girls.

The way that she plays and how confident she is on the pitch is what we need in the team right now.

From what I know Alexia had a lot of teams trying to sign her but she chose Chelsea for a reason. To win trophies, to be challenged in a new way and she was really intrigued with the WSL. The WSL usually has about three or four teams that are very close on the table which no other country has. I think the fact that the result could change at any moment makes Alexia ecstatic to play here at Chelsea.”

______________________________

Alexia was very nervous when she got to the entrance of Chelsea’s womens training centre but she saw you leaning against the side of the building making her smile widely as she hadn’t seen you in awhile. She walked over to you wrapping you in a hug and kissed you passionately.

“I missed you.” Alexia says as a tear or two fell down her face as you held her against you. “I missed you too. Don’t cry!! You’ll make me cry and I won’t be able to stop cause of these stupid hormones!” You say as you wipe Alexia’s tears with the pads of your thumbs.

“How is my cariño?” Alexia says as she rubs her hand slowly over your stomach which was rather big since you were now 8 and a half months pregnant, you could literally go into labour at any moment.

The way that Alexia treated you now that you were pregnant made you fall in love with her even more than before, it made you even more excited to see how she was going to be with your daughter. You saw how little kids looked up to Alexia as a footballer and how she treated them like the most precious people in the world.

“Oh y’know apart from constantly pressing on my bladder making me need to go to the toilet every five seconds, she is all good!” You said as you lent into Alexia’s side as the two of you caught up before you would both have to go inside so Alexia could meet the rest of the Chelsea girls.

“I’m glad. I never thought we would finally get to start our family. I am so excited to meet her.” Alexia smiled at the thought of finally meeting the little girl that you were currently growing in your womb.

Alexia knew that her mother, Eli and her sister, Alba could not wait to meet the baby girl either. Eli had been waiting for a grandchild since you and Alexia got married three years ago which you understood in a way because you knew that Eli thought that she may never have a grandchild so when you told her you were pregnant she was ecstatic. Alba was also over the moon when she found out you were pregnant, she looked up to both you and Alexia so much so having a mini version of the two of you combined was amazing to her.

“Ale, you know you are going to have to speak English around the girls? None of them know a word of Spanish. I tried to teach them some but they found it too complicated. I think the only people you may need help understanding is Erin and possibly Sam but other than those two you should be fine. Plus I find it hot when you speak English, I love your accent.” You say to Alexia as you start to pull her into the training building by her hand and wink at her which makes her blush. It wasn’t that she couldn’t speak English she just preferred speaking Spanish because it made her less nervous, she also knew that she was more likely to fumble her words in English.

“Yes I know, mi amor. You have told me many times, almost everyday…Good to know maybe I’ll talk to you in English more often.” Alexia smirks as she sees you turn towards her and you glare at her playfully before continuing down the hallway.

______________________________

Eventually, you arrive at what everyone likes to call the team bonding room and you look at Alexia, she has a never expression as she grips your hand tightly.

“They will love you okay? I’ll be there the entire time. We most likely won’t have much time before you go to training.” You tell Alexia as she takes a deep breath to calm herself down which helps a lot.

“Okay thank you, mi amor. Vamos!” Alexia smiles at you, giving you a quick kiss before you open the door to the team bonding room which is filled with most of the Chelsea players.

Some of the girls looked up from their conversations, giving the both of you a quick smile before returning to their conversations. They didn’t want to overwhelm Alexia because they knew that she was nervous about meeting them due to you talking to them before Alexia had arrived.

The first person to come up and talk to Alexia was Magda. “Welcome to the team! It’s about time we get a Spanish person on this team.” Magda tries to lighten the situation which had clearly made Alexia really nervous, she hadn’t been to a new club in ten years so she had forgotten how it felt until now.

“Thank you. I’m excited to be here, not so excited about the weather though, it’s a big change from the weather in Spain.” Alexia says as she catches a glimpse of the rain through the window and grimaces slightly at the thought of training in that weather.

“I bet.” Millie laughs from where she was sitting talking to Sam and turns to look at Alexia. “Guess it’s time to get to know you, Alexia.” Magda says as she gestures for the both of you to sit down and you quickly do as you sigh in relief.

“Jesus, I swear this baby is gonna be the size of Bigfoot by the time she comes out.” You mutter unaware that Fran who was sitting next to you had heard you and she bursts out laughing. “Did you just call your child Bigfoot?” Fran chuckles as you glare at her before playfully hitting her arm and she goes to playfully hit you back when you grab her hand. “Feel this.” You mutter as you unzip your jacket and place Fran’s hand on your stomach where the baby was kicking like mad, making her eyes go wide in amazement.

Alexia watches you with a loving gaze as she talks with a few of the girls who wanted to know more about her. “How come you choose Chelsea? From what I understand you had a lot of offers.” Sam asks Alexia with curiosity and everyone wants to know the answer.

“The main reason is that we are about to start a family and I wanted to be here for all of it, I didn’t want to miss more than I already have. I also need to get out of Spain to have a new challenge and I’m sure that will happen here. I want to push myself as much as I can to help to win more trophies.” Alexia explains to everyone as they all nod along to her answer while smiling at her. Then Alexia looks over to you like she was asking permission to tell the team something to which you nodded.

“Also…after my contract ends in four years time, I’m going to be retiring. Dios mio, I will never get used to saying that..” Alexia mutters the last sentence while her new teammates looked at each other in shock that Alexia would be retiring and she chose Chelsea to be her last team. “Your going to retire?” Erin said kinda shocked, it isn’t everyday that a world class player announces that she will finish her career in four years. “Si, I have been thinking about retiring for quite a long time but that's not for a while.” Alexia said with a smile on her face as you held her hand to comfort her.

“Time for training!” You shout, scaring a couple of your teammates and everyone starts moving to the training field. Alexia grabbed your hand to help you up from your seat and walk with you slowly to a seat on the sidelines of the training pitch.

______________________________

Alexia was doing really well while training with her new teammates at Chelsea and was having fun, joking around with them and getting to know them.

She was laughing with Magda and Pernille when she heard her name being shouted by you on the sidelines making her face drop because it sounded like you were in pain, which you were since you were now in labour. She looked to Emma who just nodded and motioned her to go with you, she sprinted over to you.

It didn’t take long to get to the hospital, you weren’t sure that she went the speed limit but at that precise moment in time you didn’t care much about that you just wanted to get this baby out of you.

It was surprisingly quite a quick birth, at 7:48pm you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl called Elena Putellas Segura.

—————————————————

Taglist:   @sofakingwoso @xxforeverinadayxx

#woso #woso x reader #barca femeni #woso fanfics #woso community #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

[writingsbychlo]

surprise | cassian

summary; on starfall evening, you plan on revealing some big news, and giving cassian a very special gift.

word count; 4581

notes; this week was so insanely busy for me so I fell behind on these fics, but let's try and catch up at least a little bit, so here's day four!

As you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing a hand over the indistinguishable bump on your midriff, the smile forming on your lips was beyond your control. In the connecting bathroom, humming away to himself as he styled his hair was the love of your life, every inch of thick and terrifying General absolutely adorable to you as he prepared himself for the night ahead, streaks of excitement bursting down the bond to you every now and again.

You hoped the life growing inside of you got his passion for life, and his love of all the little things. One of the parts of Cassian you’d fallen hardest for was his ability to always find some kind of silver lining, to find a way to make even an empty glass seem half-full, to put a positive spin on any bad situation. He made every problem a joint challenge, he made every fear a shared worry, he made everything so much easier.

There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that he would be a wonderful father, just as he had been a wonderful boyfriend for years, a fantastic friend for centuries before that, and a good man for his entire life. If anyone deserved the kind of joy you knew your reveal would bring, it was Cassian. 

For almost two years you’d been talking about having children, trying for a little warrior he could call his own, if the adoration he showered down on his nephew was anything to judge by. For six years, Cassian had loved Nyx like his own child, and almost three years ago, after the candles had been blown out and you’d been half asleep, Cassian had nervously whispered his desire for his own child. Three months ago, that wish had finally come true. 

It was far too special to just blurt out, and so you’d waited. You’d suffered through every minute of just wanting to burst it out to him, to save it, to make it truly special. Luckily, you’d managed to make it to this evening without your scent changing breaking through, or your bump coming in early. 

As Cassian stepped out, eyes scanning over the simple underwear set and somehow managing to make you feel sexy even in that, you tried desperately to fight the sudden burst of excitement. By the time the two of you went to bed tonight, Cassian would know he was going to be a father.

Every nerve seemed to leave your body as he let out an appreciative hum, gaze raking you in the same way you were for him. He’d tied his hair back in a neat bun behind his head, and trimmed and neatened the overgrown hair along his jaw that you loved so much. Dressed in smart dress pants and a black silk button-up that he’d purposefully left undone by a few buttons, chest hair on show, he was a sight to behold. Even more so as you watch him strap on just two of his siphons, one over the back of each hand, expertly clasping them without needing help.

“You’re staring, y’know.” His cocky tone made your gaze snap back up to his face, tongue sticking out childishly, and he only grinned in return. “Shall I pose for Feyre to paint? Then you can stare all day long, and never tire of it. Maybe I’ll post nude.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, but a smile crawled over them all the same, matching his joke-filled attitude. Cassian picked up your dress, admiring it before himself, before making his way over and stopping behind you. His eyes met yours in the mirror, a much more intimate smile on his lips now as his large form swamped yours, and he dipped to press a kiss to each of your shoulders. 

With matching kisses all the way down your spine until he was braced on one knee, he unzipped the dress, before holding it open for you to step into. One foot at a time, you did, and he began to smooth the grown slowly up your body, inch at a time. Both arms in and the material settled over your frame, he ran a single knuckle along the trail his lips had traced along your back, to grip the zip at the bottom. Slowly, it crawled up the tracks, getting tighter and tighter around your stomach until it paused. 

You’d had the dress made months ago, before you’d even fallen pregnant at all, and even though you weren’t obviously showing yet, you were beginning to fill out just slightly. Last week, you’d been able to get this dress on alone, with no struggle. Now, Cass had to give a little extra tug to keep the zip moving. Your lips flickered at the edges, biting your tongue to hide a comment about how fast your baby was growing, and how large they were sure to be, just like their father. 

Cassian, clearly misinterpreting the look on your face, spun you around as soon as the dress was fastened, pulling you in until his lips could brush your hairline lovingly. “All that extra training, doll. Got this pretty ass even thicker for me to hold onto.” 

He made a point of squeezing your ass in both hands until you smiled, head tipping up to steal a kiss from his lips. The look he gave you was wrapped in sin and lust, and you had to fight back the urge to jump on him then and there, knowing that look was exactly how you ended up this way in the first place. 

Instead, you tutted at him, pulling away and chuckling at his groan, only to reach out to hold his arm in support as you tucked your feet into your heels. Soon enough, your feet would be too swollen and you’d be too unbalanced to wear anything but your slippers, so you fully intended to make the most of these shoes while you could.

With hands wrapped tightly together, you cast one last look at your underwear drawer, a surprise for later tucked neatly inside, as he turned off the lights and led the two of you away to the party. 

When you arrived, the rest of your family was already there, but you’d expected as much. Cassian was nothing if not a drama queen when it came to his appearance for these events, even if it was family only. He spent so much time messy, un-groomed, wrapped in dirty leathers and covered in sand and sweat, you didn’t blame him for enjoying a little primping when the time presented itself. 

With the greetings done, Cassian turned to you, lips on the shell of your ear, “What can I get you to drink, baby?”

“Just water, I think,” You hadn't thought this far, knowing you had to wait for the right moment tonight, for it to be perfect, and unable to explain any odd behaviour leading up to it. His rear back with raised brows was enough to show you his shock and concern too, and you only shrugged. “I just think maybe I’ll hydrate a little before we get into the real drinking, save myself the hangover tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” His nose nudged over yours before he stepped back. “I make no promises of doing the same.”

Your laughter carried him a long distance from you, and your hand settled subconsciously over the life inside of you as you took a deep and shaky breath. Before even starting to calm your newly raging nerves, Rhysand was making a direct and pointed bee-line for you across the room, your eyes widening a little at his determination. An easy smile sat on his lips, but something calculating in his gaze, and when you glanced to Feyre behind him, she was doing her best effort to look anywhere but the two of you, bashfully. 

“You look stunning tonight, my dear,” He placed a friendly kiss on your cheek, a motion which you repeated for him, before pulling away. “Forgive me for my forwardness-”

“When have you ever been truly sorry for that, Rhys?” 

He only smirked, shrugging casually as his hands tucked into his pockets, but while his smile said ‘fun’, his eyes said ‘serious’. “You know… me and Fey could smell it as soon as you walked in. Everyone else is going to be able to tell soon, too. You won’t be able to hide this much longer, why doesn’t Cassian know yet?”

Your heart dropped a little, skipping a beat in dismay. Cassian had been hurt before, when Nesta had chosen to marry Eris instead he’d been wounded for years, he didn’t want his brother going through any more heartbreak, and you understood that. You appreciated his loyalty to his brother, and that the same loyalty would be inherited by your child, but you hated the miscommunication he seemed to have created. “I’m not hiding it, Rhys. I was waiting for a special time. I want this to be memorable for him.”

He looked a little bashful, and it was your turn to shrug. 

“Take a look.” Tapping one finger to your temple, only moments later, a tap at your inner shield was replacing it. You let the memories pour out; mornings in bed with Cassian discussing the future, moments after you’d babysat Nyx, or seen children out during the summer in Velaris. Every memory of discussions about children, about the picture of the future, and his utter joy at the prospect of having a child. You even showed him the little gift you’d planned, your way of telling Cass the news. “I know how much this means to him, and I want to make every single moment of it something special for him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Your walls crawled back up as he retreated, a much happier smile on his face. “I love how much you love Cassian, and how much you’ll love your niece or nephew.”

“I’m going to spoil them.”

“I know.” You grinned, watching Cassian begin to make his way back over, your water clutched in hand with just the number of ice cubes you liked. He knew you so well, it made your heart clench. Leaning a little closer to Rhys, you whispered; “I’ll need your help later, with sneaking the gift in.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

“What are we talking about?” Cassian broke into the conversation, handing you your drink with a kiss to your cheek, and you leaned into the arm wrapping around you. You sipped your water for something to do, to occupy yourself so you didn’t have to lie. You hated lying o Cassian, even if it was an inconsequential one that was for the good in the end.

“Your darling girlfriend was just harassing me on when dinner would be ready, she’s starving. Truly, brother, do you not keep your girl well-fed and satisfied?” You choked on your water at the innuendo, and Cassian only scoffed, squeezing your hip at the insult. 

“Trust me, she has no room for complaints.”

“Men.” You scoffed, and Rhys only flashed a cheeky smirk. 

“Is now soon enough for food for you?” He clicked his fingers, varied sounds of awe all around as the table filled with food, and you were glad Cassian was distracted, because the abrupt clash of scents in the room made your stomach churn so violently your head spun temporarily. 

Thankfully, Cassian was once again caught up with Rhys, never looking your way again until he was pulling your seat out at the table he’d guided you over to, tucking you under with a kiss to the top of your head. By that time, you’d managed to quash the obvious look of nausea on your face. 

Across the table from you both Feyre pulled out a chair, and onto it hopped Nyx, his eyes lighting up when he found himself opposite his Uncle Cassian. Almost immediately, the two fell into conversation, the boy telling his favourite uncle all about his week at school, now that he was officially attending the ‘big boy school’ Rhys had been pestered into letting him enrol at. His stories never ended, ranging from playground games to classroom lessons to jokes his new friends had told him, and Cassian ate every bit of it up. 

He’s always been so good with Nyx, from the moment you’d first met him and seen him interact with the heir who was just a toddler then, you’d known he’d make an incredible father someday. You were just happy you were the one who got to go on that adventure with him. He reacted in all the right ways, gasping dramatically and laughing loudly and feigning abhorrent shock at the right times. They were always such a sight to observe together. 

As food was served, Cassian took charge of caring for Nyx automatically, his large hand leaving your thigh to pull Nyx’s plate over to him, never interrupting the child’s endless excited monologuing, and cutting up all his food for him while still managing to focus. You weren’t privy to the conversation, nor any of the conversations around you as you all ate, far too wrapped up in admiring Cassian. It was perfect. Everything about it, leading up to this moment, this night’s big reveal, couldn't have been better.

Only when you felt a prickle along the side of your face did you pull your attention away, the feeling coming from Rhysand’s stare, a smile on his lips, and he wiggled his brows a little towards Cassian and his son, neither of them any the wiser, and you only shrugged. At the squeeze of a hand on your thigh again, you tuned back, your boyfriend’s attention having moved to you as Nyx was now arguing with his mother about eating his carrots. 

“You okay, babydoll? You’ve barely touched your food.”

It was true, one glance at the plate confirmed you’d only taken a few bites, mostly having just pushed it around and considered it. Part of the reason was that you were distracted, the other part was your sudden intolerance and aversion to certain things. It had been nothing short of a labyrinth of poor excuses and lame misdirections these last few weeks to avert his focus on your meals and sicknesses and mood swings. How were you supposed to explain why you suddenly couldn't stand to eat your favourite sandwich fillings without telling him everything? 

By the end of the night, that was just another burden that would be lifted.

“M’fine, Cass, don’t worry. Just… not feeling it tonight.”

“But it’s your favourite.” He mumbled, eyes narrowing only slightly, the way he did when he was assessing someone he wasn’t sure how to read yet, putting all that military tactics and body language reading to the test on you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I swear-”

“Babe.” His tone said enough, one brow raising, and so you sighed. Putting on a smile at his concern you leaned in, his lips puckering to receive the kiss you were offering, but his eyes never closed, telling you he wouldn't be distracted so easily right now. 

“I want to save some room for dessert. I’m really craving sugar tonight, and I kinda’ just want to binge out on a lot of cake and pastry and ice cream.” His lips stayed pouted for just a second, this time not for a kiss but out of confusion, before a soft gasp left him. 

“Are you… coming up a cycle? You always crave sugar on your cycle. Is that why you’re acting odd these last few days?” It was like a lightbulb went off in your own mind, and you wanted to slap a hand on your forehead for not having thought of that yourself. “That makes so much sense. Why didn’t you tell me, we could have stayed in tonight, cuddled and read in bed?”

“My cycle… yeah. I am, and I just want a ton of sugar right now. But I’m fine, really. I’m just going to wait for the cakes to roll out.” He was far more content now, gaze flicking back to your plate. 

“Do, you’re not gonna’ eat this?” You shook your head. “Can I have it?”

He didn’t get a chance, though, because Nyx was down from his chair now and tugging on Cassian’s sleeves with force, clearly desperate for the attention. “Uncle Cassie, Uncle Cassie! Let me show you my new toys now, you said we’d play right after dinner!”

“I know, buddy, but I just need to stay here for a little while.” Subconsciously, even as he turned to the boy, his hand smoothed up and down your thigh slowly, comforting and reassuring. You lifted it in your own instead, kissing the back softly before placing it on his knee. 

“Go play, Cass. I’ll be fine here.”

“What? No, I- no.”

“Go. I’ll be just fine. I’m waiting for my sugar rush.” You patted your stomach lightly, all this talk of cake and baked goods really was getting you hungry now, and you could only thank the Mother that you hadn't lost your love for chocolate. “Go be with Nyx.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

He hesitated only a second longer, before letting his nephew take his hand and lead him away to a patch on the floor where you could no longer see them, only the tips of Cassian’s wings sticking up. 

While Cassian was distracted, you saw your chance to slip away. A quick walk down the halls, past the flickering sconces and stone tiles, until you were back in your bedroom once again. Hidden away in your drawer, underneath all the socks and bras, was the small wrapped gift package you’d prepared days ago. Swiping it up, your thumbs smoothed over it. Soon, the truth would be out there, and everyone would know. 

It would be real. 

And you couldn't be happier about that. Smiling, you lifted it, pressing a kiss to the paper and the promise it held inside, before pushing the drawer closed again, and making your way back to the party, before your absence was noticed.

You were barely gone for five minutes, thinking you could slip out and be back in time before anybody noticed. But, your boyfriend had been suspicious all night, and you could hear his panicked voice from the opposite end of the central corridor. With the gift tucked behind your back as you rounded the entry and back into the main hall, your gaze closed in on Cassian. He was questioning Rhysand for your whereabouts, stopping only when he looked over his brother’s shoulder at you.

“Baby, hey.” He all but elbowed Rhys out of the way, stopping before you and smoothing his hand down your arms, eyes searching your face. “Where’d you go?”

His gaze shifted, to your hands behind your back, and so you leaned up swiftly to kiss him before he could look much further. He was gentle, as always, a sweet kiss as one hand smoothed down to your hip, the other large and warm and calloused as it sat on your jaw. Behind you, you felt Rhysand take the packet from your hands to hide, freeing you to put them on your boyfriend instead. 

As your hands found him, one gripping his shoulder to pull yourself further up and the other slipping into his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly until he gave a soft groan against your lips. “Don’t think you can distract me with kisses and playing with my hair.”

His mumble against your lips was low and gritty, but your laughter was much louder. His eyes twinkled a little as he watched you. Sinking back down to stand properly, your arms were slung around his neck, his hands smoothing up and down your sides slowly. “There’s nothing to distract, Cass. I just went to freshen up before the stars began to fall, that’s all.”

Those tanned chinks gained a hint of pink, his eyes widening just a fraction, and lips parting. “Oh… sorry.”

“Don’t be, I like it when you worry about me.”

His grin was back, wide and sparkling, and he just tugged you closer in response, until your chests were pressed together. You pressed one kiss to his stubbled jaw, the next one to his cheek, the next was just under his eye. Under your lips, you could feel his smile. Next was his temple, his nose, the side of his mouth, until he was huffing in disappointment and impatience. “Kiss me. Now.”

“So demand-” His mouth closed over yours, far more intense than that first kiss. That one had been a reassurance, this one was a demand, and you yielded to the force of his lips against yours, moaning softly into his mouth. “Cass…”

“Mhm?” He didn’t pull away, instead nipping lightly on your lip until you let out a shaky sound that he was quick to smother again. When he dipped you backwards, a giggle sounded from you. 

“Cass, c’mon, everyone’s waiting!” 

“Let ‘em wait.” The kisses moved to your cheek when you were too busy laughing to kiss back. 

“Alright, handsome, let’s go and watch the stars before you decide to throw me over your shoulder like a caveman.” As if to punctuate how close he was hovering to that border, Cassian left a single smack on your ass, a matching nip to your jaw, before pulling away. A few pieces of his hair were starting to fall loose where you’d played with his hair, hanging down around his face in strands that were beginning to curl in the warmth of the room, and you twirled one around your finger. 

“Alright, fine.” He took your hand, raising it to kiss your knuckles. “If you insist.”

“I do.” You tugged him along behind you, until the two of you were standing out on the balcony. Twisting your back to him, you settled into his touch, feeling his arms wrap around your body, wings following to grace your sides and block out the light breeze sweeping over your skin. 

The falling stars started only a few minutes later, bright colours lighting up the sky as the souls began to fly past. Your hand settled on your stomach, rubbing lightly at the growing life hidden within you. 

“Doll…” Cassian’s voice was gentle, almost too fragile, stubbled cheek brushing against your skin as he left loving kisses to the juncture of your neck. “I’m still worried. Are you truly okay? You can tell me if something is wrong, please tell me if something is wrong.”

This was the moment, you knew it. There was no more denying or hiding it, you didn’t want Cassian to start truly panicking, to put a bad tilt on something that should be a happy memory. Twisting in his arms, your hands lifted to his cheeks, something across the spiky hairs there and smiling at the way he leaned fully into your touch. 

Your gaze left his, flickering away just for a second towards Rhys. Cassian followed your gaze, his brows furrowing when his brother untucked the small, neatly wrapped package from his inner jacket pocket. “What’s this?”

“A gift, Cass.” He didn’t seem all that impressed by your joke, however his lips flicked up at the corners, adoration flashing through his eyes, even as his face still read confusion and worry. 

“Obviously. But, you should have told me we were doing gifts. I’ve had my eye on this necklace I thought you’d like for weeks, but-” You cut his rambling off with a sweet kiss, one he was quick to reciprocate, lips melding with your own. He was always so passionate, no matter the kind of kiss it was, or the moment or occasion, Cassian never failed to make you feel like the only woman in the world. As he was distracted, you took one of his hands, pressing the gift into it carefully, before pulling back. 

“We’re not doing gifts. This is different.”

His brows only rose in response.

“There is something. I’m going to be a little sick for a while, mostly in the mornings. I won’t be able to eat certain foods, or drink alcohol for a while. I’ll probably get some really bad mood swings, just like my cycle.” Your boyfriend smirked at that, you both knew how temperamental you could get. 

His hands were shaking, a shallow breath taken in as he glanced at the parcel in his hold. His eyes were starting to shine, ad his throat bobbed as he did, your own growing thick with emotion as the silent message was passed between you both. He was beginning to get it, beginning to understand, tears forming along his lower lash-line as his lips pressed together when the bottom one trembled.

“Open it.” 

“I’m nervous.” A watery laugh left him, rubbing a hand down his face before he leaned forward. A lingering kiss on your forehead, his nose dragging along your temple to leave another on your hairline, before he was glancing down at the parcel. Your heads rested together, and you were acutely aware of the group watching on, silence and anticipation. 

The stars overhead flashed different colours across you both, lighting up the scene in vibrant hues that made for the perfect setting, and you sniffed through your emotions as he tugged on the ribbon. The bow came loose, the ribbon fluttering away to the ground, and the paper fell open in his cupped hands. Revealed before him was the soft material, pale white and delicate and so small.

He lifted it out slowly, shaking it out, and when he finally got a real look at it, a sob left his lips. Loud and unashamed, and he lifted his head to take in the piece in all its glory. Pinched in his hands, so tiny to fit, was a baby’s romper. Plain white and warm, with a matching hat and pair of socks back in the room, the words ‘baby’s first Starfall’ across the front in sparkling silver thread.

Another sob, and your heart squeezed to the point of pain at the elated expression on his face. Tears were slipping down your face to match, his gaze finding your own once again. “We’re having a baby?”

“Yeah, Cass. We’re having a baby.”

“I’m gonna’ be a dad.” He whispered, voice thick, and stealing a series of happy kisses from your lips, wet cheeks sliding together and salt tasting on your mouth, but it was perfect. When he pulled back, it was to spin to his family. With clasped hands and wide eyes and huge grins, Cassian cheered loudly, hands throwing up in the air. “I’m gonna’ be a dad!”

Rhys whooped, Azriel cheered loudly, wings flaring out, and both leapt for Cassian. In big hugs and flaps of wings and excited pats on the back, they celebrated, Nyx scrabbling in his mother’s arms to join the fray. 

Feyre set him free, before making her way over to you, taking you into a tight hug that Mor and Elain and even a reluctant but smiling Nesta joined. You were still crying, as was Cassian, even as he scooped Nyx’s up and tickled his stomach and promised him soon he’d have a little friend to run these halls with.

And as you watched him, watched them all, you knew Cassian would make a wonderful father, and your baby would have the most loving family possible.

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian/reader #cassian/you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar/reader #acotar/you #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian

[beskarandblasters]

As Long As I Have You

Jackson Era!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Author’s note: My entry for the Space Sisters Discord Valentine’s exchange! Hope you like it @joels-shitty-puns ❤️

Summary: It’s yours and Joel’s first Valentine’s Day in Jackson and he wants to do something special. So he enlists the help of Ellie to distract you all day while he prepares his big surprise.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, very light angst, drinking, kissing, super fluffy ending

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Joel Miller is not one for grand displays of affection. He shows his love in simple ways such as holding you tight as you’re lying in bed together or saving the last bit of coffee for you, things like that. So when it comes to things like Christmas, your birthday, or even… Valentine‘s Day he flounders, never knowing what to get you to show you how much he loves you. That’s exactly what’s happening now in what will be your first Valentine’s Day in Jackson together.

After he met you in Kansas City almost a year and a half ago at this point, you quickly weaseled your way into his heart, unbeknownst to him. He’s not one for love. He’s not one for caring about other people. His “relationship” with Tess was a business partnership turned sexual, with no strings attached (at least out loud anyway). But you and Ellie made him realize what he missed most in this cruel world; people to look after and love. And that’s why he wants to show you how much he loves you. 

He spends the days leading up to Valentine’s Day, planning out in his mind what he’ll do. It’s still winter so picking flowers is a no. There’s not exactly a mall down the street where he can buy chocolates or purchase a necklace. Fuck, what do people even do for Valentine’s Day? It’s been years since he properly celebrated. Maybe he can cook you a nice meal? He’ll want it to be a surprise but that’s hard to pull off when you two are basically attached at the hip. He’ll need help if he wants this to actually be a surprise. 

So he turns to Ellie. 

It’s two days before Valentine’s Day. He and Ellie are walking home from the dining hall while you’re at the stables tending to the horses, a rare moment where you’re not around so he can ask Ellie for a favor. 

“I need help,” he says.

“What kind of help?”

“Y’know… Valentine’s Day is coming up and-”

“Gross,” she snorts, turning and looking at Joel, expecting there to be an amused expression on his face. But to her surprise, there’s not. “But continue.”

“I want to do something special.”

“I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“I’m not but… she deserves something nice.”

“For putting up with your ass? Yeah, I’d say so,” she laughs, turning to look at him again. But again no amusement from him. “What do you need me to do?”

“Distract her while I make dinner all day.”

“Got it,” she nods, “Distract her how?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” he chuckles, opening the front door to his house. 

He and Ellie sit at his kitchen table, feeling full from a meal at the dining hall. It’s silent for a moment while Joel ponders what exactly he’s going to make for you. What kind of post-apocalyptic dinner screams romance? Well for one, he could ask Tommy for a bottle of wine from the Tipsy Bison. He could ask Maria if she’s got any spare candles to set the mood. And he can probably go out and hunt something, perhaps a deer or rabbit. Maybe pair whatever he catches with a side of roasted vegetables. It’s all coming together in his head. 

“Well, if you don’t need me anymore, I’m gonna go out with my friends,” Ellie says, getting up from her chair. 

“Sure.”

“What time do you need me on the day of?”

“Around noon so and have her back by dinner time.”

“Jeez.”

“I have to make sure I have everything right, okay?” he sighs. 

“Right right. Master chef Joel Miller is gracing our presence that day. Gotta make sure we’re all ready,” she jokes. 

“Alright. Alright. Get outta here,” Joel says, slumping down further into his chair as Ellie leaves. Tomorrow, he’ll ask Tommy and Maria about the wine and candles. But in the meantime, he needs a drink. For a man who’s fought clickers, crossed the entire country with Ellie, and took out an entire hospital of Fireflies he’s so nervous for something as mundane as a Valentine’s Day dinner. 

-

It’s the big day, Valentine’s Day in Jackson. Ellie asked you the day before if you could help her get her own Valentine’s Day surprise ready. Though, she won’t tell you or Joel who it’s for… 

But that’s beside the point. He’s gotta get going on his plan. The wine and the candles are secured, hiding somewhere in the house where he didn’t think you’d find them. His meal is ready to be prepared and cooked. And after he’s done with the food, he’ll tidy up the house as best as he can. As he starts his day he wonders what exactly Ellie has planned to keep you distracted.

-

“So what is it that you need?” you ask. 

“I, uh, wanna make a Valentine’s Day card.”

“Sure, that sounds like fun! Should we go back to Joel’s or-”

“No!” Ellie says a bit too loudly, “We’ll go to the dining hall.”

“Okay,” you nod, leading her there. 

Maria has a table set up in the dining hall with papers, pens, pencils, paint— practically whatever art supplies were left over from before the outbreak. But she also has some homemade paint made from plant and vegetable dyes. It's a special thing for the holiday that Jackson does every year to make Valentine’s Day feel at least a little bit normal during these trying times. 

You and Ellie sit across from each other, picking out what art supplies you want to use for your cards. You hadn’t thought too much about Valentine’s Day until Ellie brought it up. You just assumed you and Joel would spend the day together but you’re also happy to help Ellie out. It’s cute that she has a Valentine of her own even though she won’t tell you who it is. 

“So who’s the special someone?” you ask, folding a piece of paper for your card.

“A person,” Ellie says nonchalantly. 

“Well, we know that,” you snort. “But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

She nods, resigning back to drawing her card. You try to take a peek at what she’s writing but it looks like she’s drawing a few plants, no name written yet. You keep your card simple on the front, drawing a heart and writing “To my valentine, Joel”. 

But on the inside, you try your best to draw a silhouette of you and Joel sitting on a bench. The drawing is from behind and you’re resting your head on his shoulder. Ellie looks up from her card and steals a glance at yours. 

“He’ll love that,” she says. 

“You think?” you ask, holding it up to show her your progress. 

“I do,” she smiles, looking down at her card. Still no name written on it yet. 

You go to finish the inside, writing “Happy Valentine’s Day, Joel. As long as I have you, I’ll always be happy” followed by your name. 

You notice that Ellie’s taking an exceptionally long time on her card, painting the flowers she drew. She must really be trying to impress someone. Eventually, her card is done and you assume this is where you part ways. But she says, “Alright, let’s go to the stables.”

“S-Sure,” you say, a bit surprised. You rise from your chair and hand your cards to Maria, who’s letting you keep them at the dining hall to dry before heading to the stables. 

For some reason, you expect for this to be where Ellie gives her Valentine her card. But instead, you spend what feels like hours tending to the horses and the other livestock, giving the baby animals extra love. As you pet one of the new lambs, you wonder what Joel’s up to. 

-

Joel’s plan is going to shit. He burned the rabbit and the vegetables. He found a tablecloth in the closet, presumably from the previous owners of this house, but he spilled red wine all over it. And to make matters worse, he caught it on fire slightly with one of the candles that tipped over. But he put it out before it spread any further. 

The only thing that’s going his way is cleaning the house and even then, the kitchen’s still a disaster. You’ll be home in less than an hour and all he has is spilled wine, burnt dinner, a dirty kitchen, and a ruined tablecloth. 

-

“Alright we can go now,” Ellie says right around dinner time. 

“Okay. What now?” you ask. 

“We’ll go get our cards. And then you should probably go home to Joel.”

“What about you?”

“I’m gonna go… deliver my card.”

“Good luck, Ellie. I’m sure whoever it’s for will love it,” you tell her, looking her in the eye and putting a hand on her shoulder. She looks away and mutters a “thanks” before walking with you back to the dining hall. 

It’s packed inside, filled with all the couples of Jackson. You and Ellie grab your cards and prepare to part ways for the evening. But before she goes she blurts out, “Wait! I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” you say, facing her again. 

“There is no valentine.”

“Oh?”

“I lied. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I still had fun spending the day with you,” you reassure her. 

She sighs and says, “Just… When you go home it’ll all make sense,” before turning and walking down the street. 

You shake your head, wondering what sort of shenanigans she has planned for you at home. But you’re just excited to see Joel and give him his card. 

Except when you head inside, it smells… like something died in here. 

“Jeez, Joel. Did a bomb go off in here?” you joke, taking off your shoes in the entryway. 

He doesn’t respond and you don’t see him yet either. You take off your coat and grab the card from the pocket before turning into the kitchen to find Joel, sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. 

“What happened?!” you say, pulling up a chair next to him. 

“I just… I tried doing something nice for you but it all went wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I burned dinner. I spilled the wine. And the tablecloth almost went up in flames,” he says, gesturing to the mess before him. 

“Oh, Joel…” you sigh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into your chest, “It’s the thought that counts.”

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “You just deserve something special.”

You pull back, look him in the eye, and say, “As long as I have you, I’ll always be happy.”

“You mean that?”

“Swear on my heart,” you say, reaching for his hand and squeezing it, “And besides it’s not a total loss… You didn’t spill all the wine,” you add with a chuckle. 

That gets a laugh out of him and he smiles for the first time today, a sight you’ll never get sick of seeing. He reaches forward and hands you a glass of wine before grabbing his own. 

“I have something for you,” you tell him. 

“Oh no, you’re about to make me feel worse,” he sighs. 

“It’s nothing crazy,” you say, holding up the card. 

He takes it in his hands and reads your note, admiring the drawing. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he says after a beat, setting the card down on the table. 

“Well now you’re just talking crazy,” you laugh, holding up your glass of wine to clink with his. 

He laughs too, holding up his glass of wine and tapping it against yours. 

“I love you,” he says, taking a sip. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

And for a moment, you two sit there, leaning against each other and enjoying the stillness. But eventually, you hear his stomach growling so you laugh and say, “Should we go to the dining hall? I was in there earlier and the food smelled pretty good…”

“Might as well,” he sighs, standing from his chair. 

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your temple before whispering another “I love you”. And with that, you two walk hand in hand, ready to enjoy your first Valentine’s Day in Jackson together.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal joel miller #pedrostories #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller one shot #SpaceSistersSecretValentine

[morningberriesao3]

As Sneaky Link comes to an end, it just means that I’ll get to work on some other fun projects that have been in my drafts for (literally) a year and a half.

The next multi chapter I’m working on is set back in the 80s. Only this time, it’s not Steve who spirals about his sexuality.

Eddie is straight—he’s just never met the right girl to feel that spark. But Steve over the last years has had a secret that he’s told no one. Not even Robin.

Until Eddie walks in on him in a very compromising position. With another man.

I started this fic as something we hardly see in the Steddie fandom—and that’s Steve being the certified queer, and Eddie having a full blown crisis as he figures himself out.

As promised, below the cut is the first 2.4K words of chapter 1, and in February it’ll be posted in its entirety on my ao3: morningberries

Enjoy 🥹

It was a chilly day in early September—the wind carrying half-brown leaves through the air in swirling patterns that looked like mini tornados. Eddie stared at them from his trailer’s living room window as Wayne’s truck disappeared beyond the bend in the road.

Another weekend alone as his uncle worked a double shift.

It’s not that Eddie didn’t have friends. There was Gareth and Jeff and Grant—the members from his beloved band Corroded Coffin—but he knew Jeff was on vacation with his parents before college started and Grant was working with his dad in the garage on that ’69 Mustang they picked up from the scrapyard over the summer. Gareth, although in Hawkins, had landed himself a hot new girlfriend and spent every waking moment with her.

Eddie couldn’t really blame him, even though he didn’t really get it.

It had been the same thing his whole life, if he was being honest with himself. Since middle school, he’d watch his friends start dating whatever chick they had a crush on, listen to them start yammering about how gorgeous she was or how cool or how smart. How she made them get butterflies in their stomachs, whatever the fuck that meant.

Yeah, cool.

Eddie had dated girls—some pretty cute ones at that. There was Sam, who he dated his second senior year, and they’d gotten along really well. She was what Eddie thought should probably be his type—dark hair, a lip ring, wore lipstick in blacks and unearthly blues. She was even in Hellfire Club and honestly kicked ass at it. Objectively, on paper, she was everything he wanted.

Except he didn’t feel it. Whatever it was. The fucking butterflies, or whatever.

When they broke up, it hadn’t really been the end of the world. He mourned their friendship more than the sexual aspect of their relationship, because Sam had been awesome to hang out with and smoke with and laugh with.

Gareth hadn’t believed Eddie when he said he was fine—took a solid 4 months before Gare actually accepted that Eddie’s heart wasn’t shattered.

Eddie cared more about… God, like, anything but dating. Like D&D, and his friends, and his guitar, and Metallica’s newest album, and making his fucking bed in the morning, and even his therapist. He knew it didn’t really help him look normal to be a twenty-year-old man who couldn’t care less about pursuing girls, but whatever. He was King Freak, after all.

When he met Chrissy six months ago, he thought for a moment that he might be able to convince himself to have a crush on her. It should be easy; a small, thin, blonde, pretty cheerleader is everyone’s type. Maybe he’d just been chasing after the wrong girls. But what he felt on the drive to his trailer with Chrissy in his front seat, as she timidly told him she thought he was kind and funny, was, again… not the fireworks he expected from all the stories of love at first sight.

And then she’d died, which vastly overshadowed Eddie’s worry that there might be something wrong with him for not developing feelings. He talked about both things in his weekly government mandated therapy sessions. But mostly about her death.

The doctor had told Eddie it wasn’t uncommon to have an aversion to romantic or sexual relationships after experiencing trauma. Eddie didn’t really bother to elaborate that it had started long before said trauma. But whatever.

He digressed.

Gareth had a girlfriend, and they spent their time making out and—apparently now—doing hands and mouth stuff. At least, that’s what Gareth had been bragging about at their last band practice. And, according to him, they were probably going to fuck on this weekend that Eddie was once again alone, so calling Gareth was completely off the table.

He sighed, standing from his uncle’s withered brown couch to walk the ten steps to his bedroom. He plucked his guitar from her hook on the wall, strummed a few chords without bothering to plug her in. If he was really going to talk about trauma responses and aversions, he might as well start with the one he developed for playing his guitar after the epic battle in the Upside Down.

Since the day he nearly bled out on the gravel outside of his trailer (that wasn’t really his trailer, because apparently alternate dimensions are, like, actually a thing), he hadn’t really been able to play anymore. It wasn’t some dramatic thing, like getting wild flashbacks of battling massive fucking hell-bats, or getting feasted on by their fang-filled mouths, or Dustin crying over him, or what if felt like when he literally died for four minutes before he was defibrillated. It was just this soft, but uncomfortable, feeling in his stomach, accompanied by massive brain fog, and a general lack of motivation to learn anything new.

He hung the guitar back where it belonged, in front of his mirror. The reflection that looked back at him looked… well, goddamn bored, for one. And a little anxious. And like he should probably try to reach out to some of his other friends.

There had been some silver linings to the whole everything-he’s-ever-known-about-the-world-has-been-a-lie thing. He did, now, have other friends. Dustin, for one, would hang out with him on days that weren’t D&D related. Although, Eddie was sure that a lot of that was because he had a working vehicle that could tow him around to the arcade, or the diner (where Eddie paid for Dustin’s meals, obviously), or the video store.

Eddie didn’t mind crashing Family Video, because more often than not, it meant he could visit his new age-appropriate friend.

Robin and Eddie had become attached at the hip, honestly. Best friends. Trauma bonded, or something. Or maybe it had more to do with the fact that they were both losers, and somehow both smart and dumb at the same time. They also both talked a lot, and got excited over weird shit, and liked to rag on Dustin. So Eddie really took a liking to Robin.

And here was something that he’d been thinking about for the last few weeks.

Maybe he had a crush on her? It didn’t really sound right, but he did get excited when he got to see her, and his heartrate sometimes sped up when he went to family video and he first laid eyes on her talking to Steve, and maybe there was also a tinge of jealousy that settled in the pit of his stomach when he thought of how close they were. That had to mean something—meant something more than anything else he’d ever felt before.

He knew if Steve and Robin were going to get together, it more than likely would have already happened. But the thought still nagged on him a bit. He wouldn’t like it, and he couldn’t really put his finger on why. Having a crush on Robin was the only feasible explanation, really.

It was either that, or perhaps it was because Eddie was convinced that Steve hated him for some unknown reason.

Eddie tried to become friends with Steve during the aftermath of the Upside Down, and for a while it seemed like it was working. It seemed like Steve actually enjoyed Eddie’s company.

They’d hang out first with Rob, or Dustin. And then just by themselves. Steve even came to smoke up at the trailer once or twice, ended up crashing on Eddie’s couch. Steve used to smile at him, and nudge him in the shoulders like they were sharing some inside joke, or sling his arm around Eddie casually like they’d known each other for ages.

It always made Eddie feel like he was buzzing, like there was some sort of weight in his chest that spasmed and choked him. His therapist had said that it was probably some sort of satiation for his inner child, finally being accepted by someone who was deemed popular. Eddie hadn’t ever thought he cared about shit like that, but the subconscious was a mysterious place, he was coming to learn. Definitely explained the attachment he felt for Steve those first few months out of the hospital; the absolute giddiness he felt when they got to hang out.

But that was at the beginning. The start of July was when Eddie noticed Steve acting different towards him. Avoiding touch, and then eye contact, and then Eddie’s calls, and finally, just Eddie altogether.

The pit Eddie had felt in his stomach from losing Steve’s affection had been awful. He really thought they were becoming close, really thought it was the start of something. A really great friendship.

But Steve peaced out as quickly as he bonded with Eddie, apparently deciding now that they were back in the real world, they couldn’t really mingle anymore.

The bond they formed in the Upside Down was acceptable when they were actively monster hunting, but Eddie supposed now that things had somewhat calmed, reality started to crash into focus. Steve was still a jock; Eddie was still a freak. Therefore, no more sitting across from each other at Benny’s Diner.

That was Eddie’s theory, at least. When he’d ask Robin about it, she’d just shrugged her shoulders and said, “He hasn’t spoken badly about you. Like, at all. Seems like he likes you to me.”

Then, as if to prove his point, Steve would go all red when Eddie would stop by his work and go hide in the back room until the kids picked whatever Sci-Fi movie and piled back in Eddie’s van.

Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Eddie survived sans Steve before the Upside Down, he’d survive without him now.

He picked up the phone and dialed Robin’s number.

“Hello?”

“Rob,” Eddie greeted, a smile already forming on his face from hearing her raspy voice. “What are you up to?”

He could hear a snort from the other end of the line. He knew she was rolling her eyes. “On a Friday afternoon at five PM? Absolutely nothing, of course.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Did it sound like sarcasm?”

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said, tucking the phone against his shoulder as he poured himself a mug of old drip coffee from this morning, “it very much did.”

“You’re getting better at social cues!” she mockingly praised.

“Watch it, Bucky. Don’t get too comfortable hiding behind that phone.”

“You’ll forget before the next time we see each other. I’m not too worried.”

Eddie sighed for what felt like the hundredth time since his uncle left the trailer. “Does that mean you can’t hang?”

The line crackled as Robin moved through her living room. Eddie could imagine her flopping on the couch, getting comfortable, her green phone glued to her ear with a big bowl of popcorn settled in her lap. “Noooott necessarily,” she drawled out. “Although, I know you’re not exactly fond of parties.”

Eddie furrowed his brow as he slid his mug onto the new microwave’s glass plate. He’d gotten it for Wayne’s birthday with some of the hush money the government had… well, hushed him with. Eddie had promised to keep his lips sealed when they flashed him the size of the cheque. Not like he had many people to tell, anyway.

“You’re going to a party?”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding surprised. “Steve’s party? For his twentieth?”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. “Steve’s having a party for his birthday?”

As far as he’d known, Steve said he was doing a quiet thing with his parents and his aunt that he didn’t even want to attend, and that was that. He’d just shrugged when Eddie pressed about celebrating with his friends, muttering something about it feeling weird to celebrate after everything that went down earlier in the year.

Which had been fair enough.

But now it was abundantly clear that Steve had been lying to Eddie. To keep him away.

“Uh, of course he is, Doofus. He told me you said you couldn’t come?”

Eddie, for some wild reason, felt his eyes pricking with tears. Out of anger or betrayal or confusion, he wasn’t really sure. It was dumb; he was tough, and he didn’t cry when jocks hated him ever before. So he swallowed them back down.

“Guess my plans changed,” he said, venom seeping into his tone. Fuck Steve and his master plan to keep Eddie from attending his dumb house party. “I’m coming.”

It seemed that Robin was totally oblivious to his anger as she squealed excitedly from the other end of the line. “Yay! Will you come pick me up then? It would be so much cooler to show up with a friend than have my mom drop me off in front of all the former popular kids of Hawkins High.”

“Why do you care about that shit?” Eddie asked, even though he knew it was hypocritical of him.

“Look, I know you’re totally unaffected by the social hierarchy, Eddie, but I’m unashamed to admit that it’ll feel kind of amazing to debut myself as Steve’s best friend, you know? And I’d rather do it in your shitty van than have my mother yelling that she loves me from the open window of her Honda Civic.”

“Don’t call ol’ Heffer shitty,” Eddie sulked. “It’s not good to bite the hand that feeds you. Or something like that.”

Eddie ignored that it didn’t feel great when Robin said she was Steve’s best friend. That heavy shadow of jealousy weighed down on him. He was unclear whether it was because he was jealous of Steve or Robin.

“Whatever,” Robin said, her voice laced with yet another eyeroll. “Pick me up at seven-thirty?”

Eddie nodded, his face still pulled into a scowl. When he realised Robin couldn’t see him, he shook his muddled brain and mumbled, “Uh—yeah. Seven-thirty. See you then.”

“Cool. See you soon, Doofus,” Robin sang. And then the line went dead.

#steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #eddie x steve #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #steddie fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #sneaky link ao3 #morningberriesao3 #morningberries #steve and eddie #eddie munson x steve harrington

[nosesitter]

Help, I’m stuck!

| Father in law!Joel Miller

3.9k words

a/n: let me real quickly clarify no I don’t wanna fuck my FIL I just wanna fuck Joel Miller, this came to me in a completely different way but I added another idea in and made this! I hope y’all love it cause as I post I’ll be writing an add on cause FIL Joel was something I didn’t know I needed. It’s niche but someone has to write it, also PLS let me know if you want anything specific I love writing blurbs for people 🫶🏻 not even Joel miller I love hot characters, masked men, mean men, thot men, BIG BURLY HAIRY MEN!! Joel will talk more next part I just could only get him in at the end

⚠️: Father in law!Joel Miller, reader has an onlyfans, no Sarah but Joel does have a grown son, age gap not specified for reader but Joel is 55, no outbreak, it’s definitely dub/con, mentions of alcohol and drugs(don’t do any without me), recorded sex, small anal and food play?(it’s just a line you’d probably glaze right over it), f masterbation, unprotected pinv, toys, creampie, use of sweet pet names 🫶🏻and then the word slut is tossed around a couple times, reader can fit in a dryer lmfaooo never thought I’d type that

“The whole ‘stuck inside the dryer’ that could be fun.”

Two years ago you started an only fans. Your husband loved the idea of it. Hyping you up, filming the content, giving you ideas. He loved coming home seeing you dressed up, camera ready to record the homemade videos, it made him insane, causing him to go hard and give it his all only to throw in the towel after your wet cunt milks him of his release 30 minutes after hitting record. It became a full time job for you. Once you started it was hard to stop, pulling one orgasm out of you opened a Pandora’s box of animalistic lust, in the past you’ve been called a nymphomaniac. It was a blessing and a curse to be so horny all the time. After videos with him you would let him rest, kissing him goodnight then heading to the guest room to make solo content. Your trusty pink vibrator and thick realistic dildo helping you reach your climax 5 more times before you call it a night then head to bed to edit and post the content.

Your husbands words ring through your ears as he opens a bottle of wine for you. ‘Stuck in the dryer’ it was simple really, trying to think why you’ve never thought of it before. Tonight you’re having dinner with your father in law, Joel Miller. The grumpiest old man you’ve ever met. In the two years you’ve been married you’ve seen him smile a few times, once when the two of you met, another at your engagement, and then the night of your wedding as you were leaving for your honeymoon, very quickly he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a big hug ‘welcome to the family’ he whispered when he pulled back a drunken smirk was plastered on his face. there was something about the whole interaction that sent a shiver down you spine. After the honeymoon he was over, a lot. Finding things around the new house to fix. Always mumbling to himself;

‘them new contractors don’t know what they’re doin’

Walker entertained his dads need to be helpful and useful and so did you. So to return the favors you’ve banged out dinner and dessert for the man. As you’re setting the table there’s a loud knock at the door. Walker grabs the door and smiles big when he sees his father pulling him into a manly hug, both of them patting each others back three times. “Welcome in dad! Yeah, she’s in the kitchen just finished up.” You can hear Joel’s voice ask for you, maybe it was the sip of wine you just had but hearing his voice made your legs… buckle.

His boots stepping across the hardwood floor, crossing the threshold into the dining room. Standing next to the set table, one hand on your hip the other holding your generously full glass of wine. This has to be the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on Joel’s face.

“Hello there sweetness ,you do all this for me?” Pulling you into a side hug his big warm arm going around your waist. tightly. yours going around his shoulder as you rest your head on him for a brief second. You pull back but his one arm lingers around you a little while longer.

“Well we just wanted to say thank you for working so hard to help fix up the place.” He sets the 6 pack he brought with him on the table grabbing one of the bottles and twisting off the cap and wrapping his lips around taking a big gulp. There’s a sudden dryness in your throat and you swear you can hear yourself gulp when he pulls the bottle away and runs his tongue across his bottom lip to gather the excess.

“Let’s eat, honey I’m hungry!” Walker says and the three of y’all sit down and begin to eat. One thing about Joel is that he’s a vocal eater, meaning he will moan and groan if the food is good. He loves your cooking, says it’s just like his ma’s even brought his brother Tommy over for him to have some too. You’re surprised he’s not here either. So when Joel stabs his fork into the baked chicken you were making earlier it comes as music to your ears when he lets out a throaty growl. Legs crossing even tighter now causing you to reach for your glass of wine.

When everyone finishes with dinner you head back into the kitchen to grab Joel’s favorite, your mixed berry pie. Quick on your heels is your husband. As you’re closing the oven he comes behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pressing kisses into the side of your neck. “Mm I keep imagining you on your knees inside the dryer.” He mumbles into your ear his breathy whisper making you giggle from its ticklish feel. He presses himself into the back of your ass the dress you’re wearing is already thin enough so you can practically feel the outline of him on your skin. Grabbing the pie again you quickly get out the kitchen and back to Joel.

“Everything all good, sweetness?” Joel asks seeing your chest and face red from your husbands advances.

“Oh it’s nothing just talking with Walker about the dryer, we might get a new one.” Walking back out the kitchen Walker points his beer at his father exclaiming.

“No need to fix this one dad, we’re just gon’ replace it.” He tells him and Joel just holds his hands up as you’re cutting him a slice of pie. Your hand raises to stop him from scarfing it down so you can add the whip cream on it. You shake the bottle and you can feel the eyes of both miller men on you as you shake a little too hard causing some to spray out. The spurts of cream landing on your chest and falling onto your hand.

The whole scene comical for your husband but absolutely stunning for Joel. You just laugh while your fingers gather the white cream off your chest and into your mouth. He’s looking up at your while he sits in the chair completely dumbfounded by the scene in front of him. He prays he doesn’t need to get anytime soon because the both of y’all will see his complete hard on for his daughter in law.

“Well dig in Joel, it’s your favorite!”

———

It’s midnight by the time you finish cleaning up. the bottle of red wine sitting empty in the recycling bin and your husband on the couch barely awake. You wake him up and lead him into the bedroom, getting him under the covers and pressing a kiss against his lips before he whispers goodnight and a quick love you. You head into the bathroom and strip yourself of your dress, bra, and panties. Then head into the guest room grabbing your camera and putting it on the tripod set up in the corner. Laying back in the bed you start slow at first. Hand slowly trailing down your chest, ghosting lightly over the swell of your breasts. Squeezing your tits together, thumbs rubbing over your hardening nipples. Your head whips around as you begin to think about your husband and how you love to sit on his face, the feeling of his mustache on your clit. Trying to work yourself up more you think about something else, maybe about how he fucked you on the back patio, him laying on the chaise while your hands hold onto the arms rests. His hips rutting into you while you hover over him.

As your hands reaches your clit like a flash of lightning there’s a brief imagine of Joel. when he was cleaning the gutters, it had been raining for weeks and it was so humid that when he came over within 10 minutes he had stripped himself of his flannel and under shirt. Standing on a ladder one leg bent the other straight as his hands were above his head, the humidity causing beads of sweat to trail down his tan broad arms and causing his gray wife beater to blacken. The whole scene made you rush back inside, heading into the kitchen to try to forget by making him fresh squeezed lemonade.

Your hand pulls away with guilt but theres a gush that comes from you, putting your hand back between your legs your fingers gather the arousal that pours out of you. Sitting up you grab your dildo from the bedside table and begin again. Tapping the head of it against your clit the teasing causing you to moan. One hand holds the dildo while the other spreads yourself back for the camera your fingers opening up into a ‘v’ as you rub the side of the dildo along your exposed cunt. Gathering your wetness so you can slip in the thick fake cock. The dildo has more girth than your husband. His dick was long but it just didn’t give you the stretch you wanted. Pushing the tip in you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you slowly push more in. A couple seconds pass and you can feel the toy bottom out inside you stretching you out perfectly while also lightly bushing against your cervix.

Slowly you begin to move it getting used to the stretch. To edge yourself on, your fingers go to your nipples tweaking and rubbing your arousal over them causing the air to hit the wetness sending a chill through you. Your hand goes for your neck lightly pressing yourself into the bed, then another flash of Joel with his thick hand wrapped around the whole bottle. it was tiny in his big ruggedly hands. There’s a loud moan that escapes your throat and your hand holding the dildo between your legs begins to thrust faster. Now you can’t help but think of him as the sound of your gushing cunt gets louder, it’s fucking pornographic. Another image of him and it’s when your husband surprised you with a hot tub and you found Joel in it when y’all came from your honeymoon. He was red with embarrassment even though he asked his son if he could use it. You remember him getting out, water dripping down his salt and pepper covered chest the heavy drops falling off his body and his swim trunks getting stuck to his big thighs, the outline of his cock was far bigger than your husbands.

A very loud moan comes from your mouth one last time and you’re looking between your legs at the arousal squirting out of you. Your head tosses back into the pillows as your hips go crazy bucking up and into the bed. Pulling the dildo out of you and winching at the emptiness you now feel. Your shame is coating the bed and running down your arm. you swing your legs that feel like noodles over the bed and head into the bathroom to wash off the thoughts of your very hot father in law.

———

There’s a bubbling nervousness in the pit of your stomach as you set up the scene. Camera set up on the tripod, the laundry room cleaned up to look like it’s never been used, and the pillow you set inside the dryer for you to bend over on. You decided to dress up for the part wearing a tight see through tank top, shorts that a too small your ass is hanging out no doubt but the real kicker is that you’re not wearing any underwear so when your bent inside the dryer they ride up causing your whole vagina to be exposed to camera view. Knee high socks and a pair of converse. it’s about 10 minutes to 12 so you decide to loosen up by smoking a little before your husband comes home for lunch.

Heading home baby see you soon!

Walker doesn’t work too far away so you finish up the joint you rolled and head back inside to your place in the dryer. You can hear his truck pull up, the engine dies and the driver door closes, your phones dings a couple more time but you don’t check it. Quickly you press record and get on your knees and head first into the dryer.

The front door opens and you begin.

“Help, I’m stuck!” You shout out before he could get out a hello causing his rushing footsteps to come past the dining room and into the laundry room. You can feel his presence behind you but what you didn’t expect is the catcall whistle that came with it.

“I got stuck in the dryer, please help me!” You plead with him wiggling your ass around, your hungry cunt wrapping itself around the crotch of your tight shorts. His hand comes down and slaps your ass hard you’re thrown off by the force he gives you but he must really like this idea since he suggested it. A deep growl comes from his throat and you can hear him getting on his knees right behind you.

“Just get me out please!” Pretending to plead with him. Walker usually talks but he’s quiet today you think nothing of it. He presses himself against you feeling the cold buckle on his belt on the back of your thighs. The roughness of his jeans as he grinds himself into you. You move forward slightly but his hands grab your hips holding you in place as he continues to grind into you.

One of your hands try to go for his belt behind you but he’s quick to slap it away. He leans back on his knees and pushes you more into the dryer ass hiked up higher. He begins to pull your shorts down to your knees and slowly trails his fingers back up your exposed legs back to your ache between your legs. “If you’re going to eat me out move the camera closer.” Breaking character for a moment you tell him and then you hear shuffling and then the sound of your tripod being picked up and set closer to the dryer.

His left hand spreading your cheeks apart the other has his finger ghosting lightly over your entrance. Suddenly there’s a harsh feeling of Walker spitting right where his finger begs to be. His middle finger pushes inside and begins twirling around inside of you. The sound of wetness and his finger pushing deep into you makes you moan out loud the echo of it escaping the dryer. Still having your cheeks spread he adds another finger this time, his ring finger. The force his hand is giving you gets faster and faster then he starts to make a come here motion with his fingers. The stretch of his two fingers alone have you white knuckling the pillow. Then his lips press a light but wet kiss to the other hole that’s getting no attention. The feeling of his mustache right on you pubic bone makes you giggle a little then his lips lower and you can feel the prickly sides of his cheeks against you. He forgot to shave this morning. You like when Walker lets his little facial hair grow out. His beard is patchy just like his fathers but you love the look. His fingers curve inside of you again and suddenly you’re about to cum.

“Fuck baby, I’m so close!” Panting out. The force from his hand gets faster and harder causing your body to shake as he begins to pound his hand into you. One of your hands goes behind you to grab his wrist. His other hand grabs your arm and holds you tightly there as your body begins to convulse violently. With your hand back behind you, you can feel your orgasm approach, well you can definitely feel it. You start squirting again the feeling of your orgasm shooting at walkers clothes. He’ll have to change before he can leave. Your arm still being held in place while his other hand begins to grab at his belt buckle. The sound of the zipper going down, then his tip slides right between your folds. Back arches from the contact you want more.

“Please fuck me.” You beg, ass wiggling around trying to find his dick so it can just slip right in but he stops you with his big hand giving each of your cheeks a few slaps. Your free hand goes behind you to stop the spanking but he’s quick to grab it and hold it with your other hand. You can feel his bare dick twitch behind you, just dying to be inside of you like a compass pointing right into your cunt. Before he pushes himself inside of you his fingers grab at the wedding ring right on your finger sliding it off and hearing the metal hit the top of the dryer. Confused but you decide to not ruin the moment with a simple question.

His fingers grab at his base to straighten his cock out and almost immediately upon penetration you know this isn’t Walker. Your head turns slightly to look behind you and you can see the recognizable green flannel that belongs to your father in law, lower part of it soaked with your arousal. His big broad hand holding both your arms back, veins poking out of his flushed red neck. His bottom lip sits between his teeth, his eyes catching you staring right at him.

“Poor little housewife, begging for her father in laws cock.” As much as you want to push him away, scream, fight, and cry for your husband your eyes just roll right back as he bottoms out inside of you. He’s the perfect size, the perfect girth, he’s perfect right inside of you and he knows it too. His free hand goes for the tripod taking the camera right off and moving it closer to his dick that’s moving slowly all the way out then slowly all the way back in.

Your mind isn’t thinking about where your husband is or how he might be standing at the door watching the whole scene happen before him instead you’re thinking about every vein you can feel on his cock, how stuffed you feel, how his balls slap right up against you, the mound of black and white pubic hair he has and how ticklish it feels grinding against you. The whole situation is fucked, how can you even go back to your husbands skinny dick? How can you ever look in your father in law in the eye after this? There’s a hard slap at your ass followed by Joel’s hand grabbing the skin at your hips.

“Such a good little slut.”

The coil in your lower stomach feels hot to the touch, your body smushed into the dryer the metal indenting into your skin. Your knees get closer together causing your pussy’s grip on Joel to get tighter around him. His hand lets go of both of yours as his thrusts get sloppier, he’s going to cum inside of you.

“Uh uh baby, you’re gon’ take this and you’re gon’ love it.” Both your hands try to push yourself out the dryer but joel just raises one of his legs to kneel beside you blocking your body from moving anymore from him. As much as you don’t want this your hand can’t help but wonder to your clit. Joel’s notices this and puts his hand over yours, your two small fingers and his two big ones rubbing all over your clit. The pressure is so much that you squirt again, your climax is grotesquely satisfying, tears begin to flow out your eyes as Joel moans very loudly, he sounds like he hasn’t had an orgasm in years and you just let the beast out the cage.

Following your release Joel gives you one last thrust practically shoving his cock inside your cervix, spraying hot cum all inside of you it feels like you’re full, so full of Joel’s cum. Body shaking around him milking him of everything he can give you. His thrusts get slower but you’re pressing back into him hard just chasing the high of being stretched full. His hand that’s still on yours slaps your clit and you’re coming again in an instant. He laughs at your desperate body as he looks down at his cock to see the white ring on cream sitting around base of him. Slowly he pulls out, his body goes limp and he lays against the washer right beside you.

Finally out the dryer you catch your breath and look at the red light blinking on your camera. You stop it the video and it saves it. A big part of you wants to delete this and curse at Joel for taking advantage of you like that, a small sluttier piece of you wants to watch it again while you suck joel clean. You just set the camera to the side, not deleting it yet. You and Joel just look each other in the eye while he begins to put his dirty dick back in his pants. he zips up and then gets up groaning like the old man he is in the process.

“You better get cleaned up, don’t want my boy to see his slut wife with his dads cum in her.” You sit on the floor at his feet just watching him grab his bag of tools and leave. Your phone dings and you wonder if it’s Walker telling you to move out cause he saw the whole scene.

Got fucking pulled over I was too excited to head home and fuck you! :(((

Just gonna head back to work :( hungry and horny see you tonight baby

While you look at those texts, one pops up sent 30 minutes ago from Joel

Hey darling I’m gonna head over and check out that dryer for ya, see you soon!

———🏠💍👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻

Like, comment, reblog, validate me 🫶🏻

0802

#joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #dark joel miller #father in law!joel miller #nosesitter

[b4tracha]

Dressing Rooms (S.CB x M! Reader)

Dom! Seo Changbin x Sub!Male! Reader

 (Reader will have a penis in this. I hope everyone enjoys and I am sorry for not posting as often. Exams will be over the first full week of December so I will be posting more afterward <3)

You have been an employee of JYP Entertainment for the past year, and it was almost unbelievable how kind everyone is. When you first got into the industry, people would warn you about how the people in different companies would treat staff. However, none of your higher-ups or idols made you feel that way.

Your first group was Itzy, but they decided to switch you to Stray Kids for 5-star and Rock-Star. The members treated you almost like another member in the short time you have known each other. You were also a young man, a mere 00 liner, and trying to work in hard environments. 

Since you met the group, they would invite you out and you got especially close to a certain member. Changbin, for once, was taller than someone and he would tease you while making sure you were fine with it. He would cuddle and flirt with you no matter how bashful you got. Honestly, he got worse when you more embarrassed.

Somewhere in September, you both started to hook up. While drunk, he confessed that he realize he liked men a while ago, but was never had the chance to hook up with one. You suggested, just as drunk, that maybe you didn’t mind hooking up with him. It didn’t happen then but once you both were sober, you guys finally became friends with benefits.

You couldn’t hook up as often, but when it did happen..

He always blew your mind.

“Y/N~” A voice whined behind you. It would be Changbin who messed up his outfit about twenty minutes before they went on. 

 You were trying to make sure their outfits were put on correctly and wouldn’t fall apart on stage. That happened too often because of how energetic they are and you didn’t want it to happen again. You have already fixed Lee Know’s shirt at least twice. 

“Yes, hyung?” You turned from your small inspections, nearly running into Changbin. You both were nearly chest to chest with how close you were. “Oh, Binnie-hyung- Sorry, I didn’t know you were right behind me..” 

You pulled back and Changbin simply kept smiling at you, shrugging before going back to whining, “There’s something wrong with my pants~” You sighed and went to look before he grabbed your hand and whispered in your ear. “Needs to be in a private room. The noonas shouldn’t see this.” 

Of course.

You grabbed your supplies just in case there was a tear or something to patch up and guided the older man to an empty dressing room. He locked the door behind him just incase and you bent over and sat everything down and set everything in their right place.

Suddenly you felt a hand rubbing your ass. You were used to this from Lee Know, so you rolled your eyes and went about your work before you felt his hands grab your waist and brush something hard right on your ass. You froze, trying to figure out what was going on and slowly turned your head.

“Here..?” You whispered. He has always had a thing for trying to hook up in public places. There were time where you both would go out to eat and would suck him off in the bathroom, but it was never at work. Though, you were wearing a plug for later. Changbin suggested to go out after their pre-recording and you didn’t have time to go home, you fingered yourself open just incase he wanted to do something.

“Yeah.. I have too much adrenaline, prince.” You shivered. You loved when he called you that. His cock was only chubbing up more as he grinded against your clothed butt. “I need a release.”

He bent down across your back and whispered once again in your ear, “I can feel the plug inside of you anyways. How about you give Sir what you want?”

You whimpered, hands shaking at the thought. Your head was already spin and you were just being dry humped. “Okay..”

He chuckled and smacked your ass before pulling away. You both knew you didn’t have enough time to do anything special, so you simply unbuttoned your pants and pulled down your pants and boxers. Your small cock was starting to get hard as well as you spit and started to jerk yourself off slowly. 

“Good boy.” He hummed before smacking your ass. It wasn’t hard or that loud but the action made you moan. Changbin grabbed your ass aggressively before speading your cheeks apart and looking at the delight that he’s been thinking about almost all day. “Plug looks delicious in your hole, prince. You should wear them more often for me.”

“Yes sir.” The words slipped from your lips easily. It was always easy to submit to Changbin. The male teased your hole, pulling out the plug mid-way before pushing it back inside. You bit your lip aggressively trying not to be too loud. As much as it felt good, you didn’t want to lose your job. Your legs started to shake below you, but he just wrapped his strong arms around you and held you up to take the torture.

“You’re sucking it in like a little slut. You love having something in your hole all the time, hm?” He groaned at the sight. He licked his lips and finally pulled it out. Your ass clenched over nothing, wet and slick for something bigger to fill it. He guided you to a dresser and bent you over. You glanced up at the mirror infront of you, watching the tears in your eyes and hunger in Changbin’s right behind you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes Sir.. I’m ready for you to fuck me..” You whimpered and shook your hips in hopes he would hurry up and get inside of you already. He removed the hair from his eyes and pulled something from his pocket. He showed you in the mirror as if you should know what it was.

You turned and noticed it was lube. Fuck, you were so needy that you forgot you needed that. Even if you used extra earlier, you still needed more right now. He unzipped his pants and pulled them and his boxers down just at his thigh so he wouldn’t get anything on his pants. His cock was standing at attention, rock hard, red, angry and leaking. Changbin opened the bottle of lube and squirted the substance on his fingers before caressing it on his cock. 

You took your hands spread yourself apart to help the male behind you and whined at him through the mirror. “Please sir, I need your cock. Breed me?”

Changbin groaned at the words, eyes rolling back. He blinked back before adjust your position and pushing inside slowly. The stretch was slight painful, but it felt so good in a masochistic type of way. The older man sunk inside until his balls touched your thighs, all the way inside. “Fuck you’re tight, prince. Tell me when you’re ready.”

Your eyes were clouded with tears, shaking at the feeling of him splitting you open so good. You didn’t need time to adjust, you needed him to fuck you stupid. “Fuck me. Please, sir..” Your voice shook heavily as the spit in your mouth poured from your mouth down your chin.

 The man chuckled and grabbed your hips tightly to the point where you’re probably going to see bruises later and slowly pulled out almost all the way before slamming back inside.

You both moaned out in sync before he started up his rhythm. It was hard and rough, causing your body to jerk each time he pushed back inside. You could only whimper and whine with your teeth biting down into your lip in fear you would scream from the constant thrusts. From the start he was hitting your prostate one thrust after another. It usually took your other hookups a short bit to find yours, but from the first time Changbin found it almost immediately. 

“Shit.. you’re clenching all around me. You must want me to cum deep inside you, hm?” His words were like waves, moving in and out of your ears. You could barely understand what he was saying to you. Once you process the words, you immediately whined loudly and nodded quickly. You needed his cum so bad. You wanted it in your stomach so bad..

“Sir.. please..” You whispered hoarsely, hoping Changbin could understand what you were saying to him. Your stomach was starting to tighten hard to the point it almost hurt. You started to reach your peak already. It wasn’t a surprise, he usually pushed you past overstimulation until he would finally cum. It wasn’t uncommon where he would pull two or three orgasms from you before he came himself. “I’m so close.. I need to cum..”

“Already? Of course, that’s so pathetic.” He spit at you, knowing you loved the slight degradation whilst sneaking his hand under you to start jerking you off to help. “Luckily for you, I am close too. I’m going to cum too. Going to breed you, Y/N..”

“Please..” You begged, legs shaking and drooling down your chin and chest until it hit the dresser. He went quiet behind you, trying to focus on his thrusts and hurrying up. You both already took too long and you’d need time to clean up after this. You more than him, however. 

 He flicked his thumb over your sensitive tip during a certain hard thrust and you jerked under him, feeling that feeling in your stomach suddenly snap. A long, soft moan poured from your lips as you finally came. Your cum filled his hand as your ass clenched around his cock aggressively. The feeling of you squeezing him gave him just the right amount of pleasure to finally flood inside you. 

His hips snapped inside of you, cock letting stream after stream leak inside. Deep breaths filled the air from you both. It was hard to catch your breath when everything was still so hot. He grunted at the feeling of his softenign dick still being clenched around. He slowly pulled out and grabbed a cloth and soap that was near one of the sinks and wiped himself down as best as he could. He could hope he was decent enough to be let on stage.

Once he was situated with his pants up and stainless, he wiped you down as well. The plug slipped back inside of you once you were cleaned up enough. He whispered soft praises and kissed behind your ear or your back. Your eyes were unfocused with unshed tears still there. Your legs shook softly as you left your entire body weight on the dresser, letting him do what he needed. He always did well aftercare for you. 

Changbin fixed your clothes for you and laid you on the couch. Once your body hit the couch, the feeling of exhaustion rushed in. Your eyes had mini weights as you grabbed a throw pillow to use for your head. You needed a nap, he fucked you so good. 

“Hey prince, can you hear me?” You softly looked up at him and nodded with a little smile. “Good. I’m going to leave you here and say you got sick and need to stay away from everyone.”

“Okay..” You whispered and closed your eyes. You were already half asleep. The male above you smiled softly before moving away.. “I love you, hyung..”

His heart skipped a beat at the sleepy confession. “I love you too, prince.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids x male reader #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmim #yang jeongin #dom!skz #sub reader #stray kids x reader #straykids #stray kids smut #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader

[billthedrake]

This is a story I wrote years ago and always thought I’d develop into something much longer. I never did, so just decided to post it as is, in two parts.

THE AD AND SON (PART ONE)

Brian Casey stirred awake. It was a week before daylight savings time and the daylight peeked in through the crack in the bedroom drapes before 6:30 now. A year earlier, Brian would never wake up that early, and if it hadn't been for Calc I his freshman year, he'd have had no reason to get up before 9.

But now it was his routine. Though he didn't like that word. Routine implied something drab and dull, but this was anything but.

The sophomore stretched out in the covers. He could still feel the warm on the other side of the queen bed, and smell the scent of his father on the sheets and pillow. This morning Brian rolled over and took in a hit of that scent. If he wasn't already erect, that trace of his dad, half cologne, half just the scent of a full-blooded man, would make him hard as fuck. But at 19, a month shy of 20, he never failed to have morning wood. He could fuck all night or have a multiple stroke-off session and still wake up hard as iron.

Like this morning. He took one look at the clock. 6:45. "Damn," he said aloud, to no one, in his morning voice. A voice which was deeper now that he was in college. A man's voice.

He pushed the covers off, exposing his toned body and teen boner to the cool air. A year and a half of college had done wonders for Brian's body. Crew in the fall and spring, weight training in the off season. His father, an ex-jock himself, had given him good genes and Brian had run with them.

He padded down the hall and found his father where he expected him, in the kitchen/open living area of the modest 2-bedroom house, drinking his coffee and reading the paper. He was dressed in his customary conservative suit and tie. The man looked up when he noticed Brian's presence.

"Morning, son," Dan Casey greeted with a grin. He set down the coffee mug and folded the paper, laying it on the counter. He took a second to admire his flesh and blood. An inch taller than Dan and beautifully proportioned, but still definitely with that collegiate youth that made Dan wonder what he saw in his old man. "Fuck," he whispered in appreciation.

"You got time to give me head?" Brian asked, in a deep soft voice. This part had taken a while to come, the confidence to speak freely about it, and to order his dad around sexually. Now it was his favorite part. Well, almost.

"Oh yeah," Dan replied and unbuttoned his dress shirt, unloosening his tie a little. Then he crouched down right there in the kitchen and ran his hands up his son's legs, leaning forward to lick, then swallow the erect cock.

"Oh Dad," Brian hissed, pushing his hips forward slightly to guide his dick into the father's welcoming mouth. His dad was good at this, so good, and scarcely a day went by when Dan didn't service the young stud. Brian bit his lip and held off his initial impulse to cum quickly. There were times when Dan took advantage of his son's eagerness and excitement to milk the cum out in a few sucks, but if Brian could get over that initial sensation then his hair trigger abated and he could enjoy the amazing incestuous blow job.

Thinking back, he wondered why he'd been resistant. Not of his father or the taboo of their sexual connection. That came impulsively, almost naturally, a few years back. But both Casey men had tried to compartmentalize it. It helped that the divorced father lived in a different state, with a new assistant athletic director job at a Division I university. Sex was something for special occasions, when Brian came to visit on a long weekend, or over the summer.

Now, Brian was at the same university - the free tuition made it a no-brainer - and for their first year they'd set down ground rules. Sex only once a month, and while Dan expected Brian would be around to meet up for dinners and some father-son time, he also expected his freshman son to live his own life and to enjoy college. Meet new friends. Date.

That plan lasted until February, when father and son found themselves having sex much more frequently. And finally, Dan got the nerve up to ask if Brian wanted to live with him the next year. "I have a spare bedroom sitting empty," he added, but his son was cutting off his words, meeting him in a kiss. Their first. And it led to a heated session in Dan's bed where Brian lost his cherry.

Turns out the guest bedroom would remain unused.

Brian looked down now. His dad, who at 46, was hot as fuck. Built from his lacrosse days and carrying the demeanor of a lax coach, he was also more distinguished now in his new job.

"God you like my dick, Dad, don't ya?" the stud asked, and Dan moaned his agreement around the thick Casey cock filling his mouth and throat. Dan sometimes thought his boy was better hung than he was, but it was a close call.

"I can tell. You suck me off every morning. And I never get sick of it either. It's what I look forward to when I wake up. My father going down on me, making me feel like a man."

Dan spit out Brian's prick and grunted. "You are a man, son. I love sucking your babies down." With that he swallowed his offspring's meat and started working it with his mouth at a furious pace that triggered Brian's nut.

"Aw Dad, aw FUCK!!" he growled as he held on to the suit-covered shoulders and spurted his semen into Dan's hungry mouth. "Take my fucking cum, sir. Oh Fuck!" He came down from the intense orgasm as his father licked the dribbles softly before backing away.

Dan stood up and met his son in a soft kiss, sharing the taste of the Casey semen. "Fuck, that's hot," he finally said with a grin, gripping the erection in his suit to rearrange it into a more comfortable position. It was by now established that Dan liked to wait until the evening to get his release, whereas Brian had the stamina to get off three, four times a day.

"I'll say," Brian said, stepping back to take in just how handsome his dad was. "Gets hotter each time."

"I think you cum more, too," Dan said. Like Brian he now basked in the ability to talk so openly with his son, even after the heat of sex.

He picked up his phone and took a look at the time. "I gotta be off in a few." He took a sip from his coffee. It had gone cool, but the morning sex with his boy was worth it. "Listen... what do you have going on next week?"

Next week was spring break. The previous year, Brian had gone to the Caribbean with some buddies, but he had nothing planned this year. "Just laying low I guess."

"I hope you didn't decide to forgo a trip on my account..." Dan started, but his son interrupted.

"Dad, come on," Brian said with exasperation. "I just didn't feel like going anywhere this year. Jeez."

Dan gave Bri a serious "Dad" look to communicate that he understood. "Well, we can stay here if you like, but I was thinking... it might be cool to go up to the mountain for the week. I could use a little vacation, and this week is generally quiet at work." This was a big difference between the two men. Dan loved the mountains, even in the cold weather, whereas his son was more a warm beach kind of guy. One of the first things he did when starting the job was buy that second home an hour and a half from the college town where he lived.

"Sounds awesome, Dad," Brian replied. "Any chance we're gonna fuck like bunnies up there?" He asked with a smirk.

Dan laughed, picking up his phone and putting in his suit pocket. He really had to get to work. "I have a feeling we'd be fucking like bunnies even if we stayed here. But I like the idea of us Casey men getting plenty of alone time and letting loose a little." Dan's guilt had now receded, but this was the one thing left that bugged him about the relationship with Brian. That he couldn't be open and that the two had to be extra guarded all the time.

"In that case, it's a date. You and me in the fucking cold all next week," Brian wisecracked with a smile. He stepped forward and met his father in a soft kiss. "All right, you're going to be late, Dad. Have a good day."

"You too, Brian. Love you, kiddo."

"Love you, too, sir."

****

Brian and Dan unloaded the car. Dan had taken the Friday off and they'd left town early. A day earlier a snowstorm had dumped a good amount across the state and Dan offered to forgo the plan, but Brian was having none of it.

"Come on, Dad," he said, massaging his father's knotted traps through the man's T-shirt. "You like the snow... it'll be fun."

"I guess I have the 4 wheel drive and winter tires for a reason," the man smiled. He'd owe Brian a proper beach trip this summer.

It had turned out to be a sunny day when they went up, warmer than the previous, though at elevation the air still felt brisk and damp.

Dan's mountain place was something between a house and a cabin. A smaller A-frame structure next to a lake, it had a simple exterior but with all the amenities inside, including a big screen TV and extra fridge. Brian stocked it with the two cases of beer they'd brought. He was happy his father had picked up some craft beer instead of the domestic lager he typically went for. "Expecting a party, Dad?" he teased.

Dan was unpacking several grocery bags worth of food. Steak, chicken, bacon, milk, eggs, sides... and enough ingredients to cook for the week. "Just don't feel like running out. The next town's a half hour away, and the roads might get snowy." The forecase was calling for rain back home this week, but that meant snow up here.

When Dan was done, he took their duffel bags to the bedroom, reflecting on how it seemed such a major step the first night Brian had slept in his bed. His heart beat excitedly and yeah, his dick hung heavier in his jeans. "Easy Danny boy," he thought to himself, "you're getting ahead of yourself."

He was in a lusty state of mind when he rejoined Brian in the living room and the sight of his son didn't help. The boy had taken off his puffy coat and stood at the plate glass window wearing his long-sleeve crew-logo shirt and a pair of faded jeans. All of Brian was beautiful but the backside was the best, Dan decided. The broad shoulders, the sculpted powerful back muscle, and the round ass. He stepped up and placed his hands affectionately on his son's shoulders.

"I bet you'd prefer it up here in the summer," Dan said about the lake they could see straight ahead.

"It's beautiful now," Brian replied, looking back at his father. Seeing his dad's odd expression, he said, "What?"

"Where's the sullen teenager that's my son?" Dan smirked. It was true. A couple of years earlier, Brian would have been grumpy the whole trip.

Now the college jock laughed. "All grown up, Dad." With that he turned his head and met Dan in a kiss. Not soft, but not hard. Dan knew his boy definitely had sex on his mind, too.

Their tongues battled and swatted against one another as they embraced. Already, Brian's fingers were tracing beneath the hem of his father's shirt, feeling the warm flesh and hard muscle beneath. "No one around but us this week, Dad," he grunted softly and started kissing along the length of his father's strong neck, up to the man's ear.

The young jock was right. With no ski resort near, this was more of a summer vacation area.

"God yeah," Dan moaned. He hadn't been sure Brian would go for this, but the fact that his son was on the same wavelength as him excited the hell out of him.

"No one to bother us," the teen continued. "We get to fuck... and make out... and hang out... and do it all again."

"Oh Bri," Dan gasped, starting to hump his son's crotch while his hands went to cup the stud's perfect ass.

Brian smirked at the positive reaction of his words. He'd normally feel like a doofus spouting such sex talk, but the way his dad responded egged him on. "I wanna fucking feel and kiss and lick every inch of my father's body. Get to know you, sir. And you know me. Like it was our first time."

"I want that, too," Dan growled. "Want to learn where my son's magic spots are." He pulled back and stripped off his shirt, almost giggling as his son matched the action, baring a chest that was starting to get a dusting of light brown hair, a shade darker than Dan's own, which was somewhere between dirty blond and light brown.

Brian reached down and started undoing his jeans and now father was the one copying son. "I think you know my magic spot, Dad," Brian said with a straight face. "About five inches up my ass. You get your cock up there and I go wild."

Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was definitely hard and excited. Their jeans and briefs came down and their bare cocks pressed against one another, communicating their mutual need and lust.

"You gonna fuck me Dad?" Brian huffed. It had been a week since his father had screwed him. That used to be plenty for the collegiate stud, but lately he'd been craving it more.

"Let's go to the bedroom," Dan hissed.

Brian's grip stopped him. "No. Dad, let's fuck in here. I want to do it in every room of this cabin. On every piece of furniture."

God, his son was definitely taking the initiative in keep their sex life fresh, Dan thought. He smiled and nodded, very into what Brian was suggesting. He went to fetch some lube and when he came back Brian was naked and bending over to lean on the coffee table. "Fuck me with the curtains wide open, Dad. No one can see us."

"Oh fuck," Dan whispered as he lubed up and got into position, taking in the sight of those smooth creamy white buns with just a dusting of fur deep in the crack. "Ungh!" he grunted as he pushed in. Brian was tight but relaxed enough to take him. His son rarely opened up like this but he was now. Dan paused a second deep inside then started fucking.

Any concern he had about the pace or whether his son could take the deep strokes went away as Brian urged him on verbally and bucked his jock ass back against his father's thrusting hips. "Fuck yeah, Dad. You're hitting my spot all right. So fucking good..."

"Yeah?" Dan thought maybe Brian was building up his ego. Maybe that's what it was but it was working. Dan fucked harder.

"Hell yeah. I had a couple of guys fuck me but they couldn't make it feel like you do. My own dad's dick... fuck!"

Dan had guessed his son might have other experiences, but they somehow had never talked about it. Part of him was jealous but part of him was turned on, too. That he measured up as a top.

He leaned forward and wrapped his strong arms around his son's muscular lithe body, humping wildly in tandem with his son's bucking. It felt even better this way... the angle and the extra body contact. "We're like animals going at it," Dan said aloud.

It felt great for Brian, too, and he relished the strength of his father's grip, and the furry forearms and heat and firmness of the man's chest against his back. "You bring that out in me, Dad. Bone me deep, sir!"

Dan worried he wouldn't last long, not like this, but he was too excited to slow his thrusts. "I'm doing it kiddo... so deep in my boy."

"That where you're going shoot your seed? Way deep up your son's guts?"

Dan didn't answer but just growled and fucked wildly to his orgasm. Brian was coming in sync, too, spraying globs of semen on the coffee table as his whole body flushed red from sexual overload.

"Oh Jesus," Dan hissed as his body relaxed against his son's back. He didn't want to pull out, not just yet, so he stay put and softly caressed Brian's body. "That was one hell of a way to start the week."

Brian finally leaned up and stepped free of his dad's embrace. "I have a feeling it's only going to get hotter," he said. He reached down and cupped his father's sticky-wet genitals. "Damn, my dad's a stud."

Dan blushed at the compliment. "Sometimes I think you're just saying stuff like that," he admitted.

Brian kissed him, then pulled him over to the couch, where they sat down. Thoughtfully he stroked his father's hairy chest, powerful and bulging. "I don't know what I have to do to show you I'm serious," he said.

"Come on, kiddo. I don't mean it like that. It's just that, well, I'm middle aged and fucking around with the hottest dude on campus."

"I think you may be a little biased, there, Dad," Brian smiled. His hand traced down to play with his dad's cock, which was soft but thick and heavy.

Dan sighed and relished the playfulness and sensations in his dick. "That's nice," he purred.

"Yeah?" Brian asked, then knelt down and started sucking on his dad's penis. It wasn't a blowjob exactly given Dan's relaxed state but it was a soft pleasurable worshipping.

After a few minutes he rejoined his dad on the couch. "You know, I thought I might have said the wrong thing earlier," Brian ventured.

"About what?"

"About the other guys who fucked me."

"You're an adult," Dan said, matter of factly. "You don't have to answer for that."

Brian nodded, like he was expecting this response. "Yeah, I know. I just... well, we've never talked about stuff like that."

Dan could tell from his son's tone of voice that he wanted to talk about this. "And you want to, I take it?"

"Yes, sir. Unless you don't want to," he added.

Dan shifted and placed his arm around Brian's shoulders. "I'm good. What's on your mind, kiddo?"

Brian took a breath before starting. "I figure one of us will be dating sometime. Maybe soon."

Indeed this was the conversation Dan had been fearing. Their connection, physical and otherwise, had been so intense and impetuous, it seemed to thrive by denying any other real world considerations. Deep down, Dan wasn't sure it would survive.

"I think you should have your life. I always have." Dan said, thoughtfully. He meant it, or at least convinced himself that he meant it.

"Even if I date someone, I don't see not wanting you, too, Dad," Brian admitted. "God, am I shitty person?"

Dan's stoic facade melted a little and he met Brian in a kiss. No doubt their stubble would give some major whisker burn by the week's end. "Hardly, Bri. You're honest with yourself, that's all."

"You thinking of dating anyone, Dad?"

"Can I be honest?" Dan asked.

"Yes, please." Brian looked at him expectantly. Wanting the truth, Dan could tell.

"If we continue this, I don't see wanting to date anyone, son." He felt himself blush with the admission. But he was heartened by the big smile that broke out on Brian's face.

"I shouldn't be happy to hear you say that," Brian replied.

"Yeah?" He shifted a little to face his son more directly.

"Oh yeah. I mean, I'd never get in the way of your happiness, Dad. You know that... But I've been afraid you'd meet someone and cool things off between us."

"I wish I had the will power to cool things off, son..." Dan added thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said with a blush, "It's just an incredible rush to go down on you. Or to fuck you. I know sex isn't going to be that intense with anyone else."

Brian nodded. He understood. "I'm glad we're talking like this Dad. I want to get to know you this week."

"You do know me," Dan chuckled.

"Not completely," Brian countered with a serious expression. "You have this guard up, Dad. Maybe I do too. Like you're afraid you're not going to be my dad if we're close like this."

"Maybe," Dan said in non committal tone. What Brian was saying was heavy in its implications, and he'd have to think about this a lot more.

"In the meantime," Brian smirked. "I was serious about exploring every inch of your body. Lay back," he instructed and started feeling along his father's calves and up the legs.

Unbelievably, not even a half hour after his amazing orgasm, Dan's prick was hardening up again.

****

After a few hours, their sex fever had died down. Dan had held off on a second release but had sucked Brian to completion just before sunset.

As Dan raised his head from Brian's crotch, the taste of his son's sperm fresh in his mouth, his boy had a look of complete satisfaction and relaxation on his face, his young body covered in a sheen of sweet and his hair matted down. "Don't take this the wrong way, Dad, but you've got to be the best cocksucker on the planet. Fuck..."

Dan gave Brian a mock punch to the shoulder as he got up to fetch their first beers of the evening. As he sat back next to his boy, he admitted, "Just glad I can make you happy, kiddo. Want to keep you coming back for more."

Brian got a kick out of seeing his father walk around nude and with a hardon jutting from the light brown fur of his crotch. He didn't know how his father could hold off cumming like he did. He'd definitely have blue balls. "If that's the plan, it's working," Brian said. "You know, I used to count them."

Dan gave a quizzical look.

"Orgasms," Brian clarified. "I kept track of how many times you sucked me off. I lost track at two hundred."

"Two hundred?" Dan asked with surprise.

"Oh it's a lot more now," Brian assured him. "I just stopped counting."

Dan leaned back and reflected. The number made sense, given that blowing his son had become a regular occurrence. He was a little ashamed by it, but a little proud, too.

"Well, here's to two hundred more, kiddo," Dan toasted by clinking his bottle. "Think that one will hold you til bedtime you horndog?"

"Yessir."

It did, too. They made dinner and then watched some TV. Dan had a couple of beers and was feeling relaxed. Brian was, too, he could tell, and when they finally decided to go to bed, neither man was very horny.

"Tired?" Dan asked as his son's nude body snuggled up to his under the covers. Maybe it was the cool air of the cabin, but the man relished the warmth radiating from Brian. His hand traveled up and down the young man's strong back.

"A little," Brian said. He gave his dad a kiss. Dan returned it with a finesse that thrilled Brian. His dad was a good kisser. A great kisser. And he seemed to get better, if that was possible.

"So..." Dan started when they finally broke their kiss, "You want to know more about your old man, huh?"

Brian nodded.

"Well, ask me anything, kiddo."

Brian got an excited look on his face. "Well, I guess... I'm curious who was your first?"

"My first what?" Dan asked for clarification.

"First time having sex. Whatever counts as sex for you."

"My teammate Keith," Dan answered, surprised how easily and directly came to him. "We'd fooled around, you know, JO sessions, then mutual. Finally we swapped blow jobs, and I thought that was the most incredible thing."

Brian laughed. "They are. So, your first was a guy?"

Dan nodded. "Wasn't till senior prom before I lost my virginity to a girl." The father got an amused look on his face. "You know, normally I never would have talked about this with you. Never felt right to talk about life before your mother."

"I'm glad you are, Dad."

"What about you, kiddo? Your first time?"

"I had an earlier start, at least with women." he winked. "Susan Peterson my sophomore year. You were my first time with a guy."

"No regrets, kiddo?" Dan asked nervously. He still had some lingering guilt that he was corrupting Brian. He'd known he was the first inside Brian's ass, but he wasn't sure about oral.

"What do you think, Dad?" Brian answered in an annoyed tone as he gripped his dad's hand and guided it to his bone. The teenager wasn't as rock hard as he often got but he had a solid erection, which is father gratefully explored.

"I think I'm a lucky man," Dan growled playfully. "You still interested in women?"

Brian shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes. Maybe 10 percent lean that way. Mostly dudes do it for me." He reached up and ran his hand through his father's soft hair, which was cut a professional medium-short length. It was a surprisingly simple and affectionate gesture. "What about you, Dad?"

"More like 30 percent for me. Used to be more, but as I get older, I like sex with men more. It's a little rougher, a little more intense you know. Besides, I love sucking a man off."

"I noticed, sir," Brian winked.

They kissed again, more passionately. Dan could feel his son more erect now as they made out. Slowly he kissed his way down his son's toned body, not rushing but not taking his time either.

"Hell, yeah, Dad," Brian hissed as he realized where his father was going. "Suck my cock, sir."

Dan held Brian's hard thick tool and laved it with his tongue. The boy was definitely hard and ready now. He took another minute to explore that Casey dick before popping it into his mouth and starting his bobbing action.

Brian didn't thrust his hips like he was sometimes tempted to, but he wasn't in a passive mood. His hands firmly gripped his dad's head and guided him urgently up and down his bone.

"Oh fuck, sir, you're gonna get me there pretty quick tonight. Sorry, Dad, can't hold off any longer. Suck my fucking cock. That's it. Gonna come down your throat, Dad. UNGH!"

Dan gladly swallowed his son's somewhat salty seed, which pulsed in several heavy spurts.

Excitedly he leaned up and started stroking wildly. He didn't even need lube he was so turned on. A few tugs and his fatherly jizz sprayed from his cock, all over Brian's torso.

"Jeez, buddy," he gasped then leaned down to meet Brian in a kiss. Dan's seed clicked the connection of their bodies as they embraced and made out.

"Perfect end to a perfect day, kiddo," Dan finally said.

"I'll say," Brian sighed, rolling onto his back. He recovered from his orgasm as his father got up to piss and wash off. When Dan came back, Brian took his turn in the bathroom.

His father looked sleepy when he came back to bed.

"Ready for bed, Dad?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I got a horny son who's worn me out."

"Better get used to it, Dad," Brian laughed, his voice starting to show signs of being tired, too. "We got seven more days here. And my sex drive's probably not going down."

"That's a safe bet, kiddo."

They kissed and turned out the light. Up in the mountains there were no street lights and given the cloudy night there was no moonlight either. The room was pitch dark.

"Dad..." Brian said at last.

"Yeah, Bri?"

"Thanks for bringing me up here."

His father muttered a soft, nearly inaudible reply. Pretty soon, the Casey men were both asleep.

#drakestories

[tyrantisterror]

A couple months ago, one of the kids at the daycare brought in a D&D starter set and asked me to DM a game for him and some of the other kids in my class. Now, I had considered doing this in the past, but written it off for a variety of reasons, mainly asusming it'd be a couple days of chaos before the kids get sick of all the math involved and lose interest. But if a kid broaches an idea and others seem on board, I feel it's kind of my duty to at least try it.

So far my assumptions have been... mostly correct? Like, 70% of my predictions have come true, it is chaos, ten-years olds are the most murder-happy murder hobo PCs you could possibly imagine, and they've really been pushing my improv skills to their absolute limits with the choices they've made (and the constrictions I have on me as a daycare teacher). But they haven't gotten bored with the math, and they absolutely love playing the game still, which is nice. I like it when my students are passionate about something.

Anyway, I bring this up because seeing how children play with D&D canon has made me realize one critical fact:

D&D needs a Mons Game spinoff.

Kids love monsters. This is not my bias, it is something that has been categorically proven to me in my four years of working at a daycare. Every kid loves the idea of weird, impossible creatures, and they love the idea of befriending a whole horde of those creatures even more so. One of my kids in the daycare D&D campaign is making it his goal to find and tame every monster he can find in the kid-friendly monster manuals I bought for the class. He wants a Tarasque and a Bullete and an Owlbear and on and on and on, and keeps proposing tactics for capturing them based on his time playing Ark: Survival Evolved, a game where you can tame dinosaurs and mythic beasts while trying to survive a wild world full of danger and obstacles.

And it turns out that, while the mechanics of D&D don't support this, the philosophy of how its settings are structured according to those mechanics does. D&D is filled with hundreds of wild and imaginative monsters, all with distinct appearances, habits, adaptations, and environmental needs. The need to make the "dungeons" part of D&D interesting has required it to build really interesting monster ecosystems, and, much like mons games, the need to keep players buying new content has resulted in them building a vast library of creatures, because selling $50 books containing a slew of new monsters is a pretty guaranteed way to get money. D&D may not be a mons game, but it's accidentally made its setting perfectly suited to be one.

And what a money-maker that would be! Skew it more towards a child audience in tone, use simpler mechanics so kids can hop into it without spending, say, three solid weeks of afterschool daycare time crafting character sheets more or less one on one, and you'd have a game that would easily hook a younger audience while planting seeds of interest into the bigger game.

Of course, there are already indie TTRPG mons games, and I imagine some of them are actually good, but unfortunately they're not exactly easily obtainable on a daycare teacher's budget. And, you know, they wouldn't let you make a team of a bulette, an otyugh, a gray render, and an owlbear.

But then again, Wizards of the Coast continues to be absolute bastards, so maybe this idea is too good for them. Which makes it a good thing they're never going to read this blog post.