#either draw or play somethin

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds. 

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen. 

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks. 

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him. 

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds. 

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright. 

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too. 

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.  

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there. 

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age. 

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs. 

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk. 

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

 Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?” 

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?” 

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion. 

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday. 

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table. 

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?” 

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better. 

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!” 

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle. 

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water. 

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher. 

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass. 

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself. 

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days. 

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you. 

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track. 

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons: 

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you. 

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace. 

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words. 

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back. 

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt. 

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. 

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them. 

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room. 

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie. 

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same. 

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side. 

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore. 

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had. 

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot.  “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss. 

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

--

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @dylanmunson @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

[nimaanila]

Slow Down, Cowboy (Part 2)

Pairing: Billy the Kid (Tom Blyth) x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Kissing, touching, just super fluffy!!

Synopsis: Now that he knows where to find you, Billy comes to the saloon as often as he can to see you, which ends up being just about every night. Reader and Billy get closer.

A/N: Thank you so much for the love on Part 1!!! I’m so happy it was well received. I think there will be one or two more parts. The fluff is ramping up as promised… Even more so in the next one hehehe. Please enjoy!

Part 1: Here

Part 2: Gentle Hands

You found yourself looking forward to the evenings, because you knew that’s when Billy would be arriving. He made a habit of coming to the saloon every night, and if he couldn’t, he stayed longer the following night to make up for it.

The routine was simple but sweet. Billy would file in just after his rowdy group of gunslingers, giving you a smile and a nod before going over to them. They all would come up to the bar together, Billy letting the guys order before him. You couldn’t help but notice the furrow in Billy’s brows deepen and his jaw clench whenever one of the guys made a suggestive comment towards you. You were used to it, so you either played along or brushed it off just to get them their drinks and on their way as soon as possible.

After the guys had gone to their usual table to drink their cares away, Billy would take a seat at the counter and order his usual whiskey. It had been about two weeks at this point, so Billy didn’t even need to say anything before a drink was in front of him. He always thanked you with a gracious nod and smile, never keeping his hat on when he talked to you. You made a mental note to thank him for that at some point. You would hate to miss an opportunity to see those gorgeous blue eyes.

This night, something in the air felt different. You and Billy had gotten more and more comfortable with each other, sharing stories here and there while he drank at the counter and you tended to other patrons, never failing to steal glances and sweet smiles all night.

Hours went by in a flash and soon the saloon cleared out, leaving only you and Billy behind.

“So, cowboy, will that be all for tonight?” Billy usually didn’t drink too much, so you reached out to grab his glass and start cleaning it, only to be stopped by Billy’s hand gently grabbing your wrist. Your breath caught in your throat. You felt frozen. This was the first time you and Billy had any physical contact. His fingertips were cold from holding his glass all night, and they felt good against the warmth of your skin.

You couldn’t draw your eyes away from where his skin met yours until he spoke. “Y/N, I got somethin’ to tell you, and I really want you to hear me, okay?” He trapped you in place, not only with his gentle grip on your wrist but with his piercing blue stare. All you could do was nod your head. You were so distracted by the delicious burning sensation from the hold he had on you. You never wanted him to let go.

He continued speaking while his eyes bore into yours, trying to translate all the urgency he felt in telling you this. “I wanted to apologize for the guys’ behavior. They don’t know how to act around ladies, let alone one as beautiful and kind as you. They’re dogs. I don’t like the way they were talkin’ to you, not one bit.” Touched by his words, you shook your head and chuckled softly. “Billy, that’s nice and all but really not necessary. I’m used to it. It happens all day when you’re not around, too. It doesn’t bother me,” you assured him.

Billy moved the glass from your grasp and set it off to the side so he could hold your hand in both of his. He gently rubbed his thumb along the side of your wrist as he continued to speak, never breaking eye contact. “Well, it bothers me. I was raised to treat women with respect, even more so the ones I care about. Now, I know we don’t know each other well, but these past two weeks gettin’ to know you have been some of the best nights of my life.”

You were caught off guard by his sudden declaration but moved by what he was saying to you. You were elated to know he felt the same as you did. “Billy, I-“ you paused to get a grip on the thoughts that were racing through your head as you stared into his eyes. “Thank you for those kind words. They really mean a lot. I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t been lookin’ forward to these nights ever since you first stepped through those saloon doors over there.” This earned you a smile from Billy. He chuckled and looked down bashfully to where his hands covered yours. He continued his soothing act of rubbing his thumb along the side of your wrist. “But why do I feel like you’re breakin’ up with me?” You furrowed your brows and tilted your head as you posed the question. You had a slight joking tone, because you weren’t together officially, but the look in his eyes told you he knew what you meant.

Billy’s smile faltered. You were too smart to fool. He mustered up the courage to tell you what he was dreading for the past week. He met your eyes as he spoke. “I know you know who I am. What people say about me. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of but I try to be the best I can be.” Billy took a deep breath before he continued. “A war is comin’, darlin’, and I’m right in the middle of it. I don’t know how it’s all gonna end up, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t get to tell you that I really like you. Whether you wanted to keep seein’ me or not, I had to make sure you knew.”

It looked like Billy was holding his breath as he waited for you to respond. You both didn’t realize it, but you had drifted closer and closer together as you spoke to each other, hands still connected and breaths mixing together. You smelled the whiskey he drank all night and he smelled the vanilla-scented oil you put behind your ears and on your wrists every morning. You found each other to be asolutely intoxicating.

You tentatively reached out with your free hand to brush some of his chocolate curls back from his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed in pure bliss. You ran your fingers back through his hair, resting your hand on the side of his jaw, holding him in place. Billy thought he had died and gone to heaven just by your touch.

Your thumb brushed along his jaw so softly he thought he was imagining it. But this was not a dream. This was real. You looked at him with a soft smile and told him, “Billy, if I wanted to run, I would have by now. I know what they say about you, but I don’t care. I know deep down you are a good man and you are doin’ what you need to do to keep survivin’. That’s all any of us can do. All I can judge is the man in front of me, and he makes my heart sing.”

Billy looked at you as if everything in the world made sense to him now. He couldn’t believe you were in front of him, real, warm, so inviting, so beautiful. And you weren’t scared of him. You weren’t running away. No, you wanted to stay. You wanted him to stay.

“Y/N, you could make a grown man cry,” Billy said with sparkles in his eyes and a laugh so contagious that you just had to mimic him. He sat up straight, moving his free hand to gently hold the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Your eyes closed and you sighed in contentment at the feel of his warm, calloused hand on your skin, and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into his touch. Well, you could have, but why would you want to?

“Y/N, would it be alright if I kissed you, now?” Billy whispered, careful not to disturb the intimate moment that had been created by the two of you. His gaze shifted from your eyes to your lips and back. They looked so soft and sweet. You opened your eyes to meet his, smiling softly as you said, “I was wonderin’ what took you so long to ask.” Billy smiled as he leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against yours as if he was afraid you’d shatter to pieces at the first contact.

His one hand remained on the side of your face while his other shifted to interlace your fingers together and hold your hands close to his chest, his thumb brushing back and forth across your knuckles. Your hand moved from his jaw to the nape of his neck, gently stroking the curls that rested there. Billy sighed in pleasure at your touch.

The kiss was slow, gentle, sweet. The type of kiss you’d expect from Billy, who was not like any other cowboy you’d come across. You tasted the whiskey, rich but somehow sweet on his mouth. Billy relished in the feeling of your soft lips against his chapped ones. You kissed until you both needed air, pulling away and resting your foreheads together.

“I think I could kiss you all day,” Billy said, breathless. He pecked you once, twice, three more times, making you dizzy. You chuckled as you said, “Slow down, there, cowboy. We got all the time in the world.” You gently kissed his nose before reluctantly pulling away, feeling immediately cold after his warm hands had released you. “You best be goin’ now and gettin’ some rest, Billy. I’m sure you got a big day ahead of you tomorrow,” you said to him, realizing just how late it was.

Billy looked at you up and down with a smirk before he agreed. “Yes ma’am, I’ll be on my way now. Can I walk you home?”

You heart soared at his kind gesture, but you politely declined. “I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary.” Disappointment flashed over Billy’s face. You were quick to remedy that, however, by signaling to the staircase to the left of the bar counter. “I actually live right upstairs,” you told Billy with a grin.

Billy returned your grin with a subtle chuckle and a shake of his head. “Well, alright then. See you tomorrow?” He looked at you expectantly. You nodded in agreement. “See you tomorrow, cowboy.” Billy stole another quick kiss from you, earning himself a giggle before he all but skipped out of the saloon, giving you one last glance before he headed home.

You laughed and smiled to yourself in disbelief, biting your lip. You and Billy felt like two kids falling in love for the first time. And maybe that’s what you were. Two kids, falling in love, for the first time.

#billy the kid fluff #billy the kid #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x reader #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader

[cyberkitty1]

Miles x reader either 42 or 1610 they're cuddling and reader tries to count his freckles

GUYS there is this song by beabadoobee coming out called the way things go thats what this is inspired by

warnings: lowercase intended, pretty gender neutral and not proof read

@moodysunflowerbaby totally forgot you had an idea on this

You and miles are laying down stomach to stomach with one arm on your back rubbing circles and the other watching tiktoks on his phone. you had your ear on his chest hearing his slow heartbeat while also watching tiktotks on your own phone when you heard the song play.

you bring your head up resting your chin on his chest. instantly he puts his phone down looking at you with a questioning look. “what is it?” instead of replying you just stare intently at his face eyes darting all over his cheeks. “ what are you looking at? i got somethin on my face?” he bring his hand up you move it away “ no just rest your face”

you keep your eyes trained on one spot as you straddle him, his hands coming to rest on your hips as you lean in closer holding his face in your hand’s slightly turning it from right to left. you did this for about 10 minutes.

“ you have more than i thought actually” you say under your breath. “ what are you talking about amorcito?” “ your freckles!” you exclaim “ i was counting them” “and how many are there?” he questions “ like 87” he looks at you surprised. “ you actually counted them?” “ yeaaaa?” you say drawing it out.

he hugs you bringing your face down to his smooshing your cheeks making you do a duck face

“eres tan lindo, te adoro”

“You're so cute, I adore you”

.

.

.

.

🏷️: @soseoulol @shoyofroyoyoyo @pandoragalora @miles-42-morales @heavisdelulu @lilcassipuff @levanneisdumb @thebaddest @sussybaka10 @itsznanabanana @malllywally @ivys-graveyard @missyysyx @c4nth3lp1t @sgmianne @miles4hour @ulovejayy @onginlove @buckleyverse @lexixiii @swaqlover @yoursidehismain @florencepughswife030196 @lethycia @edgyficuselastica @druiggf @onsimpshii @lovely-horror-show @vivsamortentia @leighs-gallery @remuslupinsno1slut @steve-harringtons-bitch @shurisbbymama @bunnybabylovesstuff @karmascute @c4rine @janaeby @mookiebutt @paraccosm @zkristuz @reflectionsinrealtime @mindymeeksrules 49th @nagi3seastorm

Coming soon!

text smau’s ( they are super easy)

next parts to my works

Requests on the google form

different type of master list

if you were not tagged dm me!

Taglist link

#miles morales #earth 42 miles #atsv x reader #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #fluff #cyberkitty1 #so cute #female reader #e!42 miles #e!42 #across the spiderverse #miles morales x female reader #cuties #beabadoobee #love her smmm

[maxrowave]

GENDERBEND RAHHHHHH

i love drarry and i love women so put it together and you get this, i present to you: Harphine

Harry is consequently now named Harley; Draco is also now named Delphine (Full name Delphinus Lucius Malfoy, however asks to be referred to as Delphine because it's pretty). I decided to keep everyone else the same because the world centres around them. Delphine is the ultimate coquette girl, lana del rey wishes she could be as coquette as her. Mega popular girl and a trendsetter, one day she wears a headband to school, the next day, half the female students are as well. Extreme closet gay, internalised homophobia...

Harley on the other hand is a major tom-boy, as a toddler and young childhood she probably had a buzzcut or short hair because her hair was too much maintenance for the Dursley's. She also wore Dudley's old clothes so she was mistaken for a boy for most of her young life, she only began to grow it out when she started attending Hogwarts and got a major glow-up in third year. and now the multitude of headcanons: 1) Delphine resorts to flirting to get her way with male students, however it is only by accident does Harley discover Delphine is prudent when she flirts with her. Delphine immediately goes red, sputtering incoherently:

"MY FATHER WILL HEAR OF THIS!!!" "good, I'm glad he knows about me so it won’t be as awkward to meet him when I'm over for dinner"

Harley uses this to her advantage and begins to spread rumours about Delphine to finally get back at her for all these years 'Pure Blood Delphine Malfoy, sole heir, is a homosexual?!' It gets out of hand and Delphine's rep gets ruined or somethin

2) Harley is a bit of an artist, she likes drawing/doodling. One day she's sitting in potions class, not listening because fuck that, idly drawing on her parchment without much thought, only for her to realise that hey... this kind of looks like Delphine, and then realising she's just been drawing Delphine in various sitting poses for the past half an hour.

3) Even though Harley really hates Delphine, she has to admit, she's really fucking gorgeous, and in an odd way Harley kind of admires how put together she is. Harley does try to imitate her makeup one day because she wants to know how it feels to be pretty/put together, it turns out shite, Ron laughs at her, Harley beats him up; Delphine also laughs at her. But when they do become good friends, like fifth year or so, Delphine does do her makeup (imagine that one img of the girl on top of the other doing her eyeshadow, that's them).

3.5) Slight extension from the previous one, I mentioned this on my xwitter awhile back -- Harry purposely messes up his tie so Draco can fix it, because Draco's love language is to clean up people, i.e brushing lint off their shoulder, adjusting their collar, kind of like a cat. In this genderbent au, Harley messes up her lipstick everytime so Delphine can redo it.

4) Delphine is a massive closeted lesbian, and is pining for Harley in her own odd way. When they begin to get close, Delphine instictually reels back, because she's used to playing hard-to-get with other guys as a flirting method. She doesn't quite register that it doesn't work with girls, which leaves Harley wondering what she did wrong and why Delphine isn't as interested.

5) When they do finally get into a relationship, most likely like sixth/seventh year, it's very low-key and secretive because Delphine still has internalised homophobia/closeted. But Lucius ends up arranging her marriage because she's an only child and a female to the Malfoy name. What happens next is idk

6) Lucius either dotes on Delphine like a child who is in constant need of being helped and cannot be independent, or never speaks to her ever because he's disappointed he has a daughter.

OKAY THATS IT, I HAVE MORE HEADCANONS THAT I WILL POUR IF ENOUGH ASK FOR IT LOL... i wanna see if I can make Harphine their genderbend ship name, it's cute

also boobs bc im gay and so are they

#draco x harry #drarry #harry x draco #hpdm #dmhp #harphine #harry potter #draco malfoy

[iheartjohnlennon]

George Harrison overstimulation 🎀 I need that boy CRYING, WINING, GAGGED, TIED. Like, I need him on the brink of consciousness, barely able to form full groans anymore. Pretty pretty please.

'Behind that locked door'

Your home in London, '74-'75

Word count: 3K+

Tags: Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Light Dom/sub, Teasing

George was sat on the edge of your bed. He was fidgeting with his feet. Behind him, you lounged against the pillows, half-naked and smiling at him unnoticed. You had been relaxed like this for the past half an hour since you had both showered together.

He was slightly out of your foots reach. All you were staring at was his clothed back. You saw George was quite thin, but he still had tone where it counted. His soft, brown waves flowed down way past his ears. You liked the way he got his hair cut now - it made him look majestic, matured....and it was very, very nice to stroke. But it wasn't just his physical appearance that drew you in; it was his demeanour. There was a depth to him, a spirituality.

What a beauty he was, even when you couldn't see his face at all.

 

The silence between you was comfortable, it allowed you to appreciate him and what not, but eventually, the need for interaction; the need for him; the need for his cock, became too strong to simply ignore. So, you poked his back with your foot a few times.

"George..." You spoke.

Your voice had strained slightly, sounding needy for him.

His expression was calm when he turned to you, but it wasn't without his toothy grin. You could see his cute anticipation. He always sounded so excited on the phone when you invited him over.

"Y/N..." He mimicked back, his voice smooth. 

Taking a breath, you sat up fully and smiled at him. "Come here." 

Without any hesitation, George complied, crawling onto the bed fully, taking away all the space that was between you both before.

He laid on his back and looked to the ceiling. When he settled beside you, you stayed sitting up so you could look down him - lovingly, of course. The sight of him, relaxed and vulnerable beneath you, sent an erotic thrill coursing through you.

You reached out to lightly trace the exposed skin peeking through the undone buttons of his shirt. Your fingers traced there slowly, drawing lazy circles that made him feel nice. 

His head tiredly tilted to the side, trying to decipher what you wanted him to do tonight.

But any thoughts that lingered in his mind were quickly forgotten when he felt your hand grasping his chin.

He looked into your eyes; your usual loving gaze was now clouded with a blunt lust. 

George felt himself falling into relaxation with your touch, brows relaxing as his eyes fell to a half-lidded stare.

Your smile never left your face and George was sure you could tell him to bark and he’d ask, like which dog? 

"Is there anythin' I can do for you?" He asked teasingly, breaking the second silence. 

"Well, it depends." You answered vaguely, holding back a giggle. 

Taking your laughter as an invitation for foreplay, George's hand trailed up your thigh. Before he could even try undressing you, your hand sharply slapped his away. 

"Ow." He felt like a scolded child, he frowned at you. "What? 'm not allowed to touch you now or somethin'?"

You didn't answer him and bit your lip, feeling a bit bad for teasing him, but not bad enough to not proceed with your little plan. 

George was looking to you, waiting for you to either give him permission to feel you, or to tell him what game you were playing today. 

The hand that had slapped him away now drew him in closer by his jaw. You cooed to soothe his frustration - George always fell victim to your words.

"Since someone doesn't know how to keep their hands to themselves, I don't think they should be allowed to use them at all!"

Your voice dripped with sultriness, and your smile was still just as sweet as before - you hoped your dominance was working.

George stared at you, dumbfounded by this new attitude. He didn't dislike it though, and not one to question you, he simply nodded. 

"Yeah, 'course...'m sorry, I'll keep them to meself."

He assured you, wanting to play along with what he thought was just an insignificant role play. 

But then you shook your head, hair bouncing with every direction you turned. "No, no, that won't do. How can I perfectly make sure you won't touch me?"

"I..uh, I dunno, really." He replied.

George’s teeth bit at the inside of his cheek. Shit. You were being serious; you weren't just being silly. 

He tried to think of any reason he could. He wanted to blabber to you that he was a good boy, that he could behave and listen to you - but with the look you gave him, he knew it was better to just...obey?

Then your sharp nail landed under his chin, forcing him to look at you again. And he did, he looked at you from his lashes, strands of his hair covered his face.

He looked weak now, small even. Usually, it was the other way around. You delicately brushed his hair away from his face and gave his nose a small peck.

"I have a really good idea on how. Do you want to know my idea, George?"

George nodded, a bit too eagerly you noticed.

"Go on, use your words. Can't quite hear you if you’re nodding." You snapped. 

His mouth opened and closed thrice, he was desperate to blurt out a yes, but all the emotions he was feeling blocked it.

George blinked and helplessly stared at you, hoping that was enough of an answer. But he knew it wasn’t when you gave him a harsh glare.

"Yes, please. I do want to know, love." He replied eventually, sounding subtly nervous.

 

You veered off the bed and took a short walk to your dresser. George’s eyes followed your every movement lustfully. 

He heard a compartment opening suddenly, then the shifting through it started.

There was something you were looking for, something that George couldn’t figure out yet.

What could you be up to? You had both played with...props before, but your sly demeanour tonight added a weird feeling twist. 

 

When you came back, dangling upon your hand, in a mocking manner, were two ties George had left in your bedroom. Both different colours, different patterns. He watched the fabrics sway, they almost hypnotising him with their swinging. 

His cheeks started to grow red, embarrassment settled in the pit of his stomach.

It had finally registered in his mind what you were going to do to him.

You wanted to tie him up? Tie him up with his own ties? That was sexy, he thought. He could work with this, yeah, he could - and would. 

It’s not like he’d ever tell you no, even though he'd never been tied up before.

 

He adjusted himself, edging closer to where you were standing as he seemingly surrendered himself to you.

"Please, do whatever it is you want with me." His voice was low, a tantalising plea. 

You couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Maybe he still felt you were just doing a silly roleplay. Either way it didn't matter, you were going to show him.

"I planned on this by the way, you didn’t have to agree, George."

And though these words sounded cruel, George knew you’d never hurt him. At least, not in a way he wouldn’t like, that is.

 

You slowly dropped the ties on the bed, inching closer to him before you completely mounted him in the perfect cowgirl position.

His body settled snug against the mattress, you adjusted the pillows for him so he could feel comfortable.

Your hands rested on his shoulders until you decided it would be best to unbutton his shirt now. 

George’s back arched ever so slightly to encourage you to further your exploration. You slipped his shirt off of him, now he was half naked. He groaned quietly, wanting you to move against him so bad.

You rested your hand on his thighs. He could feel your nails through the thin material of his trousers. His jaw clenched, trying to obey.

"Touch me." He groaned, feeling his cock warm against your thigh. 

Your head tilted, a look of mock sympathy filled his view. Did he say the wrong words again? Yeah, he probably did.

"I didn’t mean t' boss you around, 'm sorry, love."

Instead of a nasty glare, you gave him a smile and light pat against his thigh. "Good, boy."

Good boy, you had said.

Those two words quickly settled into George's mind. 

He was your good boy? 

With your pleased attitude, George smiled. He did something right and that did make him feel good, rewarded. 

You stopped sitting on him so you could fully undress him. You saw the imprint of his cock stiff against his trousers when you got off of him. 

You settled on your knees. Both of your hands found the waistband of his trousers and his boxers. He took a shallow breath in because your wrist stroked against it, it was growing against his own thigh, pulsing, eager to be left free. 

You tugged down at a pace that was killing him. It was barely going past his pubic hair. He groaned in frustration, luckily you didn't take it as that. But he was growing uncomfortable, moving his head as he let out low noises. He wouldn’t whine, that was his only rule to himself. 

"Tut tut, Someone's impatient." You chided, stopping the undressing altogether.

He was caught off guard by your sudden halt. 

"Sorry...please continue, love..." He urged earnestly, wanting nothing more than to please you. 

George wasn't even tied up yet but it bloody felt like he was - he was tied up by your words, your actions. 

You smiled at his submissiveness. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice soft and tender as you resumed your task, still slowly tugging his bottom half down. 

You resumed your task, your fingers pulling m down with just the right amount of resistance.

George's waistband finally slipped past his hips. His cock was fully erect and aching, it slapped against his stomach. You both let out a small sigh of relief, the moment of impatient finally gave way. 

He wanted you to do something about his erection, but he knew it wasn't going to come easy. 

You smell his fear, sense his impatience and feel his need for release. You take your time and relish in the power you hold over him. You put your hands on his thighs and leaned your mouth close to his cock. Your breath ghosted over the tip and your tongue almost licked it. George's heart raced. He wanted to hold the back of your head, like he normally did when you suck him off. But he knows that he has to wait for you to make a move.

George felt a surge of pleasure shoot through him as you leaned in closer, your tongue darted out to tease him with playful licks, only on his tip. Each flick of your tongue sent sparks of electricity coursing through his veins, his breath caught in his throat as he struggled to contain the overwhelming wave of desire that threatened to consume him. He felt himself leaking precum, you take him into your mouth, sucking gently on the tip.

As George felt the exquisite torture of your touch come to an abrupt halt, he found himself painfully hard, his desire reached a fever pitch as he longed to be inside of you. 

 

You moved to restrain him, surprising him with your swift and decisive action. You straddled his stomach, your eyes locked on his, he couldn't help but smile up at you, his excitement now palpable. 

 

With deft fingers, you bind his wrists to the bed frame, securing him in place. And as you looked down at him, a playful glint in your eye, he knew what he was in for.

"Are you ready?" you whispered. 

George nodded eagerly. 

 

As you moved down from straddling his stomach, George watched with bated breath, as you position yourself above his hard cock. 

And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity of the moment, you still wore your underwear, the fabric adding an extra layer of friction that pushed George to the edge of sanity. He felt his wrists straining against the confines of his ties. 

You unclasped your bra, revealing your bare chest to him. Finally, he thought, when he took in the sight before him. Though a pang of disappointment washed over him when he realised he couldn't squeeze them as he normally would. You could sense his frustration, and it made you laugh inside. 

 

You slipped your panties to the side, allowing him access. He watched you with hungry eyes when you did so, revealing the glistening warmth between your thighs.

Before you put him inside, you grabbed his stiffness, stroking him quickly and gripping him firmly. 

With one hand rested lightly on his chest to steady yourself, you reached down with the other, your fingers wrapped around his hardness as you guided him to your cunt. George's breath caught in his throat as his tip first felt the slick heat of you enveloping him. 

George felt just the tip of himself entering you, he was overcome with a rush of sensation unlike anything he's ever experienced before. It's a slow, torturous tease as you guide him inside, inch by agonising inch. 

With each slow descent, George could feel the exquisite tightness of you enveloping him, drawing him in deeper with each tantalising stroke. It's a sweet torture, the sensation of being half-buried inside you driving him to the brink of madness as he longed for more, for deeper penetration.

But you continue to move with a slowness, your pace unhurried as you take him in halfway, then back out again. George felt himself losing control, his breath came in short, ragged gasps as he strained against his restraints, desperate for release.

And yet, despite the frustration and longing that coursed through him, George knew that he wouldn't have it any other way.

 

As George laid there taking it, he could barely find the words to express what he needed. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his body trembled as he watched you move above him, your movements slow and deliberate, driving him to the brink of madness.

"Please," he managed to gasp out, his voice barely a whisper as he struggles to form the words.

He can feel the desperation clawing at him, the need for more, for deeper penetration, threatening to consume him whole.

But you continued your slow, teasing movements, your pace unhurried as you drew out the anticipation, revelling in the power you hele over him. With each downward stroke, you felt yourself growing wetter around him. 

 

"What do you want?" you said, holding back a moan. "Get it out, George."

"Deeper," he gasped, as he arched his hips, seeking more. 

"What do you say, George?" 

You wanted a please. You needed a please. 

"What?" He questioned, too consumed by near climax to understand what you wanted from him just then.

You tutted and shook your head subtly, still continuing your pace. "Say, please, George."

"Please, Y/N." George felt your wetness coating him, he revelled in the sensation of being used by you, unable to control anything without his hands.

 

You placed both of your hands on George's chest, to steady yourself riding. With your newfound control, you began to take him in deeper, your movements deliberate and precise as you took him in from his tip to his balls.

George's senses became overwhelmed by the feel of being fully engulfed by your hole, the tightness of your warmth surrounded him in a cocoon of pleasure. It's a heady rush- the feeling of completely filling you after being teased, paired with the fact that his hands are tied to the bed. 

 

You noticed a change in his usual reactions. Instead of the groans and moans you're accustomed to, he's whimpering, the sound so unlike him that it catches you off guard. It's a raw, primal sound, one that sends a shiver down your spine as you realise just how deeply he's being affected. 

Determined to push him even further, you started moving up and down rougher, more aggressive, your pace quickening as you take him in with force. The room filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the rhythmic clapping noises echoed off the walls. 

With each rough movement, George's whimpering grew louder, his cries of pleasure mingled with your own. You both surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation. 

 

As you both approach your climaxes, George felt the tension building within him. He knew that his wrists would be marked red after, but in the heat of the moment, he wasn't bothered. All he could think about was cumming.

He found himself calling out your name, his voice a hoarse whisper as he lost himself in the pleasure of the moment. He was in a trance, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

 

"Are you close?" You breathed out.

George could only nod hastily, his breath came in short, as he felt himself teetering on the edge of release.

And before he knew it, he spilled himself inside of you, his body trembled with the force of his climax.

He felt you tightening around him, your own climax washed over you.

In that moment, as you both reached the peak of pleasure together, you're lost in a dizzying whirlwind. 

 

You slowed down and eventually stopped riding him. You collapsed beside him in a heap of spent pleasure.

George couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself. Normally, he would reach out to wrap his arms around you, to pull you close and revel in the afterglow of your sex. But with his hands tied, he was unable to do so, and the realisation brought a wry smile to his lips.

 

With a chuckle, George turned his head to look at you. "Are you going to untie me so we can hug?" he asked. 

You met his gaze with a smirk, shaking your head in mock seriousness. "No, you're stuck like this forever."

70's George is the best George.

#george harrison x y/n #the beatles #60s rock #george harrison #the beatles imagine #the beatles smuts #the beatles x reader #vintage #john lennon #paul mccartney #ringo starr #george harrison x reader #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles fanart #smut

[slasher-male-wife]

Slashers with a clingy s/o

So I’m a clingy bastard and when I get a boyfriend again I am going to be attatched to the hip to them. Like maybe it’s cause I’m touch starved, maybe it’s because I still haven’t gotten my first kiss. Anyway I’m doing this cause I’m clingy so just enjoy some stupid head cannons for our favorite stabby men. 

Includes: The Sinclair brothers, Billy Lenz, og Michael Myers 

Warnings: Murder mention in Michael’s section and Billy calls the reader “Pretty piggy”

Bo Sinclair 

At first when you say I love you a lot he’s not really gonna believe you. But as time goes on he’s gonna realize that you do mean it and he’s gonna say it back every time. 

He loves when he gets home and you’re there to greet him with lots of hugs and kisses. 

He’ll tease you about it constantly too like the bitch he is. “Ya love me so much ya can’t leave me alone?” “Yer like a puppy dog sometimes ya know?” “You act like I saved yer life or somethin.” 

Once he feels like he can bring you around the visitors he’ll make sure they know you’re his. He’ll have his hands on you constantly, making sure they know not to flirt with you. 

He adores how you cling to him every night when you fall asleep and how much you do to show you love him in general. 

Vincent Sinclair 

He’ll be a bit nervous at first with all of the touching and love loving words. He’s never really gotten them before. But once he knows you really mean it he’ll be all over you. 

He loves when you’re touching or cuddling when he’s making art. Like if you sit on his lap when he draws or paints, hugging him from behind while he sculpts or just holding onto his arm while he works. 

If you’re not the one following him around he is following you. You two will do everything together. Vincent will often incorperate you into his art or just flat out draw you. He can’t keep his mind off of you. 

He’ll love how much you praise him and he can’t get enough of your ‘I love you’s. He’ll often bend down to your level so you can kiss his forehead or cup his cheeks. He adores you in every way possible. 

Lester Sinclair

Like you Lester is one clingy bastard. If he comes home one day and he isn’t greeted with a hug and a kiss he’ll start to panic that somethings wrong. 

If you ride in the truck with him he’ll either put his hand on your thigh or just hold it. 

Every time you give him a kiss or a hug he gives it back 100%. If you kiss his forehead he kisses yours. If you hug him from behind, the next time he can he’ll hug you from behind too. He returns every compliment and every ‘I love you’ back to you with his full heart. 

Every night he’s either holding you or has you rest on top of him. He loves how clingy you are because he’s clingy too. He takes you everywhere with him and always make sure you’re doing ok. 

Billy Lenz

He’ll be confused as to why you’re in the attic with him so much. Once you tell him it’s because you’re clingy he’s gonna freak out. ‘Pretty piggy loves Billy that much?’ ‘Billy loves his pretty piggy too!’ usually followed by a hug. 

If you don’t visit him one day and you haven’t told him why he’s gonna get really worried. He’ll check around the house and make sure you’re ok before he leaves. 

He loves all of the cuddles, hugs, kisses and affection you give him. I feel like rubbing his back or playing with or brushing his hair would really calm him down, or playing like some soft music. After every little kiss Billy will wrap you in a hug and kiss you all over your face. 

When he sees you entering the attic he gets really excited and starts jumping around. Once you are in the attic he’s holding you for a good long while. He loves how you always give him affection and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

og Michael Myers

He won’t be too keen on all of the physical affection at first but he won’t mind all of the words of affirmation and how you follow him everywhere. He likes keeping an eye on you and that makes it easy. When you are out of the house he’ll always let you know he’s watching, unless he’s out on some kills. 

Once you two have been in the relationship for a longer time he’ll be more comfortable with you cuddling and giving him physical affection. He might take a few minutes to cuddle back or he might not hug back at first but over time he’ll get better at it. 

If you’re acting really clingy he might flick your forehead in a teasing way or pick you up and sit you down somewhere while he leaves. He doesn’t mind you giving him kisses but if you want to kiss his forehead he won’t bend down for you. He likes seeing you frustrated with your love for him. 

He’ll over time cuddle closer to you when you’re sleeping, partly to protect you, partly because he loves you. 

#bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #billy lenz #Michael Myers #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #billy lenz x reader #michael myers x y/n #sinclair brothers #house of wax #black christmas #Halloween #slasher #Slashers #slasher x y/n #slashers x reader

[calzone-d]

Reconnected (Ted Lasso x Fem!Reader)

pairing: Ted Lasso x Fem!reader, Mom!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mild sickness

summary: After Ted and your daughter recover from being sick, they’re both ecstatic to see you again. 

a/n: some fluff for you guys! school starts back next week for me, and for some reason I tend to write a bit more during school, it helps me relax and unwind a bit lol. send in any requests you have! love you guys!

Masterlist

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

When you and Henry entered the house, it was eerily quiet. You can't say it was unexpected, though. Ted and your eleven month-old baby girl had sort of confined themselves to your master bedroom since they both fell ill a couple days ago. 

Since then, you had taken over dropping off and picking up Henry from school, and the two of you would cook dinner together before watching your favorite movies on the couch. While Ted had set up your baby’s pack-and-play beside your bed, you slept in the guest bedroom to avoid the unnecessary spread of germs. Both Ted and Charlotte had developed fevers, so you’d both decided it would be best to keep your distance until their fevers broke and they were no longer contagious. They weren’t extremely sick, but just enough to feel pretty uncomfortable. It was Charlotte’s first time being sick, so she wasn’t handling it well, but Ted was enjoying the extra time he got to spend with you daughter. 

For most of the day, they had the house to themselves while you were at work and Henry was at school. You couldn’t deny loving all of the cute videos and pictures Ted was sending you, either. He was truly such a wonderful father, and you were both over the moon when Charlotte made her arrival almost a year ago. Ted made sure to follow a strict schedule for her medication to ensure she didn’t have to feel uncomfortable for too long. The pair would eat lunch together, Ted being sure to cook meals that could be easily mashed or pureed for baby girl to enjoy with him. He’d spend hours talking to her, and they’d alternate between watching one of his favorite movies and a couple episodes of her current favorite show. While Ted wasn’t napping with her, and the fatigue from his cold wasn’t too bad, he’d pick up around the house and help prep an easy dinner you and Henry could cook when you came home.  

Each night, he would facetime you and Henry from across the house because Henry refused to go to bed without telling his little sister goodnight. Their shared laughter and babbles made your heart soar. Sleeping in a Ted-less bed felt foreign, and you were glad that tonight you could finally sleep together again without having to worry about getting sick yourself. It had also been way too long since you’d held your baby girl, and it was beginning to make you both grow antsy. Throughout the day, Ted had slowly moved her things back into her room, and had picked up the clutter that had accumulated in your bedroom over the past few days. 

Henry only had a half-day at school today, so he had asked to spend the afternoon with Phoebe at Roy and Keeley’s. On the drive over, he insisted on calling Ted so he could tell you both about his day at school. 

“Dad, Mrs. Adams let us draw on her whiteboard in class today!”

“Wow, buddy! Did’ya draw somethin’ cool?”

“I drew a picture of a soccer field! It looked so cool dad, just like the one at your work!”

Before Ted could reply, Charlotte began loudly babbling over the phone.

“Is that Charlie? Mom, can I turn it to facetime? I want to say hi!”

You affectionately giggled at Henry before telling him how to swap the call over, “You’ve got about five minutes, Hen, we’re almost there.”

Charlotte grew fussy at the sound of your voice over the phone, clearly the time spent apart from you had begun to take its toll on her. She was a major daddy’s girl, and absolutely adored Ted, but it had been too long since she’d gotten to snuggle up to you. The sound of Henry’s voice quickly re-directed her attention, and within seconds she was laughing at her older brother. Her gummy smile had swept you all off your feet. 

The four of you exchanged a quick goodbye as you pulled up to Roy and Keeley’s. Henry gave you a quick hug before sprinting inside, likely looking to play on Roy’s new playstation. 

“Have any new pictures of little miss Charlotte?”, Keeley always went crazy for new pictures of her goddaughter. The two of you stood over your phone, cooing while you swiped through the pictures Ted had sent during their mini quarantine together. 

“Fuck’s sake, he really is such a good dad, isn’t he?”

A proud smile easily found its way to your lips, “The absolute best. We’re all lucky to have Ted. I love him so much.”

Roy let out a light grunt as you and Keeley got sappy, but you could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“Okay, okay. It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen those two, so I’m going to head back home. Henry mentioned spending the night yesterday?”

Roy gave you a single nod, “Yeah, the two knuckleheads want to go see some movie in the morning, so we figured we’d take them.”

“Yeah, babes. We can drop Hen off after the movie, go home to your man!”, Keeley encouraged with a wink. Her wink made you blush as you laughed.

“All right guys, thanks again. Call if you need anything, love you both!”

—------

When you walked through the door, you heard the familiar sounds of Bluey on the TV. Ted must have not heard you, because he continued speaking in his very over-exaggerated australian voice to Charlotte.

To her, this was the funniest thing ever. She let out the cutest laughs and squeals at Ted’s antics. Where she sat on the floor, she had discovered smacking her hands on the carpet would encourage Ted to entertain her more, and the two had a very cute system going. 

“Hello, my loves!”, your voice echoed through the house as you sat your purse down. Charlotte had turned in your direction and was babbling baby nonsense as she began crawling towards you. She could stand when holding herself against a sturdy object but wasn’t quite taking steps yet. Nonetheless, she was a quick crawler, and continued her babbling until you crouched down to pick her up.

Ted watched in awe as you picked up your daughter and sat her on your hip. The vision of you both looking at each other, facial features mirroring each other’s, was enough to make him want to cry. You’d given him a lifetime of love, and the family you’d built together only heightened that feeling. As if the feeling of you loving him for all of his feats wasn’t enough, the way you mothered his children felt like it was the only thing he’d been searching for his entire life. 

Charlotte’s hands reached up to palm at your cheeks as you brought your nose down to brush against hers. Sure, you shared some facial features, but her button nose was a replica of Ted’s. 

“Hi baby girl,” you giggled at her eagerness to see you. 

“Mama, mamama”, she babbled. 

“Good job, baby!”, you bounced her against your hip as you walked over to join Ted on the couch. 

“Can you say dada? Dada?”, you spoke slowly and clearly, an approach that seemed to be working as she slowly built her vocabulary. 

She looked over at Ted with curious eyes, “Da?”

Ted’s eyes lit up at the recognition from his daughter and shuffled close to you both when you sat down on the couch.

“That’s me, sweet pea!”, he leaned forward to press a kiss against her chubby cheek, before pressing one to yours.

“Hi darlin’, we sure missed you an awful lot.”

Before he completely pulled away, you leaned in and planted a warm kiss on his lips. Even though it was only a few days, it felt like it had been years since you felt his lips against yours. As you shared a kiss, Charlotte bounced with her legs in your arms and squealed. You shared a laugh as you pulled away. 

“Da!”, she continued to bounce her legs. 

Ted smoothed a hand over her wispy curls. His hand looked like a giant’s against Charlotte’s small head. 

“Good job, honey!-”

“Da! Dadadada!” 

Ted leaned down to be eye level with her where she sat in your arms, “You gonna keep sayin’ it, huh? S’that your new word?” 

She babbled some more at him, and he pressed quick kisses against her cheeks in a way that made her laugh before pulling away and resting his head on your shoulder. Charlotte settled down in your lap and rested her head on your chest while her hands grabbed tiny fistfuls of your shirt. You held her to you as she nuzzled into your embrace, something you’d both missed during their time in quarantine.

Your head tilted sideways to rest against the top of Ted’s. “Missed you so much, honey. I’m so glad you’re both feeling better.”

Ted had let Charlotte grab onto one of his fingers, a soothing touch as her eyelids grew heavy. 

“Yeah, don’t think either of us could’ve gone much longer without seeing you and Hen. I needed my beautiful wife, baby girl here needed her mama. And we both just miss Henry’s energy and enthusiasm like crazy.”

Even after being married for a while, Ted still took every opportunity to compliment you and remind you of his love. It still made your cheeks blush and your belly do backflips. 

You turned your head to press a kiss to his thick hair, “We missed you guys too. You know, Henry Bug’s becoming so much like you.”

“How so?”

“He’s just such a bright light in every room he’s in. Always wants to help others, has a heart so full of love for everyone, and funny as hell, too.”

Although you couldn’t see it, Ted couldn't hide his proud smile at the mention of your son. 

“You think he’ll be okay? I mean, turnin’ out like me, n’all?”

You sat up a bit to meet Ted’s eyes, “Ted, I think him turning out like you is one of the most delightful things I’ve ever seen. Anyone would be lucky to even be the slightest bit like you, my love.”

Still not used to being doted on, your words turned Ted’s cheeks a dark, crimson red. “Well, he’s had a pretty amazing woman helpin’ raise him too.”. His soft smile made his eyes crinkle, and if it weren't for your now sleeping daughter in your arms, you would’ve leaned over to kiss one of his graying temples. 

“I mean, sure, but we’re talking about you right now, Teddy. You’re an amazing role-model and father to him. Makes me love you even more, seeing the way you’re teaching him to be such a lovely person.”

He brought a warm hand up to softly rub against Charlotte’s back, “We are doin’ a pretty good job, I reckon.”

Your eyes cast downward to admire the features of your daughter, “We’re doing a hell of a good job, Teddy.”

He flashed you a loving smile before leaning in, and planting a longer, softer kiss to your puckered lips. 

In his past marriage, Ted practically lived in fear of being “too much”. Qualities that made you fall in love with him were ones that he used to feel like he had to hide and growing used to letting go of his fears was a slow process. You’d doted on him as soon as you admitted your feelings for each other. He was such a wonderful human, that even a short time of hiding your affection felt like the most difficult task. Whenever you had a moment, you reminded him of your love for him, if not going even further by expressing your admiration towards him as a person, partner, and father. The progress he’d made was something you were both proud of. 

Even when you did try complimenting him, he would always be so quick to turn it on you. He loved you too, and wanted you to know that, but you were helping him learn that sometimes things could just be about him. Nights where you focused on him and his pleasure, compliments directed explicitly towards him, little gestures to brighten his day without expecting something back. You loved him without any conditions, or hesitations. You loved every part of him, too, and at first that was a tough act for him to swallow.

It was almost as if he’d become comfortable with the idea of being “too much”, because it was easier to predict how things would end, and at first, he thought it would help save him from some sort of heartbreak. You’d been very stern when explaining to him that he would never be “too much”, but your unwavering determination was comforting to him. He had learned that you loved his optimism and radiated similar energy when you two were together. Falling in love with you felt so easy, it felt like coming home. Ted never would've imagined that when he took a job offer across the world to try and save his failing marriage, that he would eventually feel as if he had come home. 

He’d come home to the woman who loved him for him and couldn’t wipe the smile from her face when she was around him. The woman who laughed at his jokes and fired back with some of her own. The woman who became a mother to Henry and gave him a daughter that fit perfectly into the family they’d built. 

His eyes got misty as he watched you rock your daughter into her afternoon nap. With the time you spent apart, you had no plans to put her in her room, you fully intended on her napping against your chest where you could press the occasional kiss to her soft hair. Ted turned to lean his side into the couch, where he could more comfortably rest his head closer to yours. 

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“For what, honey?”

“Just- for everything. For lovin’ me, for our family, for lovin’ Henry and Charlotte. You’re the love of my life, darlin’. You have every piece of me.”

“Ted. I just try to give you the love that you absolutely deserve. Have always deserved.”, he nodded along with you.

A comfortable silence fell across you both as you watched your daughter sleep. 

“Henry’s gonna be so excited to see her when he gets home tomorrow. Seriously, Ted, he has missed Charlie bug so damn much. I definitely didn’t think they’d like each other this much right now, but oh my god I love it.”

“He’s the best big brother. Never gonna have to worry about protectin’ this one when she gets older, huh?”, he smoothed a hand over her head again.

“Nope”, you chuckled softly, “Hen’s got that covered.”

Ted swapped Bluey out for a comedy while you relaxed together on the couch. He’d nodded off against your shoulder as well, and you felt at ease surrounded by your family. Minus Henry, but you knew he was having a blast at Roy and Keeley’s. As your husband and daughter slept, she kept one of his fingers in her hand, holding onto it tightly, even in her sleep.

Thanks for reading!

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso fluff #mom!reader #mom!reader x henry lasso #dad!ted superiority #dad!ted #my writing

[insectoidvania]

HANDFUL OF BEETLE GAMES

hellohello! i'm making a game collection post for this week about games centering around beetles :]

the games will be formatted as such: an image from the game, the game name, an excerpt from the game page, content warnings if needed, and where to play the game. this is just somethin' more laid back than recording a video for this week ^^

all these games are free to play!

as most of these games i haven't played (either at all or only a little bit), please let me know if there's more things i should add to this post if you've played the game(s)!

post warning: image heavy!

BEETLE ARENA

"Beetle Arena is a casual arena fighting game in which you play as a beetle! Face infinite waves of enemies and grow stronger to survive. To play you only have to start a game, shoot the enemies and survive!" (from the itch.io page)

the game on the itch.io page is only an open beta version! the full game is actually on google play.

content warnings: flashing effects

play beetle arena on itch.io here or get it on google play!

DICE BEETLE

"Instead of dung, this little beetle likes to roll a die around! Try and get it to the goal with the special beetle face pointing upwards." (from the itch.io page)

play dice beetle on itch.io here!

A BEETLE ROLLS SOME DICE

"Play as a beetle who rolls dice around a map to get the correct number facing up on the designated spaces." (from the itch.io page)

woah! another dice rolling beetle game! i really like how these 2 dice beetle games have the same concept for the same game jam but they're still different than each other :]

play a beetle rolls some dice on itch.io here!

RHINO BEETLE GENERATOR

"The Rhino Beetle Generator allows you to randomly generate a wide variety of beetles, each with their own appearance, physical aptitudes, and personalities. Please take one home with you!" (from the itch.io page)

while lacking actual gameplay qualities, it's still a cute and fun little tool!

play rhino beetle generator on itch.io here!

BEETLEBUM

"Beetlebum is an insect-themed, classic survival horror demo with pre-rendered backgrounds. It takes around 10-20 minutes to complete on a first time play-through, and supports both keyboard and gamepad input." (from the itch.io page)

get beetlebum on itch.io here!

SPIKE THE BEETLE SIM

spike the beetle was an actual beetle whose owner gave him a marker to draw with! his legacy has ended recently, but you can still check out the twitter account here!

while also not too heavy on the gameplay, its fun to watch this little beetle sprawl around on the drawing board with its marker

play spike the beetle sim on itch.io here!

BEETLE ARCHAEOLOGIST

a simple click and drag, hot n cold game where ya play as a beetle archaeologist looking for artifacts and treasure!

play beetle archaeologist on itch.io here!

that's all for now! there's more beetle games in the game list but i'll be saving those for individual game posts! see you next time!! :]

#game collection #beetle arena #dice beetle #a beetle rolls some dice #rhino beetle generator #beetle bum #beetle archaeologist

[dot-cant-write]

A Different Chord - Sammy Lawrence x Reader (Part 6)

You horse around with one Wally Franks on your lunch break.

A/N: i have not played batdr in it’s entirety yet so please no spoilers but i pray that mr lawrence is in the game

————————————————————————

You and Wally were on lunch break. And by break, you meant that Wally was leaning against your desk in the art department while you tried to finish a sketch for the next Bendy cartoon. Oh, and Wally was definitely eating the sandwich you’d packed. Damn. There goes your peanut butter and jelly.

Wally peered at your drawing, spilling crumbs on the paper. “Whatcha drawin’?” He asked with his mouth full.

You brushed the crumbs away. “Boris the Wolf. And if you get one more crumb on this paper I’m gonna make you regret taking my sandwich, Wally.”

He laughed. You would never hurt a fly, and you both knew it.

“So anyways… What’s up with you and Sammy Lawrence?” Wally grinned mischievously.

“You have peanut butter in your teeth, Wally,” You ignored his question. If you could just get Boris’ stupid nose right…

“Oh come on! Half the studio knows something’s up by now. You’re from the Art Department, he’s from the Music Department- heck, you’re practically Romeo and Juliet!” The janitor teased.

“Nothing is going on, dumbass. Don’t spread rumors. You wouldn’t want me saying stuff about you and Allison, would you?”

“Now see, me n’ Allison are just friends, but Allison and that Tom Connor—“

“My point exactly. Quit spreading rumors,” you interrupted. You put down your pen. Drawing could wait for later.

But the truth was, after your strange encounter with Sammy Lawrence, you weren’t entirely sure how to behave around him. You still weren’t entirely sure if what Norman said was true, either. Wally picking on you certainly didn’t help.

Wally piped up again, making you lose your train of thought. “Listen, all I’m sayin’ is that I’ve never seen Sammy Lawrence look as happy as he is with you.”

Isn’t that what Norman said, too?

“And I think there’s somethin’ up with that kooky composer. He keeps askin’ me about the art department’s ink supply. He’s a strange one, (Y/N). But I support it if you’re into him.”

“Wally! For the last time, I’m not into Sammy! Besides, aren’t him and that Susie girl a thing or something?” You reddened from Wally’s teasing.

“Nah, Susie Campbell? She sure likes him, but I don’t think he sees a darn thing in her. Nothin’ but the voice of Alice Angel. And uh, you’re blushing,” Wally added with a shit-eating grin.

“That’s it you little rascal-“ You suddenly jumped from your desk and chased Wally down the hall.

“Oh shi-“ Wally turned on his heel, sprinting.

Meanwhile, Henry, who overheard the whole conversation, chuckled. “Kids.”

————————————————————————

Wally had no idea you could run so fast. He must’ve really pushed some buttons, huh? But he had no time to laugh at you while you were hot on his trail. The janitor weaved his way through employees, nearly bumping smack into Shawn Flynn, a toymaker.

“C’mon Wally, this one’s got a crooked smile now!” Shawn complained as you ran by.

Wally chanced turning around, only to yelp in surprise. You were like, right behind him! He tried to speed up, running downstairs.

“Oh no you don’t!” You raced after him.

Joey Drew Studios was a maze. You don’t even know how you ended up down by the Music Department.

Joey Drew Studios was a maze. You don’t even know how you ended up down by the music department.

You barely heard the sound of the band playing over the sound of your thumping heartbeat. You were so close to catching that son of a gun-

Bursting through the doors to the recording room, you tackled Wally- wait, why was Wally laughing at you from behind a violinist? Oh no-

You had tackled one Sammy Lawrence instead. Pushing up and off of him, you apologized profusely.

“Oh gosh, Sammy, I’m sorry-“

You glanced at Wally, who blew as raspberry in your direction. Idiot, you mouthed at him. Then you turned back to Sammy, you had stood up off the ground and was brushing off his trousers. He looked at you and shook his head.

It felt like the whole room was holding its breath. Was (Y/N) going to get chewed out? they wondered. Sammy Lawrence shocked them all.

He started laughing.

Goosebumps rose on your skin. Why does what would usually be a wonderful sound, sound so strained?

“I cannot believe your horsing around interrupted us. We have a cartoon due tonight, y’know. Not everyone has time to screw off and run through the halls.” He wheezed, seeming more than a little crazed. “Due tonight! And two more songs I need to write. How the hell does Joey expect this to fucking work?” It seemed more like the composer was talking to himself now. It scared you.

You hesitated for a moment. Should you respond? You supposed it would be best so you and Wally could get out of there. “Yes, of course, it won’t happen again, right Wally?”

“Course not! No horsin’ around from me, no sir!” Wally agreed eagerly.

And with the, the two of you hurried out the way you came.

————————————————————————

“That was scary as anything I’ve ever seen!” Wally sighed, exasperated. You nodded nervously.

“I’ve never seen him like that… I wonder if he’s just really stressed?” You wondered aloud.

“Listen, I think you should keep an eye on that Sammy Lawrence. There’s something going on, I just know it. Bet it’s gotta do with all that ink he takes. Think he injects it or somethin’? Wouldn’t that be crazy!” Wally theorized.

“Oh Wally, you always think there’s something going on. He just takes extra ink for writing sheet music, I’m sure. And he’s gotta be stressed from Mr. Drew’s deadlines.”

Wally just shook his head. Little did you know, Wally Franks knew a lot more than he let on. It probably saved his life. He wasn’t sure if he could save yours, though.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence #sammy lawrence x reader #batdr #bendy and the dark revival

[ashes-writing]

skin | the walking dead ; s.walsh

A/N ; As you all know good and well by now I am one thousand percent not sorry for sharing this. I probably should be, but alas, I'm not, so here we are. This takes place at the CDC and there are vague mentions of Lori. It's barely there, though.

Tag List; @beardedbarba is the only person on my Walking Dead taglist. If you'd like to be added, hit the link below or let me know. Otherwise, I won't tag.

Other Stuff ; tag list || rules - fandoms and some of the characters I write for || requests ; open -headcanons + fluff and smut alphabet letters for any fandom/character but wrestling please and thanks?

I do not consent to having my work reposted elsewhere or reworded, copied/reposted here. Reblogs / likes are nice and greatly appreciated though.

18+ only. Minors, don't you dare, oh my god. Go read fluff. Also, if you're not into shower sex, body fluids, biting/marking, nudity/peeping and p in v sex, you won't like this and should probably just skip to something else. Ignoring this warning is strictly your own fault.

“Only one room left.” Shane said it with a shrug as he gazed down at you. You popped a bubble with the gum in your mouth and stared right back. “Take it. I can sleep on a couch or somethin.” you answer after a minute or two.

“Or,” Shane rubbed his hand over the back of his head as he took a deep breath, “We could share th’ room. Ain’t like it’s a big deal, right?”

Dark brown eyes were searching yours. Probably looking for any sign of fear -or everyone else’s second favorite emotional response when it came to him, loathing. It shouldn’t have shocked him when he found neither emotion displayed in your eyes but somehow, it still managed to. 

 You licked your lips and tried to swallow down the massive lump in your throat as you shuffled your feet against the hallway floor. You leaned against one of the cool brick walls of the hallway and shrugged. “We could.” you answer after a pause that felt heavy and lasted just a little too long. Your hand tangles in your hair and dark brown eyes follow the movement intently. He’s sizing you up. Waiting for an actual answer one way or another. You laugh softly as you step just a little closer to him. “Am I makin you nervous… Officer?” you toy with the button on his dark blue button up just a little and focus your eyes on the muscular patch of skin left exposed by the fact that he’s left the top two buttons to the shirt undone. Just the faintest hint of coarse and dark chest hair. Just a hint of old ink peeking out that draws your attentive gaze as your tongue softly drags over the outline of your lips.

He takes a breath and it’s shaky. And he snorts at the question you asked seconds before. “Kinda think I’m th’ one makin you nervous…Princess.” he tacks on the term because he knows that princess and any other cutesy little nickname, those tend to get you real irritated, real fast.

It’s a little game you two have been playing since you found the group and were talked into joining up by one of the women, a real nice lady named Carol. You’d come to think of her as the mother you never really got. And if Carol were present to bear witness to the little scene unfolding between you and Shane right now, she would not be thrilled at all.

But it didn’t matter.

The simple fact of the matter was that there was only one room left to sleep in. Either you cohabitate or one of you sleeps down in the lobby where the two kids were camped out due to gaming consoles and all manner of other ways to keep themselves occupied.

And you could’ve easily chosen to do just that. You could’ve but honestly, the thought never really even crossed your mind. 

Boldly you look right up at him, twisting hair around your fingertip as he stares right back at you, waiting. A sarcastic gleam in deep dark eyes as he rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Yeah, that’s a big ol’ firm no… Officer.” you do it right back, referring to him by his job title just like you’ve done since early on in joining the group when you surmised completely on your own that he had to have been in some kind of position of authority just because of the way he carried himself and because there was just something about the man that irked you instantaneous, he didn’t even have to try most of the time. You step towards the door of the room in question and you turn back to look at him as you lean against the cold metal of the closed door. “You comin or not? Because I’m going to take a shower. A real one.”

Shane rubs his chin again. He raises the bottle of Wild Turkey to his lips and takes a sip. You take a sip of your own chosen drink of choice and push open the door, letting it close swift behind you. At first you think for sure he’s chosen to go down and sleep in the community area on a blow up mattress but to your surprise, just as you’ve started the shower and the bathroom adjoining the little bedroom is starting to get real good and steamy, the door to the bedroom outside closes firm. And the lock clicks as the door is locked.

Shane moves around the little room and tosses down the gym bag with the few articles of clothing he’s still got onto the bed closest to a small window that kind of made him think of the cells down at King County Jail for a hot second or two.

He sinks down onto the edge of the bed to sit, his hands braced across his head as he’s bent it down. Taking a few deep breaths because honestly, he had to really stop and think about whether he wanted to spend the next stretch of time immeasurable ahead of you all with you so close underfoot again.

Everything about you has gotten under the man's skin and it’s the one thing he told himself he wasn’t going to allow to happen after the huge shit show with Lori Grimes that still hasn’t quite blown over. It’s an on-going internal struggle because despite telling himself he’s not letting it happen, he was the one who brought you to the group after saving your life in the first place. And for a while there, until you went on a supply run and came back with not only your own damn tent but a pretty damn big machete to use as a weapon, he’d been dealing with the struggle of having you underfoot constantly. Just always present. He’s only just gotten used to being alone again and now, here the two of you were… Sharing a space again.

The running water in the bathroom goes quiet and his head snaps up. He’s looking right at the door to the bathroom when you push it open and wander out, totally nude with wet vanilla scented hair piled up on top of your head.

When you see him, you freeze. He freezes too. And right along with both of you, time and space seems to freeze as well. You palm your face first and then remember to throw up your arms over your tits to at least pretend to have a little decency.

Thing is, you haven’t ever been one to bother with the formality of it. Working a club like you did before the world went to shit got you real comfortable with people seeing you in the flesh and in the flesh only.

Shane coughs and in a hurry, he drops his gaze and his little taunt from the hallway comes rushing back to you. Being the antagonistic type, you smirk. “Now who’s nervous, huh?” you call him out on the fact that you’re totally fine with flitting around the room bare naked and he’s the one looking down and away like he’s never seen a pair of titties in his whole entire life.

When everything about the man screams otherwise. You’d almost bet all the money left unguarded in the United States Federal Reserve that not only has he seen a lot of naked women before, he probably went through the women like a fish in water before the world went to shit. Probably had stupid reasons for ghosting them all and you laugh to yourself quietly about the thought while nodding to the open bathroom door. “Should be a little hot water left.”

“It’s at least 110 out. And yer takin a hot shower?”

“Keep your opinions on my hell water to yourself.” you smirk as you grab the first shirt you find spilled out on the second bed where you’d also dumped your clothing. The shirt is olive green. It’s too big for you, it hangs down to the middle of your thighs.

And it smells just like him. Earthy sweat and just the slightest hint of old detergent from the last attempt at washing clothes down in the quarry pond still lingers. Maybe it’s a power play on your end, maybe it’s the fact that the scent of him is so strong, so masculine that it makes you feel just a hint of safety, but either way, you don’t bother taking the shirt off once you realize what you’ve done.

His eyes are fixed on you, glued to your body. They travel up bare legs and he swallows hard, your eyes fix on the way his throat bobs just the slightest when he does it. He nods to the shirt. “ ‘At one’s dirty, woman.” and he digs around, tossing you his clean one, a simple black tee.

You turn the soft garment over in your hands and you bite your lip. Laugh softly to yourself. While you’re thrown for a loop over the little olive branch in your hand, Shane’s started to strip down himself across the room and it just so happens that you glance up and catch sight of him.

And now you’re the one who can’t seem to swallow down a massive lump in their throat. Now it’s your eyes roaming, taking in the muscles and the way they flex as he stretches his arms and rests his hands against the back of his head.

He just stands there. Can he feel you staring?

The question is answered when he turns to you with a teasing smirk. A wild gleam in dark brown eyes as he nods towards the shower. “I’m goin t’ cool off. Want me to leave th’ door unlocked case y’ need t’ get in, princess?”

There’s something different. Something huskier about the way he calls you princess this time. It brings back the last time he said it in a similar tone, early on. When you first joined the group and you awakened to find your injuries from a run in with another group bandaged and him sitting in an olive colored folding chair with his head down. Until he looked up and right at you.

He was the one who’d saved your life then. Brought you back to the group with him. And until you gor your own tent to sleep in, you’d shared the back of his Bronco with him.

And suddenly, you’re looking at the man in a whole new light. One that has your thighs clenched. Your heart racing just a little as you tug at wet hair and tilt your head just to continue staring. Your mouth opens but closes again. “Uh.” you stammer out after seconds stretch to hours in the blink of an eye somehow, “Could you?” the question comes quieter. A little syrupy toned and you want to kick yourself for it. Now is not the time to flirt, to try to push the man. It’s the end of the world, now is not the time to think with the sudden re-emergence of your sex drive.

But you just can’t help it.

Shane walks into the bathroom and the door shuts behind him. It’s left open a sliver and you notice that he’s taken the bottle of Wild Turkey into the shower with him.

You fall back against the empty bed of the two in the room and throw a hand up to your forehead dramatically. Then you pull yourself up to a sitting position and reach for the black shirt he’d handed you and you tug off the olive colored one you currently wore, tugging down the black one in it’s place.

After a good minute or two of quietly sipping your tequila and staring at that damned bathroom door, you take a few long and very shaky deep breaths and pull yourself off of the bed, slinking over to the door. Stepping into the room.

You can see him through the thin plastic curtain and you lean in the doorway, a leg crossed over the other one and your arms folded against your chest and you just… watch. Your mind racing as you try to find one good reason to stop yourself from what you want to do right now.

You can’t find one. And you shed the shirt, letting it settle on top of the pile of clothing he’d brought in for himself. You tug open the curtain and step in behind him just as he turns around to face you and you reach down, prying the green glass bottle he’d been chugging free from his hand, setting it out of the way of the water in the corner of the shower. 

Shane chuckles quietly. Brown eyes flit over your exposed body slow. Lingering.

You take the soap covered cloth from his hand and motion for him to turn away but he doesn’t. He steps closer instead. And with a quiet chuckle, he speaks up in that same husky tone.

“If I’d known y’ were gon do this, darlin..” he gasps as your hand raises and the soapy cloth makes contact with his chest, “Woulda just got in with you like I started t’.”

The confession does make your hand falter in it’s slow journey over his chest and you swallow hard as you try to figure out what to do with what he’s just said. Because this is… Huge. And the ramifications of getting entangled with somebody, especially now when it’s probably the worst idea in the world, especially considering it’s somebody like, well… Him.

But you knew exactly what you were doing when you wandered in, prepared to offer yourself up to take care of him like he took care of you after saving your life and bringing you up to the  quarry with him and the others.

There’s really no sense in fighting the magnetism anymore.

Life was too short before and it’s gotten so much shorter since.

You step closer, your soft curves melt against his firm muscles. And you keep working the soapy cloth over the front of his body as he bites back a growl on more than one occasion and stares down at you. Wordless. Quiet. In awe.

“Y’ didn’t have t’ do this.” he finally speaks, his voice is the perfect velvet gravel mix and it goes straight to your core like usual. You shrug, wordless. You motion for him to turn away so you can wash his back and he does, but only after he lets a hand settle against your hip as he squeezes. “Yer playin with fire right now, princess.”

“Am I?” you question. “Maybe I enjoy playing with fire.”

The words and the way you’re being so soft, so.. Gentle with him. That last shred of self  control he’s been clinging to for a while now snaps completely and he tries to reign himself in as the soapy cloth moves over his back and you hug against him slightly while soaping him down but no amount of his palms against the wall to brace himself and try to keep himself tethered and keep his hands from everything they actually want to touch… It’s not working.

He turns to face you and pries the cloth free from your hand. Towering over you as the water streams down over you both. His hands are all over you and you’re hauled against his body as his head dips down and his forehead rests against the swell of your breasts and he breathes heavily.

You can feel his cock rise, standing at attention. Pushing into you when he pulls you as close as he can get you while pulling you up his body. “Gonna take real good care of y’, princess.” he groans out against the front of your throat as his teeth scrape against your skin and you dig your nails into his shoulder, your legs squeezing either side of his body after wrapping around his waist, “Fuck.”

And you can look into smoldering dark brown eyes and tell he means exactly what he’s just said. Every word. In every sense it can be taken to mean.

Starting here and now, if you’ll allow him.

And the realization stuns you. Somewhere in everything, in all the chaos and insanity that’s been your life for months by now, you trust him.

Your fingers card his hair as his tongue drags a circular motion around one of your nipples. Between the stubble on his jaws and the necklace around his neck banging against your skin when he moves, you’re whimpering at rough lips against your skin, rough hands as they caress your body and grip, squeeze now and then to mold you against him a little better. The leaky tip of his cock drags against your folds and you shiver violently in his grasp, your cunt soaked and throbbing so fast all you can do is nip roughly at his neck to leave an angry red bite mark against his skin. The bite mark has him laughing, pausing the movement of his mouth over your opposite nipple to gaze up at you and you pout because you’re aching for his touch, the connect you feel when his lips dance over your skin.

The water is freezing by now and he grimaces and reaches out a muscular arm to shut off the shower. Your back is pressed firmly against cold and wet tiles, goosebumps raised to the surface of your skin that you’re not sure are from the cold or just the way his touch feels so damn good.

“Not gon’ last long, princess.” he’s almost apologetic about it and you laugh, the soft sound makes him bite his lip as his mouth crashes against your mouth finally. Frantic, needy. Almost desperate when his lips lock on your bottom lip and catch it between. You manage to mumble that it’s okay and your next words bring a rare grin to tug up the corners of his mouth and he stops, staring at you in awe. Making you grab hold of the back of his head and pull his mouth against yours all over again, greedy. Desperate. Your tongue slips past his lips and his tongue meets it, dominating the kiss in the bat of an eye. The tip of his cock grazes between your folds and you shiver again, moaning out quietly before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck.” he grunts and his fingers dig into your body harsh, “Feels so good.” he repeats what he said to you minutes before, promises to take care of you and you grab his face in your hands. “I know. I believe you.”

You reassure him quietly. The reassurance has him giving you a cocky smirk and his cock pushes into you a little more. 

“Next time, darlin.. I’ll taste y’.” he promises in a loud groan against your neck as he buries to the hilt inside you and goes still, searching your eyes to make sure you’re okay and he’s not hurting you. Brown eyes squeeze tight when you start to fuck yourself up and down on his cock after you’ve gotten adjusted to the way he fills and stretches you out. You can feel the tip smashing against your cervix and your nails drag up and down his back and shoulders as his mouth buries against your neck, leaving more bites to litter skin that somehow got forgotten about in his earlier quest to do so. 

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over. He’s groaning, growling and swearing with each deeper drive into you, saying your name so loud that you’re pretty sure anyone in either room beside the one you happen to be in can hear him but you don’t care. Both of you are completely lost, caught up in each other. Your stomach coiled tight as you beg for release only to have him coax you back away from the edge in just enough time. His hips beat against your body in a harsh steadiness and you shiver with every graze of those rough hands or lips against your skin.

“Shane,” you beg in a whimper, “Please.” you breathe against the shell of his ear. “C’mon darlin. Let go. I gotcha, promise.” he mutters his permission and your orgasm smashes into you and leaves you clinging. Whiny and needy, desperately fucking yourself up and down on his cock as he holds you against his body with your back against the shower wall and his mouth crashes against your own. “Fuck. Fuckin shit, princess,” he groans in need as your release coats his cock, your walls vising around him to push him headfirst into his own release. It happens without much warning, you can feel the way he throbs as his hips stammer against you and finally come to a stop, his forehead resting against your own and it’s gentle. So is the look in his eyes for once.

Not teasing or irritated, just.. Gentle. Relaxed.

You finally untangle yourself from his body and climb down from his arms and slink over to the towel near the pile of clean clothing. You hold the towel out to him and he takes it, wrapping it around you. After he grabs the second towel and knots it at the waist around his body, he pulls you against him all over again. Rough hands caress your face as he stares down into your eyes.

Neither of you say a word. Neither of you need to but both of you secretly want to.

But life is too short now to make promises. No matter how much you know you mean it.

#shane walsh #shane walsh fanfiction #shane walshxfem!reader #shane walshxfem!reader fanfiction #shane walsh imagine #shane walsh fic #shane walsh smut #//minors dni. #// read all warnings + hashtags c a r e f u l l y #// p in v #// shower sex #// body fluids #// biting and marking #// kissing #// so this came out of nowhere. trust me this is not even remotely close to what I sat down to write for Shane.

[snoopyblankie]

“Bracelets”

Fandom: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys

Characters: Jet Star, Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kobra Kid

Pairings: None

Word Count: 520

Trigger Warnings: None

A li’l Danger Days agere drabble for the album’s birthday!! Nothing is proofread and I have plenty of other ideas for the crew, but this was the first thing to come to mind. It isn’t outright agere, mostly ‘cause I don’t… know if the ‘joys would have the terms for it, but still it’s the context !!

I hope u guys enjoy I might write another for today cuz it’s fun (and just remember for all my writing / hcs of ‘em, the killjoys are NOT mcr !!!)

“You good over there, Pois?” Jet questioned from his booth, head cocked to the side. The red-haired ‘joy in question sat idly, quieter than usual and messing with the hair tie on their wrist. Jet frowned slightly, curious. Poison was usually vibrant, louder than anything when the pressure of keeping one another safe wasn’t heavy on his shoulders. Silence from the ‘joy wasn’t exactly common, especially not in the lazy heat of the afternoon.

“Party?” He asked again, sidling over to them with a soft hum. “You alright.?”

“‘M fine, Jet,” the ‘joy replied with a nod, drawing their knees up to their chest. “Just… thinkin’.”

“About what? Anythin’ serious?” A shake of their head quelled the taller ‘joys worries, his shoulders falling some as he looked over his friend.

He didn’t seem troubled, that much was true, despite the hint of tension in their shoulders; this wasn’t entirely unusual, either, Poison always wound up like a spring ready for action. Yet, Jet knew something was amiss.

Quieter, he spoke. “Do y’feel weird or anythin’? You wanna talk about it?”

“Mmn.. just… I dunno. I feel funky, y’know? Just wanna relax, but I can’t…” Party sighed, dropping their hands to the floor as Jet hummed. “What?”

“You wanna do somethin’? We can hook the others up with some new bracelets, if y’want. I’ve still got some string…” the man offered, taking the other’s hand with a smile as Party lit up.

“Yeah, sounds mega..!”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

“How’s this look, Jet.?” Party asked, tucked into the booth across from Jet. Kobra tilted his head, fumbling with a loose thread on his own bracelet while Ghoul leaned over the table to admire the red-head’s work.

“Ghoul—you’re blockin’ the view, hot shot…”

“They asked a question..!”

“Yeah, they asked me a question,” Jet huffed with a laugh. “It looks shiny, Party, I dig the colors you got goin’ on.”

The redhead beamed, a little victory enough to pull them out of their previous reverie.

“Kobes, y’gotta twist that one /in/, then it won’t be all weird,” they offered to the blonde beside them, only to be met with a ‘hmph’ and the quiet following of instructions. “Ghoulie, can I have th’beads?”

“Go for it, starshine,” he hummed, pushing the small bowl of trinkets their way. The crew worked contentedly, stringing together the bracelets in comfortable silence.

Jet spared a glance now and then at Party, who was busy fitting him for the bracelet they’d created, smiling all the while. He wasn’t sure what it was when they got like this, something akin to The Girl’s ways of things, but it didn’t bother him none. His crew was happy, safe; what more could he ask for?

“Here, c’mon, let’s clean up and I can get some music goin’,” he announced, helping tidy up before stepping away to grab his guitar. The brief sounds of cheering were more than enough to pull a smile on his face, and as the crew settled down, complete with Party nestling against his side as he played, Jet could’ve sworn the Witch herself couldn’t make him any happier.

#lil pup writes ! #fandom agere #fandom age regression #agere fanfic #danger days hcs #danger days fanfic #ttlotfk agere #jet star #party poison #fun ghoul #kobra kid #the killjoys are not mcr #age regression #agere #age regressor #agere blog #age regression blog

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

oooooft i so rarely request angsty things bc it hurts my feelings too much but those prompts are just so good. could you please do "there's something you need to know" and "i need you here, with me" (or "you won't go with me?" whichever you think fits better) for undertaker? its really great to see you active again i hope you're doing well 💜

𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭  \  sentence starter pack,  i.

i need you here, with me.

you won’t go with me?

there’s something you need to know.

why not all three for extra angst?? :D

also dang u tryna kill me!!!

I’m doing pretty good, I hope you are too! <3

It’s strange that your lover wants you to meet him at a hospital.

Karnstein is one of the frequent customers for his mortuary, something he admits himself. UNDERTAKER isn’t anywhere around when you first arrive, either; you’re escorted up the stairs by a young man who introduces himself as Dr. Stoker. He assures you that your beau is waiting for you in the room he shows you to, and that he’s got exciting news.

You don’t have the faintest clue what that news might be. And why bring you to the hospital to talk about it?

But then Undertaker greets you with a kiss and whispers in your ear, “There’s somethin’ y’ need t’ know,” and your attention is paid in full to him.

He takes you from room to room on the top floor, showing off the ‘projects’ he’s been working on. The reasons he’s been away so often lately. Of course, he make sure to mention that credit is also due to others like Dr. Stoker. Without their help, he could never have gotten this far.

… Far enough to be raising the dead. Each room contains what he refers to as Bizarre Dolls, people he’s trying to revive ― most of them having been dead for a while. They’re in varying stages of resurrection, many of them being tended to by Karnstein’s doctors and nurses. The corpses’ eyes are covered without exception, and the medical staff are monitoring them with regular blood transfusions.

As he leads you through the halls, you don’t know what to think or how to feel. Much as you still love him, (you can’t stop loving him), you’re not sure how you can be alright with any of this.

So you’re not certain how to respond when he sweeps you round the floor at the end of the hall, with his arms around you. Dr Stoker wasn’t exaggerating in that Undertaker is full of anticipation for his work, and when he stops humming in order to speak, it becomes clear what news he wanted to share with you.

“Things are finally comin’ t’gether. It’s taken so long, but… our big event is only a few weeks away now.” He twirls you like there’s music playing. Maybe there is, in his head. It seems as though some tune or another is always playing for him. “’ave you ‘eard about the luxury liners? There’s one settin’ sail, an’ I’ll be on it with my associates. As well as a w’ole mess of my darlin’ little dolls.”

To you, that sounds terrifying. But he’s ecstatic… this is something he’s been working toward, looking forward to. It’s one of the culminations of the last how many years he’s been clawing death’s cold grasp away from those who have already succumbed to it.

You don’t know what to say. It’s like his life’s dream is something which horrifies you.

A kiss is pressed to your cheek, and despite your fear, you accept it simply because it comes from him. It’s impossible for you to not love him even now. How do you just stop loving someone because you don’t agree with something they’re doing? “An’ wouldn’t it be romantic?” he chuckles. Another kiss. Another. It’s as if he thinks this is going to be the beginning of the rest of your lives. Like there’s something to celebrate. “I was thinkin’ we could…”

He draws back abruptly. Reflected in his eyes is the anxiety in your own, the chartreuse a mirror bouncing your own emotion back at you. A quiet sigh rolls off his lips. His eyes shift, disappointment palpable in between the green glimmers. “… Y’ won’t go with me?”

He shakes his head; the gesture is almost as if he rather expected your reaction. His hands drift down your body to gently clasp around yours, nails brushing against your skin. “Ah, God, darlin’. Please. I need y’ ‘ere, with me.”

“I’ll be here with you when you get back,” you say softly. No matter what else is going on, he’s still the man you love. Even if he’s doing some incredibly frightening things. “I’ll wait for you. You can come back into my open arms. I’m not going to go anywhere.”

Your hand squeezes his, and you ghost a kiss over his cheek. “But… I don’t think I want to be a part of this, no.”

“Mh.” He catches your lips with his own, pulling you as close to him as is physically possible for two people. “Guess that’s better than anythin’ else y’ coulda said, ain’t it? Goin’ off on a cruise with me is a bit much t’ ask in less than a month’s time,” he teases.

His other hand snakes around your waist, pressing into your back. You think that as much as he wishes you would come, more than anything he just wants reassurance that you aren’t going to run away. “Promise y’ won’t miss me too much, then?”

You go in for another kiss, one that steals every single bit of your breath. “I always miss you.”

“― But y’ll wait f’r me.” His lips curve into a smile against yours. “My. Ain’t I lucky?”

#eveningscoolandquiet #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Undertaker #Undertaker x reader #reader insert #angst #drama #OHOHOHOHOOOOOO my heart is full to bursting thank u <3 #this man just ruins me ok just straight up RUINS ME #one hell of a queue

[fandomdumpsterfires]

(I couldn't sleep last night so i wrote this.

Warning: gets very gay, sappy and a little spicey. I am cringe but i am free)

It was all gone in a flash.

Audrey, the ink demon, the keepers..everything. the cycle had been respun, erasing wilson's hold on joey's world inside the ink machine.

But, even the end couldn't erase his feelings.

Henry stood in that familiar entrance hall, old ink stained cartoon posters on either side. The first of many floors was deffinately worse for ware than the last time he saw it, and yet it was all the same.

"Norman?" His voice echoed faintly. His only response was the quietly dripping ink from the leaking pipes. C'mon, he had to be here. He couldn't be all the way back down in level fourteen, he had to be..

Henry didn't care about turning on the ink machine. All he wanted was some sign that the projectionist was here, something to let him know that he was alive.

Room to room, corridor to corridor, he looked. Nothing. He was beginning to lose hope..

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three small, delicate taps on old wood. Hesitantly, he replied to it.

Tap tap tap

...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

'I. Love. You.'

He recognized that gesture. Norman couldn't speak as the inky projector creature he had been turned into, so they resorted to communication through sign language and gestures. Eventually, norman even found a way to express his love to the artist, just three gentle taps on the chest or shoulder.

'I. Love. You.'

The taps sounded off again. It was closer this time. Henry kept following the sounds, finding out that they lead into the break room. Rushing down the stairs, henry stood in the center, looking around frantically.

Nothing.

His shoulders dropped as he sighed in deffeat. He was just hearing things, the ink must be playing tricks on his mind..

'I. Love. You.'

The taps came from his shoulder. Glancing over, he saw a hand with four fingers that tapered into claws, another appearing on his other. There was a familiar gurgling purr from behind, henry whipping around and engulfing norman in a hug.

"I thought you were back in level fourteen!!" The artist cried. Norman perched his chin on top of the other man's head, gently stroking his back.

"The cycle didn't wanna seperate us again, i guess."

Henry froze. Did norman..?

He stepped back, looking up at the projectionist. Astonished "d-did you...?"

Bringing both clawed hands up to his projector and pushing it up, norman revealed a human face underneath. Despite the ink drenched hair and long fangs lining his mouth. It was unmistakably him "just a little somethin' the new cycle lord gave me." He smiled warmly. It was nothing like bendy's smile. Norman's was gentle and sweet, just like it had been all those years ago.

A short sob lept from henry's throat, which immediately caught norman's attention.

"H-henry? What's wrong??" He asked, confused.

Henry chuckled, hastily whiping tears out of his eyes "nothing.." he sniffled "i just..missed your voice. S-so much. Never thought i'd ever here it again outside of the voice recordings.."

Norman's worry melted away in an instant. He approached, gingerly taking both of the artist's hands into his own. The size difference was very notable.

"Henry. I've wanted to say this to you, for..a very long time now.." he began, tail twitching. A faint yellow hue rose to his face. C'mon..he had thought about this for years. If then wasn't the time to say it, then right now deffinately was.

"I..." he paused again, taking in a deep breath "i-i love you. A lot. Those old visits to my booth back in the day..they meant a lot to me..and going back up there after you quit..it felt so. So lonly without you.." He went on, swallowing back his body's sudden urge to cry "you mean a lot to me, too. Your drawings would always set me in a good mood no matter what..i even still have one of them at my desk. I think so, anyways..." his memory was fuzzy. All he remembered was henry gifting him a drawing, but that was just enough.

The projectionist inched closer, hands trailing away from henry's hands down to his elbows, having to crouch a little to get at proper eye level with him. They locked eyes. Brown staring into gold, so entranced that neither noticed how they got even closer.

"..you mean a lot to me too, norman." Henry began "every single time joey got on my nerves, you listened to my rants, helped my blow off steam.." his eyelids drooped a little, grimacing "..i should've gotten you to leave with me.." there was a pang of guilt through his heart. Norman tilted the other's head up with one finger, smiling "ink monster or not..i'm glad we could spend so much time togrther." He leaned in closer, his own eyes beginning to close.

"..yeah, me too." Henry replied. Their eyes closed, and the two finally locked lips.

They held the kiss for as long as they could, pulling away once air was needed, immediately going in for another one. Each kiss more passionate and love filled than the last. Henry moaned in bliss as his and norman's tongues met. He didn't here if it was made of ink, he just focused on winning this battle for domination. Of course, norman was victorious. As the two pulled away, a thin string of inky saliva hung between their mouths. They panted. Norman licking his mouth his his slender, snake-like tongue.

Henry could feel the projectionist's warm breath against his face, eyes still half-lided. Norman grabbed for a nearby chair and sat down, pulling henry into his lap.

"I've waited thirty whole years for this..." norman said, still out of breath. Henry gave a small nod "met too..." he replied. A sudden shiver ran up his spine, norman's tail was snaking its way around his waist, bringing him in closer.

At first, he thought norman was going in for another kiss. However, instead he went lower, going for the neck, warm exhales against sensative skin sending another wave of shivers up the artist's spine. Gentle little pecks were planted all around henry's neck, causing him to giggle a bunch. Norman grinned against the other's skin, just taking a moment to relish in the other's joy and the surrounding peace.

"Hey..." henry said, looking down at the projectionist "hm?" Norman hummed "you still remember how to dance?" Henry asked. Norman sat up straight (something he clearly wasn't) and thought for a moment "..sorta, i'm deffinately rusty..." he replied. Henry grinned "want me to teach ya again?" He offered.

Norman smiled back "yeah. That would be nice."

After a nice journey down to the music department, the two met up with an old friend. And with sammy directing a band of searchers and lost ones to play a gentle, melodic tune, the artist and projectionist slow danced under projector light.

Sure, sammy had to admit that their footwork was a bit sloppy, yet didn't want to ruin their fun. If they were happy, he was happy.

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #batdr #bendy and the dark revival #norman polk #henry stein #sammy lawrence #henry x norman #normry #moving pictures #*implodes from fluff overload*

[dancing-coyote]

👀 for hunter & jeannie

🍬 for thrust/az/jetstorm

👀 - "look at me." / "let me look at you."

"Jeannie."

Her heart hammered deafeningly in her ears, so loud that she almost couldn't hear Hunter's voice. Her hands shook as she tangled her fingers in her hair and sat half doubled-over, struggling to calm her ragged breathing and racing heartbeat.

She could still feel the icy fingers of the faceless dead dragging her under.

"Jeannie," Hunter's voice was soft, but insistent, as he cupped her cheek in one hand and turned her face towards him; "baby, look at me."

She blinked slowly, forcing her eyes to focus on him.

"It was just a bad dream, it's okay. You're okay." His arms slipped around her, drawing her close; she let out a breathless sob, burying her face against his neck. He just held her tight. "And I'm right here..."

🍬 - something sweet.

"So, where are we going?"

"If I told you it'd ruin the surprise."

"And you'd better not go peeking, either, kitten."

Azrael scoffed softly, but still smiled as she rested against Thrust's chassis, obligingly keeping her optics closed. The rumble of his engine vibrated through her and, somewhere overhead, she could hear the high, thin whine of Jetstorm's afterburners. For what felt like a long time, those two sounds encompassed her whole world.

Eventually, though, Thrust's forward momentum slowed and she felt him turn down a gentle incline; lifting her head slightly, she tested the air, but nothing smelled different...

And finally, he rolled to a halt, his engine idling down to a purr. "This' where you get off, li'l lady."

"Technically, that comes later," Jetstorm quipped, transforming nearby; "though I guess if you really wanted to..."

"You are insufferable," she laughed as she hopped down, allowing Thrust to transform beside her. "Can I open my optics now?"

"Not just yet."

With a dramatic sigh, Azrael stretched and transformed, as well, reaching out to rest a hand on Thrust's arm; it took her a moment to realize that she couldn't hear Jetstorm's antigravs. "Do I want to know where flyboy went?"

"He's just gettin' somethin' real quick."

"I'm afraid to ask..."

Thrust just laughed softly, the sound like smoke curling up from a bed of embers, and she smiled.

Then came the distant sound of power conduits coming online, the hum of electricity and the buzz of neon, followed by the clicking of sprinklers and the soft pattering of water on pavement. Even from behind her optic shields, she could see the darkness transform.

"All right, kitten," Jetstorm called down from somewhere overhead, "take a look and let us know what you think!"

"..." Azrael opened her optics to a neon forest of towering titanium trees with colorful branches, festooned with luminous vines and brilliant color-shifting lights shaped like electric flowers. A sprinkler system sent down a light drizzle of water droplets and, somewhere, hidden speakers played the sounds of wildlife and birdsong, timpani and marimbas. "...Oh. The Electric Garden - but... is this what you've been up to for the past week?"

"It wasn't a big deal t' get it up n' running again," Thrust half-shrugged, "mostly just involved clearin' off the solar panels."

"Roller boy here did most of the heavy lifting, I just made sure all the pretty lights were in working order," Jetstorm added as he descended, "and anyway, it's not like we had anything better to do, so why not, right?"

Stepping away from Thrust, Azrael lifted her hands to her face, blinking back tears that stung the corners of her optics. It wasn't quite the same without the crowds or the real plants, but...

"Soooooo... do you like it?" Jetstorm leaned over her shoulder, as Thrust peered around the taller Vehicon; she hid her smile behind her hands for just a moment, before a laugh bubbled up from her chest.

"Of course I like it - I love it, even! It's beautiful," she tugged Jetstorm down a bit to press a kiss to his jaw, then stepped around him to do the same for Thrust. "You didn't have to do all this for me..."

"Well, you said you liked the place, so..."

"Consider it a going-away present before your big trip to Protihex. You know, something big and shiny to look forward to coming back to."

"I already have something big and shiny to look forward to coming back to, you dork."

[fizziepopangel]

How would Striker react if his partner was holding their victim's head or eyeballs asking him if they could keep it as a trophy? That's all sorts of fucked up.

"Take yourself somethin' pretty..."

I'm not entirely sure if this was supposed to be a romantic or strictly business, but I think this can be read either way. I hope you all enjoy!

Striker loved his partner.... though he would never admit this to them or anyone else, they were one of his favorite demons to be around and they tended to annoy him the least.

When they first began working together, Striker had originally been drawn in by their strength, ingenuity, and confidence (and their wonderful personality and sense of humor).... But it seemed that the longer they worked together and the more time they spent with one another, there was always more to learn about them.

They wrote poetry and loved music, they couldn't draw but were amazing at photography, they could burn water despite loving food and having an amazing pallet.... but nothing, nothing had prepared him for what he saw when he was invited into their home.

Striker knocked on the door, looking over the fie in his hands on the next client. While they had been working together for months, he mainly used his partner for scheduling his clients and taking care of the cleaner parts of the job, but he thought they were ready to go out on a kill with him and he wanted to brief them on the case.

When they opened the door, he was surprised by what he saw. His sunshine-y partner stood in the doorway of a rather dark themed apartment.

Despite their bright aesthetic, lively laugh, and general fun-loving nature, their home was covered in beautiful and dark decorations. A skeleton lamp sat in the corner of the living room, a bright white light shining through the black painted ribcage... And there were dozens of books about the anatomy of different creatures in the living world and every ring of hell lined up on a coffin shaped bookcase with elegant photos of bones and blood surrounding a papasan chair surrounded by blankets and pillows resembling the rest of the decor.

Striker was shocked by what he saw. It was an entirely different side to them than he ever expected to see, but he quickly recovered from the shock and got on with the business he came by to discuss.

Hearing that Striker thought they were ready to actually go on a mission with him made them smile ear to ear. The two would go over the plans over and over again until he was sure they were ready for it, but being that this was his favorite person, he double checked that they felt comfortable with the role they were supposed to play in the mission, but to his surprise, they were more than comfortable with it, they were excited about it.

When the day finally came, Striker was amazed to find that they didn't seem nervous at all about what they were asked to do, but rather they were so excited that they were practically vibrating with the excitement in their body. And much he was pleasantly surprised to see that their knife skills were not only far better than he had expected, but they came in handier than he had originally anticipated.

In the end, as Striker wiped the blood off his hands, he was pleased with the way things panned out, and then he looked over at his partner, preparing to offer them a rag to wipe the blood off their face when he noticed them standing over the body of the demon they had just killed and the unexpected collateral damage that laid bleeding out beside them.

"Do you ever keep souvenirs?" They ask, not looking up at him as they stare at the crumpled, bloodied body at their feet.

Striker chuckled at first, walking over and looking at the jewelry adorning the bodies, assuming they might want a ring or something pretty and sparkly that they may not have been able to afford normally. "I don't need much but go 'head and take yourself somethin' pretty."

They stare at the bodies for a moment. "Can I take more than one?" They're eyes are shining excitedly. "This skull would be an amazing addition to the collection I have in my room! I don't have one with twisty horns like this yet, but this tattoo would look really cool dried out and hung in my reading nook!"

"You wanna... skin and behead them?" Striker asked, shocked as he looked at the puppy dog eyes they were giving him. "How would ya even....?"

"I know a guy who I usually go to help me do my decor when it's fresh like this." They would say, still giving him their best puppy dog eyes. "Please, Striker? I won't ask for anything ever again! It could be like an early birthday gift! Pretty please?"

It would take some time before he hesitantly agreed, but eventually he would agree and watch as they happily took their knife and skinned the tattoo from the body of one victim, and the head from the 2nd.

Striker would find it odd, but he would find it almost cute how excited they seemed to be at the prospect of having these body parts on display in their home.

The western imp would allow it, but he would also shudder a few weeks later when he was invited to their apartment for dinner and sees that they did in fact have dried skin and tattoo hung over the cozy looking papasan chair in their reading nook.

When they notice Striker looking over at their new decorative hanging, they would beam. "Do you wanna see the horns? I had them bronzed and hung them over my bed! They look so pretty, Striker!" They would drag him into the bedroom, pointing at the bronzed horns among the dozen other bones that adorned their walls.

As Striker looked around the room, suddenly wondering how many of the bones had been hand picked by me the way that one set of horns was.

"Do you think I could go out in the field with you more often? Please?" They ask hopefully as he looks around the room at the bones and other rather disturbing things around their happy-go-lucky partner's room.

#fizziepop thoughts #vivziepop #helluva boss #helluva headcanon #striker helluva boss #striker headcanon #striker would be a lil concerned about this #he would find it a lil cute tho #maybe hot too #but he would think the bitch is batshit

[dogydayz]

[Situations like these can go one of two ways] order is simply first image leading to either the second or third image as an outcome. Doodles from me playing around with Kleki, which is just a drawing site that has decent touchscreen support since I use a Surface Pro. I just enjoy toying with concepts of Ink either finishing up battles and being all "alright! now that that's settled wanna go hang out at a cafe or somethin?", or going full bastard and taunting Error for "being so pathetic", depending on what sort of Multiverse the variants come from (i write more of the prior, but love to draw more of the latter)

#undertale au doodles #sorta errink? #errorink #error #ink