#longer drabble

[sku11s1asher]

neuvillette x male reader for soulmates au😞😞 enemies to lover trop to omg there both rivals but slowly fall inlove with each other😭

neuvillette x nb/male reader (soulmate au)

note: ermm ignore how long it took, i forgot to check inbox, also i didn’t go too much into enemies more like haters to lovers lol (this is a long drabble bc i couldn’t think of any main prompts, enjoy it bc it really is long oops)

ooc neuv , suggestive , also they don’t really go in a order so yeah

fem dni

before finding out your soulmates (d1 haters frfr)

⋆ you and neuvillette seemed to argue over every little thing. if you breathed in his direction he’d mumble something under his breath, causing an argument.

⋆ everyone thought you both were dating, every single time you both even come close to each other theres some awkward sexual tension

⋆ he criticized every little thing you did, if said something a little wrong, he’d make fun of you, always having to run his mouth

⋆ now you personally didn’t really believe in soulmates because of how hard it is to find yours, to find your soulmate you have to actually touch them; not a touch as in accidentally graze but like an intimate type, a hug, etc.

⋆ if you are a attorney, you always would always drag on the case longer than it needs to be just to argue a little longer (you also did it to spend more time with him but, i won’t tell anyone your secret)

⋆ neuvillette and you had some weird type of rivalry, you guys knew each other for a while, every single time you felt as neuvillette liked someone you ended up taking them from him and he did the same to you.

⋆ at the same time, he didn’t honestly know how to feel about you, your personality was so different from his. he tried his best to stay away from you but, clearly it didn’t work.

⋆ his hatred for you was also contributed because of your friends, the people you hang around, the not so liked people in fontaine.

⋆ he felt as you were a competition for him at the same time; you were a little too good at your job (whatever you want it to be), now it may not necessarily be at his level but you were too good for his liking.

⋆ his emotions and feelings are all over the place. he couldn’t decide if he hated you, didn’t care, or was jealous.

⋆ neuvillette always looked at you, even if it was a look of hatred, love, admiration, anything. he always had some type of eye on you, he felt some time of connection with you.

⋆ if you ever got in trouble, he took the blame for it, which was odd as he wouldn’t really care if you were someone else.

⋆ fontaine was raining really bad, that day happened to be the day you got injured.

⋆ you had just got back from sumeru which isn’t the safest place, your injuries weren’t thatttt bad but, they weren’t the prettiest.

⋆ once you got a little healed and we’re allowed to leave, you saw him. he wasn’t doing anything important just looking at the melusine.

⋆ you walked up to him to annoy and tease him, most people were conflicted if you were enemies or lovers.

⋆ you weren’t expecting his reaction though, instead of arguing with you, he hugged you. you were frozen for a moment but eventually hugged him back, which is how you found out you were soulmates.

once you find out you’re soulmates ;

⋆ he always has some part of him touching you, even if it’s his pinkie, he needs the comfort of you.

⋆ soulmates share a mark with each other, you both have (design of your choice idk), every single time you get intimate with him, he always kisses and loves on it.

⋆ he loves praising you, if you win a court case or do something really good in your job, expect a night full of praise.

⋆ you both didn’t announce your relationship with anyone though, you both give sly comments every chance you get.

⋆ neuvillette loves you though, your the only person who gets him to act the way he does.

⋆ he’s always had a soft spot for you, before you were soulmates and when you were hating on each other every chance you both had.

⋆ once you both got into a huge argument, it was raining hard, you felt bad because he’s your bf/hubby

⋆ when you walked into his office and saw him crying you didn’t know what to do. he never got better with his emotions and expressing them with you.

⋆ “baby, i’m sorry, you were right i was wrong, okay?” you said to him while walking up to his desk. all he did was look at you and wipe his tears, not giving you a response.

⋆ he truly was the prettiest crier you’ve ever met, it was kind of a turn on, but keep your mind out the gutters your bf is cryin!

⋆ you both cuddle a lot, after you argue. he never liked having serious arguments with you though, it brought him some type of sadness.

⋆ just overall, he’s an lovin boyfriend (and hopefully husband), he’s the best soulmate you could’ve ever asked for!

⋆ ps; he still doesn’t like your friends (lyney)

[shotmrmiller]

in which johnny gifts the love of his life a sex toy outta nowhere

when you mumble into the phone that you miss him, johnny, he pauses for a second, then tells you he's going to bring you a gift back home. "to keep ye company, hen." after, he locks himself in a bathroom stall and watches you play with yourself until you both come.

but you'd thought he'd bring you a pet. a live animal that needs a cage to be brought across the world, not a long, slim unmarked box.

it's a sex toy. and it's rather large, at that. your hand wraps around the base, fingertips still a good inch apart.

"and i'm supposed to be using that?" his arms wrap around your waist, his thick stubble grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, raising goose flesh.

"don't like it? only had ye in mind, hen." he presses a wet kiss on your fluttering pulse. you've never really talked about toys in your relationship. you don't need them, of course, and johnny more than makes up for the time lost between you two whenever he's home but this?

"i don't know," you mumble. "a bullet would've made more sense, i think. at most a rose." his hands run up your sides, to the swell of your breasts and give you a gentle squeeze. he doesn't believe the tripe of people valuing size over all else, does he? the thing is easily as thick as your forearm and it's corded with veins. and it's uncut. whoever is making these are going to extreme lengths to make it as realistic as possible.

he bucks his hips, prominent bulge in his jeans coming to rest in the small of your back. of course he'd get excited. menace.

"ye willnae have t'use it alone now tha' i'm here. 'sides, i think ye'd look perfect with my pretty kitty stretched thin around it." johnny grabs your hips firmly, creating small divots as his grip tightens. "maybe i'll watch ye fuck yerself on it, hm? lap at yer clit while ye do." liquid heat pools in your belly, pulsing hot between your legs.

he really wants you to use it, given by his ragged breathing and he rutting himself against you. fine. "okay. just, not right now, yeah? i want only you in me." his eyes burn fluorescent as he nods, his large hand cradling your head as he pulls you in for a kiss.

you missed this. the sweet sting of his cock sliding home in your aching cunt, the sharp pinch below your navel when his tip comes to sit snugly against the plug of your womb. you've missed this. missed him.

maybe he'll forget all about that monstrosity sitting in the box.

-

he doesn't. he's bringing it up hours later, his spend still dripping warm on your thighs. johnny cannot be serious.

"course i am, hen." his fingers sweep at the hair stuck to your sweat-slick forehead. "is it a crime to want to see ye split open on some- something else?"

you think nothing of his stutter. "alright," you groan. if that's what he wants. it'll be interesting to see just how much you can take. you'll never tell him that your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought, his cum trickling out faster, pooling on the sheets.

-

it's not warm. the tip of it presses against your swollen entrance, cold in contrast to your heated flesh. johnny watches you swallow a gasp, your trembling hands reaching for his as you slide down an inch, two, three. johnny's cum is wonderful lube, but the searing burn- the size of toy is overwhelming, your walls being wrenched apart as you glide down further. johnny presses a prickly kiss on your cheek, cooing in your ear all the while his clever fingers draw gentle circles on your clit. "focus on breathin', bonnie. yer tensin' up."

desire begins to bubble beneath your skin, pleasure causing your muscles to warm and slacken, and after a long couple of minutes, you find yourself at the base.

but then johnny grabs your hips from behind and pulls- oh. "that's it." if you'd thought the toy had originally been in your stomach, it's now in your throat. "pretty as a peach, hen. jus' wha' i wanted to see." a shiver dances up your spine, notches trembling as you get used to the unforgiving stretch of the toy. his breath warms the side of your neck. "on yer go."

you come around it no less than three times, leaving it milky and johnny cleans it up with his mouth before he cleans you up.

-

the girth of it is something you'll never get used to but it does get easier. when johnny goes back to work, he tells you that all he asks for are videos of you using it. for his collection, he greedily says.

you send him as many as you can, no matter the hours. just a quick nsfw text before getting his thumbs up and away it goes. it's incredibly fun. the relationship hadn't been dull by any means, but this just feels invigorating. you feel rejuvenated. that johnny is your biggest cheerleader while using it is such a bonus.

you oughta marry him. maybe you'll elope the next time he's home. but when the next time comes, johnny calls you instead of messaging you the usual be home soon text.

and it sends you reeling.

bonnie. the toy treat ye well while i was gone?

no better than you could me, but yeah. i'm still sore from using it in the last video i sent you.

that's great. if ye like the toy then ye'll love the real thing, i ken. we'll be there in 10.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki still apologizes to you the same way he used to when you were kids.

he always makes a face whenever he knows he’s gone too far or when he’s done something he knows he shouldn’t have, his eyebrows are furrowed and his little chubby face contorts into a sad little pout. he tries to look tough but he can already feel guilty tears in his eyes so he looks away from you, little hands balled into fists at his sides and his head hangs low so you can’t see his red face through his bangs.

usually, he tries making it up to you by showing you something he thinks you’ll like or something he finds cool, and sometimes he’ll even let you hold his precious all might card, but only when he knows he really messed up. he’ll stiffly pet your head as an apology for pulling at your hair a little too hard earlier and if you ask him to he’ll kiss the pain away from when you scrapped your knee because he accidentally shoved you a little harder than he meant to when he was chasing you around.

but when you’re mad at him because he’s been really mean, in ways he knows his shiny holographic all might card won’t fix, he opts to simply sit next to you. with a little pout on his face and with his cheeks turning red, he’ll shove his head into your shoulder. he holds onto you tightly so he’s sure you won’t be able to escape him or his apology. you squirm around a little bit but he doesn’t let you go. you stop moving around but you still huff at him, calling him a big meanie. all he does in response is shoving his head against your shoulder and he mutters out a little "m’sorry." against it.

he hears you shuffle to look at him and he looks up at you, his eyebrows are still furrowed and his cheeks are so red because he’s really not used to apologizing and he doesn’t like to, but he does for you. and even at the tender age of seven, you really can’t stay mad at him when he looks like that, so you forgive him and you’ve already forgotten what you were even mad about when he grins at you boyishly, already back to his usual self as he drags you off to your next adventure who knows where, but even at the tender age of seven, you knew you’d follow him to the ends of the earth as long as he led the way.

he’s changed so much and not at all at the same time. he hates it whenever you get mad at him and he still does everything and anything to get your attention when you are. and just like before, whenever he hurts you in ways he knows his actions can’t fix, he opts to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your middle loosely, giving you the option to break out of his hold if you wanted to. his hold on you slowly tightens when you make no move to, his head is shoved into the crook of your neck and his chest is pressed flush against your back,“ i’m sorry.” he whispers.

it wouldn’t mean much if it came from anyone else but this is katsuki. you’ve known him for as long as you can remember, you know how he is : he’s unruly, headstrong and so stubborn it drives you crazy sometimes. but he casts all of that—all of him aside for you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, his voice is low and a little shaky.“ shouldn’t have said all that to you. that wasn’t…cool” he fumbles around for the right words to say and you have to hold back a laugh as he does so, but you can tell he’s trying.“never wanna make ya mad at me..” he finishes quietly. he’s fiddling around with the ends of your shirt waiting for your response. then he hears you shuffle around to peek at him and he looks up at you.

he really hasn’t changed. he’s still got the same little frown, the same little crease between his brows and the same rosy cheeks. sure his features are less rounded, his cheeks are definitely less chubby, he’s gotten taller but he’s still your same katsuki who’s a little rough and a big meanie sometimes, but who also always makes sure to apologize to you when he knows he’s hurt you because that’s the last thing he wants.

you grant him a tiny smile. his eyes light up and he stands a little straighter and after a second he’s on you, pressing kisses all over your cheek, grinning boyishly at you and you still want to follow him to the ends of the world as long as he’s leading the way.

[poohbea]

guys… i have aunty fever.

okay but like imagine being married to or dating sukuna, right? and the first time he introduces you to baby/toddler yuuji he becomes your best friend. never wants to leave your arms, always loves cuddles, will be your shadow while you’re doing things round the house. you’re attached at the hip from that very first moment.

and kuna both loves and hates it 😭. loves it mostly because he doesn’t have to deal with yuuji’s shenanigans all day. hates it because whenever he tries to kiss you or offer any sort of affection, yuuji comes running to put himself between you both with the grumpiest frown ever 🤣. he’ll mumble out something like “no, my aunty.” and hug your leg while trying to push his uncle away.

it’s a constant battle, especially because yuuji takes up all of kuna’s you-time 😂. watching a movie? yuuji’s there using your lap as a headrest. taking a nap? yuuji’s nestled right up against your chest. cooking in the kitchen? you’ve got yuuji perched on your hip or up in the baby wrap/baby sling. and kuna would swear up and down that yuuji — the sweet darling angel that he is — knows exactly what he’s doing. swears that he’s got some sinister plan to steal you away — he’s joking, mostly.

he should honestly be blaming himself because he’s been terrorising his nephew since he was born. his latest stunt? he found an old halloween mask that’d been sitting in the back of y’all’s closet since last year, put it on and decided to chase yuuji around the house with it.

“i’m gonna eat you!” is what you hear before a very distressed little human comes sprinting around the corner screaming, his uncle in tow. and so yuuji races to hide behind you, arms hooking between your legs for safety even as he’s still crying. but still kuna tries to reach for him and so you have to step in and unmask your monster of a man to save your hearing.

i think the other thing is how much you spoil yuuji. like cute little aunty (uncle can come too) and nephew dates. you’d be twinning with your outfits sometimes. go out to the zoo. the park. ice cream. the beach. the aquarium. sometimes kuna questions who’s child that really is — yours or his brother’s? — with how much time the two of you spend together.

it probably secretly gives him baby fever. if you’re this good with his nephew then he can only imagine how it would all go with a baby of your own.

he wants to see it one day. when you’re both ready.

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.

the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.

it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."

then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."

then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."

that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.

"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."

but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.

'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.

if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.

if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.

"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.

for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-

the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."

eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.

"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.

three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.

he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.

"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"

there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.

"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"

eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.

"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."

eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.

he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.

"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."

"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."

eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?

but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.

and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.

eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.

"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.

it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.

there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."

"holy shit."

it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.

"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"

choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-

"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."

he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.

"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"

and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.

"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.

"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."

eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."

steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.

"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."

"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."

he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."

eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.

"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.

"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.

"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.

"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"

the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.

and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.

"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."

it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.

"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."

"...are you bribing me, harrington?"

"is it working?"

eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.

"of course it is."

the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.

"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"

it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.

he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.

"lucky indeed."

[eddiesghxst]

best friend!reader x best friend!steddie and shes telling them how she doesnt know how to give head so they teach her🥹

HELLO I SCREAMED. YES A MILLION TIMES.

(sorry for any mistakes it’s 2 am and i didn’t proofread oops)

18+ — MINORS DNI

————

Steve should’ve known Eddie was cooking something up whilst you were explaining your dilemma. He should’ve seen it coming, but he was too busy listening to you ramble about how you’re scared to give a blowjob because you’ve never done it— scared about what movements feel good and how to be conscious of your teeth (you’ve heard that men complain about that a lot).

He was being a nice friend, consoling you and trying his best to assure you that you’re just overthinking and when the time comes, you won’t be as bad as you think you’ll be.

And Steve was so occupied with you that you both seemed to have forgotten the little devil sitting on the opposite side of you until he spoke up, tone suggestive with a glint in his eyes that made you what to squirm, “What if we just showed you how to do it?”

So now, Steve’s jeans are pooled around his ankles and his shirt is rucked up his chest as you and Eddie kneel before him. Steve’s not exactly sure why he was chosen to be the demonstration model, but he can’t find it in him to complain— especially not when your warm hands are slowly jerking him off in a toe-curling way that has him nearly seeing god.

Eddie’s hand rests over your hand, gently guiding your sinful movements and the scene causes Steve’s eyes to roll with a string of curses falling from his tongue. Eddie smirks at the sight, “Feels good, big boy?”

“Y-yeah… fuck, I don’t wanna cum before she has a chance. Hurry up, Munson.”

Eddie laughs and rolls his eyes before turning to you, “Okay sweetheart, Stevie here can’t take much more of your teasing so we’re gonna have to move onto the next step. Consider that a compliment.” He winks and you preen.

Eddie’s fist is gently stroking Steve’s cock as he speaks, “It’s easy, really. You can start out with a few licks and kisses, but overall, just imagine you’re sucking a popsicle.” Eddie leans forward, hand still stroking the throbbing cock as he licks at the tip a few times before pressing a few kisses to the underside of Steve’s cock.

Steve’s thighs tense, breath stuttering at Eddie’s teasing touches. Eddie’s lips close around the tip of Steve and he gently suckles, lapping up the bit of precum and humming at the taste. As Eddie sinks lower, Steve moans, a curse falling from his lips. Eddie sucks him off for a little bit before he pulls off with an approving hum, smirking at Steve’s disheveled state and the sight of your intrigued expression.

“Wanna try, sweetheart?” He asks. You quickly nod and he shuffles to the side to make room for you. You eagerly grasp Steve’s wet cock, stroking a few times as Eddie had beforehand. You lean forward to mouth at Steve’s cock, but you hesitate last second, glancing over at Eddie for an approving nod which he quickly gives.

You lean in, alternating between sloppy kisses and wet licks up his cock. You keep going until Steve’s hand reaches up to hold your head, resting there in an encouraging manner. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck, just like Eddie, slowly moving down the length of Steve. You can hear Steve’s bated breathing and Eddie’s soft praise, “Good girl, you’re taking him so well, princess.” His ringed hand rubs soothing circles against your back.

You don’t see it, but Steve can clearly see Eddie’s other hand sink to his own crotch, softly pressing against the hard tent beneath his jeans. You moan, pushing forward as far as you comfortably can, shuffling on your knees as you begin to bob your head up and down the length.

“How’s she feel, Harrington?” Eddie asks, gaze flickering up to the other curly-haired boy. “Fuck— good, she’s really good… i’m gonna cum, pull off.”

Your wide eyes flicker up to Steve’s face, watching as his features twist in pleasure. Eddie gently tugs your hair, silently ordering you to pull off of Steve’s dick. You release him from your mouth with a sinful pop, continuing your slow strokes as you look at Eddie, chest heaving in excitement and lack of air.

“I-I wanna taste.” You admit. Steve curses, a curled fist rising to his forehead as he tries to ground himself from the words you’ve just said. Eddie smirks, “Yeah? Wanna give it a try, princess?”

You nod and he chuckles, “Go ahead, before Stevie passes out.”

Steve curses at Eddie and you giggle and happily resume your activity. As you continue sucking Steve off, Eddie sneaks a hand in between you and Steve, gently grasping Steve’s tight balls. Steve moans, gaze snapping towards Eddie’s to see him smirking, “Come on, Harrington, you gonna keep our girl waiting?”

And Steve sure as hell isn’t, he’s blowing his load the second Eddie asks, moaning and cursing as he empties himself into the wet heat of your mouth.

You take as much as you can before you pull away, sputtering for air and coughing at what little cum you’d choked on and Eddie softly laugh, rubbing soothing circles across your back as Steve strokes himself off for the last few ropes of cum left in him.

“Did… was that any good?” You ask, wide eyes darting between the two boys. Steve scoffs out a laugh, “Yeah, sweetheart, that was fucking insane.”

You giggle in excitement and Eddie smiles. Steve stokes his sensitive cock once and moans before nodding at the two of you, “Now, why don’t you show Eddie what you learned, hm?”

[maxlarens]

Max and 10 please <3

10) spooning at night

Despite the soundproofing you’d installed during Covid, you can still hear Max’s pedals going thunk against the walls of the apartment. The sound accompanied by faint chattering, occasional laughter, cries of outrage as he talks to his friends on stream.

He worries sometimes. But you’d tell him if it bothered you— besides, you like hearing sounds of life in the apartment. You’ve not quite adjusted to the sheer square footage of Max’s penthouse apartment yet, even though you’ve lived with him for years. You grew too used to New York apartments where your bedroom, kitchen, and dining room were always piled on top of each other. It’s strange to have so much space, more rooms than you know what to do with.

Anyway, no, the noise doesn’t bother you. You like to hear him enjoying himself, laughing with his friends, doing something that doesn’t have so much pressure attached to it. You don’t like to take him away from that prematurely, even if you’re missing him.

And you are missing him.

It’s the middle of the night. Maybe past midnight now. You’ve got the windows in your bedroom open, letting in the Monaco sea breeze in a futile attempt to cut through the sweltering heat. The overhead fan whirrs above you. Some mindless show you love drones quietly on the TV, casting you in ever changing colours as you twist and turn in the sheets. Trying to keep your mind off things you shouldn’t be worrying about.

You wait a while, watch an episode.

Then you give in to your selfish tendencies and pull up your Discord chat with Max on your phone, sending off a simple message— come to bed?

You put your phone back on the nightstand and try not to smile too wide when you hear the sim rig thunk and thud as Max climbs out of it a few minutes later. His footsteps on the hardwood floors as he stops by the kitchen and then makes his way to the bedroom.

The door creaks open. Max comes inside, stepping quietly as if you’re already asleep.

“Sorry, liefje,” he says softly, before he ducks into the closet to change, “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

You shake your head even though he can’t see, “You didn’t. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You should have told me,” he sighs, coming out of the walk in closet wearing the oversized cat shirt you’d bought him and worn sweat-shorts with holes in the waistband, “I don’t mind cutting the stream short, not for you. They will survive without me.”

You hum and nod placatingly, knowing you wouldn’t ever ask him to do that. At least not for something like this. You’d only sent that message tonight because you knew he’d already been on for hours and would be wrapping up soon anyway.

“Got it,” you say, opening your arms and beckoning him to get into bed already.

He sighs again, an exasperated little exhale through his nose, and then climbs under the single sheet you’ve got draped over you. He shuffles into your space, pressing a wet kiss to the side of your chin as you press a kiss into his forehead and adjust your arms around him.

“Where are the cats?”, you ask, while Max busies himself with turning around.

You feel Max shrug. He’s adjusting the sheet so it sits over him perfectly and then fluffing his pillows so his head sits comfortably. You reach out to scratch the back of his neck, with three fingers, the same way you scratch the cats out of habit.

“Jimmy’s sleeping in the spare room,” he says, reaching blindly behind him to catch your shirt and drag you closer, “Dunno where Sassy is.”

“Causing trouble,” you laugh, slotting into place at his back.

You nudge your nose into his shoulder and sling your arm over his waist. Curling it around to press into his stomach. Your legs end up tangled, one of yours bent and hiked on his hip. Later, he’ll nudge it off because it twists the material of his shorts, but he tolerates it until you’re asleep.

“Mm,” he agrees, finding your hand splayed flat on his tummy and intertwining it with his own, “Always.”

[wikiangela]

"I'm going to ask Tommy to marry me." Buck says out of the blue one random evening, sitting in Eddie's living room, spread out in the armchair, sipping a beer, eyes on the TV, where Eddie and Christopher are playing a video game. His tone is even and firm, not even a hint of hesitation, it's not a huge revelation, or even a decision he's made just now. He's been thinking about it for weeks, maybe months. He doesn't know why he says it now, it just slips out - maybe he just needed to talk to his best friend about it.

"Really?" he hears a hint of surprise in Eddie's voice, but when he looks at his best friend, he's still focused on trying to beat his son at the game. He's smiling, sparing a glance at Buck. "That's great, Buck."

"Yeah?" he breathes out, feeling even more settled now. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but still felt kind of like he did when he came out to Eddie. Like he just wanted his best friend to approve, to support him - and he had no doubt he would.

"Of course," Eddie answers easily. "You guys are perfect together, and you love each other, and if you're sure you want to spend the rest of your life with Tommy, yeah, go for it. I'm happy for you," he adds, finally looking at Buck, a soft, genuine smile on his face. Christopher uses this moment to win the game, and Eddie groans at his triumphant yell. "Aw, not fair, Buck distracted me." Both Buck and Chis laugh, while Eddie pouts for a moment, before a smile breaks through anyway.

"Well, I won." Chris shrugs with a grin. "And I think it'd be so cool if you and Tommy get married," he adds, moving his attention to Buck.

"Yeah?" Buck repeats, his smile even wider now. Having two of his favorite people not only really love his partner - Buck's pretty sure Tommy's the first one to spend so much time with all of them together, and it feeling so right - but also approve of Buck wanting to tie him into their family forever.

"Duh, Tommy's the coolest." Chris rolls his eyes. "Better lock him down while you can," he jokes, and Buck gasps in surprise. He's such a teenager.

"Wow, rude. He's not going anywhere." he shakes his head with a laugh. That much he's sure of, for the first time in his life he's not scared of getting left, of his partner getting bored or fed up. He knows Tommy's gonna be right at his side no matter what.

"Not if you put a ring on it." Eddie joins his son's teasing. Laughing, Buck reaches over to the table to pick up a chip from a bowl and throw it at Eddie, who dodges it as it lands somewhere on the couch. "Hey!"

"But seriously, you don't think it's too soon?" Buck asks after a moment, a little bit of nerves seeping into his tone. He's more than sure about wanting to marry Tommy. He's just a little scared that he's gonna freak him out. They have talked about this, about their future, what they want out of this relationship, out of life, but they never really discussed any timelines, and Buck might be a little in his head about this. Hence why he needed to talk to someone about it, probably.

"Buck, you've been together for over a year. Some people get married after less." Eddie raises an eyebrow. "When you know, you know." He shrugs, and Buck releases a breath. Because he does know. He has known for a long time now.

"So you think he'll say yes?" Buck asks, but he knows the answer before Eddie has a chance to roll his eyes with fond exasperation. Tommy loves him. He loves Tommy so much his heart wants to burst out of his chest and live in Tommy's. Tommy is his forever, he's sure of it, and he knows that when he asks, and it's going to be very soon, he'll get a positive answer.

"He'll say yes." Eddie says with a small shake of his head and a wide smile. "Now, two important questions from me: who's gonna be your best man, and do you need help planning and picking out a ring?"

[uhohdad]

(18+) ♡König♡ Voiceline Inspired Drabbles

“Who else is with you?”

Jealous!König Shows Ghost Who Reader Belongs To

WARNING: ABUSIVE & NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

“I can hear them with you, don’t even think about lying.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Your response was meant to sound nonchalant, but it comes out wavered and squeaky. Shaking fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“Who is it?” König demands, but you both know he already knows the answer.

“It’s- it’s just the guys,” You mumble into your phone, shoulders braced and lips pulled back in unease.

“Of course it is. Is Simon there?”

“Who ya talking to, bonnie?” Soap asks, and you give him a panicked push on his chest in an effort to shut him up.

“Come home, right now.”

König’s tone leaves no room for argument. Grit and threatening, it sends a chill down your spine and raises the hairs on your neck.

Your lips part to speak, stammering through your sentence.

“I- I’m not driving, I cant-”

“You have twenty minutes.”

The line cuts off, the phone shaking in your rattling hands as you pull it in front of your face, staring at it with wide eyes.

“Simon,” You utter, “You have to take me home, now, please.”

The car goes silent, the light atmosphere sucked from the car the moment your frantic words cuts through.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- nothing,” You say, eyes darting to the side, “Just-”

You cut yourself off, debating whether or not you should tell the truth, scrambling for an excuse, but your mind draws a blank.

“You have to take me home.”

“Lover boy?” Simon asks.

Your silence confirms his suspicion. You wince, knowing this is being filed in his ever-growing ‘Reasons to Hate König’ folder.

“Simon, please,” Your plead is made of only breath, fingers fidgeting beyond control.

Simon says nothing, the car suffocatingly silent. He continues driving, not so much as activating his turn-signal.

Your voice picks up vigor, the desperation palpable, “Simon- Simon, please. Take me home.”

“No.”

The car sucks in a collective breath, only the hum of the engine filling the taut, awkward air choking you all.

“Simon,” You whine, your eyes pinch shut and your hand rests on your collarbones, “Please.”

Soap raises a brow, lost, “What’s wrong?”

“Lover boy doesn’t like it when our dove has a good time,” Simon answers gruffly.

You unclip your seatbelt, sticking your head in between the two front seats.

“Simon, you have to take me home, now, please.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Simon!”

Without thinking, your trembling hand darts out to grab the steering wheel.

“Sit back!” Simon demands, the car swerving in its lane as he bats your hand away.

The sudden harshness in his voice makes you flinch, eyes wide and your hand retracting to your chest. It is not a request between friendly co-workers after hours, it is an order from your Lieutenant.

“Now,” He says, glaring you down in the rearview mirror.

At once you shrink in on yourself, shoulders slouching and eyes fixated on your shoes as you sit back in your seat.

The burn of Soap’s stare is searing, he’s looking for an explanation, but you can’t meet his eyes, too busy swallowing the shame of Ghost’s scolding and the fear of your boyfriend’s fury. Your stomach is twisted in knots, breaths shallow and knee bouncing to expel the nervous energy.

When Simon pulls into the pub’s parking lot, you whip your phone from your pocket as you scramble to order a ride, but Simon snatches your phone from your hands and ignores your objections.

“Simon, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’ll handle it,” Simon grits without looking over his shoulder.

He gives you a look piercing enough to make your knees knock together. You swallow, unable to find the strength to argue.

After a few drinks, the energy of the group has relaxed, but you’re still fidgeting, darting your eyes around and trying to keep the beer in your stomach instead of throwing it up from pure nerves.

You freeze when you see him yank open the pub’s door, hard enough he nearly rips it off the hinges. Your heart stops, your mouth parts, wide eyes locked onto him. He scans the pub for a moment before he finds you, wearing those scary, half-lidded, dangerous eyes that bore into you. From across the pub, his stare makes your stomach twist, and you have to stifle the urge to claw your way free from the booth and flee from predator eyes.

König crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head at you. An impatient finger taps his opposing bicep. Even from the other side of the noisy room, his message is clear.

‘I’m waiting.’

You swallow and look to the sticky tabletop, both your knees and your voice trembling when you speak.

“I gotta, I gotta run to the bathroom,” you mumble to no one in particular, shimmying awkwardly from the booth.

“König,” You start once in range, “I can explain, please, just let me-”

You cut yourself off with a gasp when he snatches you by the wrist with a crushing grip, forcing you to stumble over your own feet as you’re dragged out of the bar and along the sidewalk.

“König, please- I tried, I swear I tried, Simon just-”

König’s other hand grabs you by the waist with enough strength that bruises are surely to bloom at his fingertips. He ignores your writhing and winces of pain when he pushes you up against the pub’s dingy alleyway, blocking you in with his massive frame. His voice is hissed, his eyes devoid of any emotion other than rage.

“I don’t ever want to hear his name again. You understand me, little one?”

You choke, sputtering and stammering out syllables that will never get flushed out into sentences as his eyes narrow at you. Your body curls in on itself as he towers menacingly over you, his size alone more than enough of a threat to keep you compliant.

You nod, shaky but quick.

“Say it,” He growls.

“I understand,” You answer, just a squeak with words warbled in.

“Good,” He says, but you can tell by his tone he’s still not appeased.

A hardened hand snatches your wrists, pinning them to brick. Another yanks at the waistband of your jeans, ignoring your objections and your squirming legs.

“König, no! Here?” You whisper frantically, head whipping around to search for watchful eyes.

“You had the opportunity to come home. And you chose not to.”

He leaves no room for argument, a boot coming up to step on the pants bunched at your mid thigh, forcing them entirely to the ground when he plants his sole back on the concrete. You obey when he nudges you to suggest you free your ankle, and he wastes no time taking his cock from his pants.

You whimper when he presses himself to your panties, nestling between your lips with a grind.

He laughs, low and sinful in your ear.

“Already fucking wet, schlampe?”

A raspy grunt leaves him as he ruts his swollen cock against your panties.

“Just a little hure, whoring herself out for every man who pays you attention.”

You shiver at the vibration of his words against your chest, the tickle of his breath on your ear.

“Guess I’ll just have to remind you who you belong to.”

With your wrists pinned to the brick above your head, his other hand snatches your jaw with a tight grip. He forces your head to the side, sinking his teeth into the sensitive, exposed flesh of your neck. You can’t help the strangled cry that leaves you, and the hand on your jaw quickly covers your mouth, muffling your wails with his calloused palms as he leaves imprints of his bites on your skin.

He laughs into your slobbered skin, kissing over the tender indents in your flesh.

“Don’t worry little one,” He coos in a sickly sweet voice, “It’ll be over soon.”

Your whimper is stifled by his hand, but he gives your voice back when he reaches down to yank your soaked panties to the side.

“But you still need to learn your lesson, ja?”

He lets out a groan when the tip of his enraged cock swipes along your slick cunt.

“König, please,” You whine on a shaky exhale.

“Sh, sh, sh.”

König grinds between your lips, coating himself in your arousal before lining himself up. He is by no means patient, bullying half of his cock inside of you on his first thrust. Your head lulls forward, sniveling in his hold as your cunt stretches around his greedy cock.

He grunts through clenched teeth, pulling himself from you only to thrust mercilessly back in.

“Take this cock like a good girl,” He grits.

He finds a steady pace, hardly letting you adjust to his size before he’s fucking more of himself into you, your arousal soaking his throbbing cock.

“You want to act like a hure, hm?”

He leans in, letting go of your wrists to pick you up by your thighs, and gives you a stint of particularly brutal thrusts, your tits bouncing degradingly against your ribcage as he fucks you further into the bricks.

He snarls at you.

“Then I’ll treat you like a fucking hure.”

With your hands free, you’re clawing at him, trying to expel the overwhelming sensation of him robbing you of your tight, sensitive cunt. White knuckling his shirt and digging into his chest with your finger nails, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips.

“See? You can barely handle me, hure. You don’t need anyone else.”

You suck in a sharp breath when you hear bootsteps echoing at the end of the alleyway.

Sprung eyes lock with Simon, standing still in his spot, watching you get pounded against the wall.

König laughs, low and truly gut-wrenching. He doesn’t even have to look to know Simon’s there. As soon as he’s aware of his presence König doubles the pace of his thrusts, forcing his entire cock into you and filling you to the brim with each bottom out. His brute cock, his mound slapping against your clit, it turns your moans choppy and unrestrained as you succumb to the pleasure, the pain, the humiliation of knowing your Leuitenant has a front row seat to your punishment, watching König demean you and have his way with you.

You’ve gone entirely limp in his hold, intoxicated and cockdrunk, only able to focus on his ruthless cock ravaging your dripping cunt, the feeling of being stretched and filled, the burning eyes of Simon at the end of the alley.

“Alles meins,” He growls strictly, “Got it? All mine.”

You nod, stuttered moans pouring from your lips without thought. His grip on the back of your thighs tighten painfully in threat.

“Say it.”

“A-All yours!” You cry, lulling your head against the brick in defeat.

The pleasure is building in your lower abdomen, an electric and exponential euphoria taking control of your body, every muscle tensed and shaking.

“Tell your Lieutenant who you belong to.”

You twitch in his hold as he pushes you over the edge, not letting up in the slightest, cruelly abusing your g-spot as he works out every last wave of your overwhelming finish.

“König!”

♡ Jealous!König Makes A Bet With Reader ♡

♡ König Drabble Masterlist ♡

Dividers by the lovely @strangergraphics

[hxltic]

Choso remembers you saying something about it. In fact, you had asked him incredulously, “Cho, you have never touched yourself?”

And you said it so confused and almost sad, like you were genuinely upset for him. “That’s why you’re so pent up all the time,” you added. “It’s not something you should feel bad about.”

The memory crowded his brain when he returned to his apartment one night, slightly angry and plagued by what he doesn’t yet recognize as overstimulation, just thinking maybe his ponytails are too tight and adding to his headache. His muscles were sore as well, which didn’t help.

So he leisurely showers and lays in bed, trying his best to fall asleep and end his emotional torture, but it’s to no avail. He lays there on his back with his eyes closed. Contemplating. He has a hard time going to bed with the whole curse thing anyway.

Thinking back, you implied that the action was some type of release of frustration or stress. Choso understands that his head is constantly wracking about familial stuff, staying alive, his rent; it never truly stops. But what if it could?

The thought is crude, like it should be forbidden to indulge in himself that way. But you said there was nothing to be ashamed of, and above all else, he trusts you the most.

You. It all started with you. You were always helping him out, being his best friend and patiently teaching him things that nobody else could bring themselves to say. You were there for him and he owes you the world.

In fact, sometimes he would ask questions or pretend to be uninformed just so you could explain random, usually unimportant, stuff. He couldn’t understand why, but your puffy lips as you speak and your pretty eyes glistening— on the verge of full laughter at his confusion— makes the air thick around him. He’s only half human, but it’s like he carries the desire equivalent to a full one. He has barely been able to control himself.

In the darkness of his room, under the covers, Choso doesn’t even notice his hand trailing down his abdomen and over the cloth of his loose pants. It was so natural how he began to lazily dig the heart of his palm through the fabric, gently at first.

You had shown him the different pleasures of the world around him, most of which you liked to do. Mall shopping, for example. He thought it only made sense to carry your bags while you hopped from store to store, and in return, he got some say on what you left the store with. You couldn’t care less about the male opinion on how short your skirt was, but Choso was different. You knew it would be unfeigned.

“How’s this one?”

You step out of the dressing room in a pair of high heels that laced up to your calf and twirl in the skin-tight dress. The color fell on your complexion perfectly, it cinched your waist in just right, and covered just enough of what it needed to. The fabric hugged your thighs and the intended sheerness of the dress left just a faint shadow of the red set you were wearing underneath. But there was no point in waiting for his answer; it was all over his face.

He was speechless. He sat with his mouth slightly agape, holding his gaze to you up and down. You clear your throat, finally drawing his eyes up to yours, and he somewhat comes to his senses.

“Y-you look great.” He mutters.

Of course it’s in your nature to tease him, rolling your eyes jokingly: “Just great? God, Cho, I see how much you hate me now.” But you didn’t expect the immediate response after.

“No, no— more than that. There’s not a word for it.”

Now you were speechless, staring at him with the astonishment he had on his face previously.

Choso’s large hand wasn’t as gentle now, driving deep into himself in search for friction. His breathing slightly picked up from the movements since the room was becoming hotter around him, stifling even, so he throws the covers off his wanting body. With a deep sigh and furrowed brows, he tries to relax back into his pillow, welcoming the small hums and the newfound rush of cool air against his open chest.

Every now and then he’d also think about the time you took him swimming. He already knew how as a survival instinct, but that wasn’t the point. You were showing him around. Popsicles, hot summer days, and glowy laughs.

After the both of you sat on your beach chairs while munching on your matching snowcones, you agreed to get in the water if he did. That’s how you found yourselves at the steps of the pool, Choso trying his damndest to be respectful when you remove your cover up, but he somehow can’t peel his eyes away no matter how hard he tries. You’re too busy thinking if you should revoke your statement while glancing at your reflection. Unfortunately for you though, you hadn’t thought that he would have no reaction at all to the water temperature and step right in without hesitation.

“You are insane,” you declare, your eyes hopefully showing the fear through your shades. Choso chuckles and stands at his full height in the three feet, and instead of trying to figure out if you were staring at his dripping figure, he glides towards you in the water.

He reaches out for you, still stuck with only your feet in the pool.

“Here, give me your hand.”

Reluctantly, you do. He walks backwards into the water.

In an escape from the cold, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close, linking your ankles behind his hips. He tries his best to keep his breathing steady as you stay hooked to him. “I’m going to sink in, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah okay,” you breathe.

Everywhere you connected was hot despite the coolness of the water nipping at you, and yet it didn’t make the journey down any easier. His hands hooked under your thighs as comfortably as possible, but the main burn in your heart stemmed from the words. It was truly an endeavor not to think about them out of context because surely he didn’t even notice the accidental innuendo.

Choso held his breath during the slow, controlled descent while you clung onto him. It isn’t until you get to the bottom that the real fight emerges.

“Oh, it’s not that bad!”

And even though he’s squatting, leaving both of you completely surrounded in the pool, when you pull away with a fat smile on your face and the shades pushed up, Choso could barely even think.

His hand finally pushes past the waistband. It wasn’t hard to find his length that was already standing up as far as it was allowed in his pants.

His eyes tighten when he feels the pressure of his own grip, and how relieving it was. Slowly, his hand moves up against the taut skin, only to be hit with a substance he feels blindly at the tip. He kicks his pants off with an easy motion in order to see himself.

He was flushed but too aroused to be embarrassed. Already gathering sweat and heart beating fast, he recognizes he has two options. Stop, or keep going without full knowledge of how to do it. Usually he’d ask you, but he’s smart, and some things he has to figure out on his own. Plus, he’s sure it all comes to the same outcome.

He swipes the substance from the top, and without a second thought, spreads it around so it eases the journey his hand slowly takes up and down his shaft. It proves not to be enough, so he rolls over to the cocoa butter you got him. You said his skin looked lifeless, like it needed some moisture.

When you looked at him that day, you glistened with a happiness he’d never seen before in his arms. Holding onto him even when you no longer needed to. He might as well have been looking at the fucking sun because he would do anything to see you like that again: staring at him like he was the only person in the world, your breasts close to spilling from your bikini top, hair tossing in your face from the wind, and only inches away from where he now recognized he wanted your lips most. His.

He could spot every freckle and dimple in your skin.

But that wasn’t even the best part. Your fingertips rested on his jaw and your palms on his neck, slowly caressing him while you dipped further on top of him underwater. You told him there shouldn’t be anything under his swim shorts. Of course he listened, but now he’s trying to determine if it’s a blessing or a curse. Intentional or not, every time you moved, the touch of your bare skin and the hold he had on where your thighs meet your ass was electrifying and downright addictive. He can still feel it to this day.

Choso’s heart rate was skyrocketing. He lacked some understanding, but he wasn’t stupid. He may not necessarily know what love should feel like, or reciprocated feelings, but he knows what he’s feeling now isn’t to be ignored. If it was, it wouldn’t be so goddamn suffocating.

His free hand brushes the hair over his forehead back at the epiphany. His other one is controlled, sliding up and down his cock continuously. There was so much precum leaking at his sensitivity, making his eyes flutter and his words unstable. At first it was just groans and soft moans falling from his lips. Now, he needs the words for what he’s about to do next.

Somehow he finds his hand hovering atop his bedside table, ripping his phone off the charger and dialing your number.

A few rings later, he hears your faint air conditioning in the background. “Cho?”

Instead of a response, a heavy, elongated sigh sounds on the line. Your voice was so refreshing to hear that it actually startled him. He thought he was ready to talk about whatever his feelings were, or ask about them, but maybe he got intentions of the choice to call you slightly wrong. His thumb slips just under his pink head, flinching his hips and ejecting whimper from his mouth.

He stares into the darkness, not even attempting to hide. “H-hello,” he mumbles.

“Are you okay? It’s pretty late.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Choso swallows, putting the phone beside his ear. He looks down at what he’s doing. Calves straining, cock throbbing, and muscles tensing. Had he always been this reactive? You both rest in silence, his as an occupied one, but a silence nonetheless before he interrupts it.

“I wanted to—” His grip became a little too hard and a low groan slips into the mic. He was trying to communicate without notifying you of what he’s doing, but you had brought it up unprompted that day so he doubts you would mind if it came to that. “—hear your voice.”

“Well, I’m here now. Hey, are you sure you’re completely fine?”

“I-I… fuck,” Choso curses, which is a rarity in all honesty, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He hears you shuffle. He assumes you sat up, intrigued. “Oh yeah?”

It’s like you were put on this earth just for him—to guide him, to trouble him, but it’s all a side of the same coin. And he loves every second of it. Your voice was so fulfilling even with its mocking tone, and maybe it’s just the arousal coursing through him, but he recognizes it as what it is. Flirting. With this fact, the world slows, leaving the intensity of the moment and the growing feeling in his lower half. His speech is impaired by his own breathing.

“Yeah,” he replies. Breathless and hot.

Once again, there’s another moment of silence. A squelch sound bounces off his length as he increases speed, still shimmering with wetness in the dark, and he’s thinking maybe you fell asleep. His balls tighten every now and then and he thanks the universe for the signal because when he touches them, his eyes almost roll to the back of his head.

The sound he releases is mostly air. It was frantic and choppy and loud, as well as completely received on your end.

“Where are your hands?”

He processes your voice, blinking his eyes open slowly. “Huh?”

“Where are your hands, Choso.”

He tips his chin down, glancing at the stickiness between his fingers and his dick standing tall, itching for more. It’s weird, he thinks, but he admires his work and how he doesn’t feel dirty or the least bit uncomfortable with it. He watches the clearish-white seep from the peak when his fingers clamp around his base and squeeze; he hums satisfactorily.

“Busy.”

Incredulously, you parrot, “Busy?” A smile inches onto your face and he only knows because he can hear it in your voice. “Are they stroking anything, by any chance?”

On that note, he begins undulating again, tipping his head back to the pillow. It was burning desire, for multiple things. He didn’t know what, but you’re for sure one of them.

He grins softly but cockily, “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Because I’m so ‘pent up’ all the time?” He turns his head to the phone as if it were you lying beside him.

You both laugh in a daze, the feeling surreal. It then goes quiet.

“I’m feeling a little pent up right now, actually,” you coo.

Choso copies, “Oh yeah?” And he understands what you mean, because his cock tightens and warms. His speed enhances once more, sloshing somewhere in the back of the call and making the “h” sounds of his words lengthy.

“Yeah,” you moan on the other line. It was light; lighter than his. But his are the very reason why.

On top of the pleasant surprise of him taking your advice, he called you to experience it, and his voice is deep with fatigue but serene with arousal. It didn’t take a genius to guess what you were doing in response. “How does it feel Choso?”

“Keep talking and I’ll see.”

That instant he twitches again, his hips now thrusting up into his fist for some type of release. It was growing with every word you spoke. He bites his lip and keeps his eyes closed to relish in the moment because it is ten times more exhilarating in someone else’s presence. Yours.

“Are you close?” You question. Your breath was more contained than his, but he could hear the movement of the covers.

Another grunt, “Yes.” In fact, he was so close, there isn’t anything else that he’d want. It practically overtook him.

He could barely hear you, or understand you, rather. And if he did, it took him repeating your words over again.

“You were thinking about me, weren’t you?”

It was snappy but his voice gave it away. “I called, didn’t I?”

“I bet you’re imagining it’s my hand, right? Or when you come it’s my face you’re spilling on?”

He curses under his breath, jolting his hips up and gripping his cock harder. Rougher. No, he actually wasn’t imagining that, but now that you brought it to life, there’s no going back.

What you said after was unfortunately heard loud and clear.

“Slow down for me.”

And it should have been embarrassing how instantly he took his hand away, because if he didn’t, cum would be painted on his chest by now. He groans strongly and hisses as if in pain at your denial, breaths thick and weighty. “H-Holy shit.”

Choso never got angry at really anything, but here he was, brows low in irritation. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him raise his voice over the calming way he spoke either, but that doesn’t matter now. Had he gone slow he still would have came.

He speaks as confidently as you do laying on his back, dry hand flipped onto his forehead while his breathing regulates. “Why won’t you let me come?”

You had your own reasons, one of which being you took it as the perfect opportunity to pleasure yourself. “Because I said so.”

Choso opens his eyes to his cock as possibly erect as it could get, bobbing with every time he moved. It was an angry red instead of its usual pink now. “I’m so close,” he placates himself a bit, “…just…let me.”

You don’t respond, just release small whimpers of your own— but he knows you’re still listening. He sighs deeply, “…Please.”

It was so breathless it might as well have been a moan in its own. “What’d you say?”

“What?”

“I didn’t hear you.” You heard him.

“…Please let me come.”

He was shaking, his hand already wandering closer to his dick in pure anticipation you would say yes. Thank God you did after a few quiet seconds that were anything but tranquil— he actually thought that he was about to pop.

It’s swift when he cups his hand and runs from the base to the tip, squeezes there, and uses a few of the fingers to drag over the wet skin of his balls. The sounds he made previously come back tenfold.

His hips jerk and his abdomen follows. His back lifts from the bed, causing him to rise onto an elbow as he strokes himself through his climax. His engorged cock throbs in his hand and he shudders. He shuts his eyes just as milky white cum flies out in spurts around his waist and stomach.

Meanwhile, your own peak was near, and when Choso huffs through his, yours hits like a train. His vision was black and spotty, but he could hear you cry his name somewhere in the distance. This only made it worse. You carry him even farther into his orgasm since he thinks about what they’ll sound like in person. His name rolls off your tongue so beautifully already; when you’re under him, it’ll put him on his deathbed.

He blinks his eyes open to the mess that he can’t bring himself to care about in the moment. He flops backward onto his bed sheets while trying to keep his lungs in order.

It seems to be that for you as well because a few much needed-minutes pass.

“Cho?”

He hums back leisurely.

You ask, soft and sweet. “Can I come over?”

“See you in ten,” he sits up.

©️hxltic

[sukunasbow]

idea: patrick fingering reader while they’re in the bathtub. like, he just walks in while reader is taking a bath and goes to town. i know he’d be so smug, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you, talking you through each one🫣

patrick fingering you in the bathtub ; mdni

after a long tennis practice, you decided the best remedy for your aching limbs was a relaxing bath before your boyfriend got home. however, your plans changed when just a few minutes after you got into the tub and nearly fell asleep, patrick walked into the bathroom and decided to join you as well.

now, you're sitting in between his legs, your back pressed to his chest and his arm reaching around your torso, sliding down to your pussy and curling his fingers inside of you.

"had a long day, hm?" he coos, pressing small kisses along your shoulder.

"yeah, i'm really tired." you cut yourself off with a loud moan when he hits the sweet spot of your cunt. "patrick, i just want to relax with you, i don't think i can take this." you pant.

"you can take it, baby. gonna make you feel better, mm'kay?" he whispers, nipping at your earlobe.

"patrick." you gasp, resting your head on his shoulder. "fuck, 'ss to much."

"be a good girl, it's alright."

you look up at him and are met with the sight of him smirking just as he slides another finger inside of your cunt, stretching you even more. with each movement of his fingers, you feel your walls adjust to them, as if his fingers were made to be inside of you.

he continues finger fucking you, watching your eyes glaze over and your lips part, getting dumbed down from the pleasure he's giving you.

"gonna cum, patrick."

"yeah? cum for me, baby." he nods, his tone mocking your current state.

his words push you over the edge and you feel your cunt tightening around his fingers, then releasing as you ride out your orgasm, your juices mixing with the water. you're left a gasping mess, your chest slowly rising and falling.

"we're not done yet, princess." he pauses, "we're just getting started."

[nomazee]

Um hello! Is the 1k event thingy still up?? If so I would like to request a classmate! Dr ratio x reader at 2:47 am?

it's actually sickening how much fun i had with this i was giggling at my own jokes while typing this out... this was so fun to write THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A blaring, aggravating, shrill sound wakes you up. Your hands go to cover your ears, protecting your sanity from the noise ringing somewhere from the tangle of sheets on your bed. Hands flailing around desperately to find the source of the piercing chimes, you writhe around in agony until you finally latch onto your phone. 

The brightness of the screen digs into your corneas as you lift up the device to see the caller ID of whoever had the guts to bother you on a school night. 

It comes to no surprise that the caller name reads “VERITAS FUCKING RATIO” in all caps with no contact photo. Your eye twitches and the grip on your phone tightens, just a hair away from leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal. 

Begrudgingly, you answer the call, tucking the phone next to your ear with nothing less than displeasure. “Veritas. Why are you calling me at—” you pull your phone back to check, “—almost three in the morning?” 

“The works cited page,” Veritas Fucking Ratio informs you matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of sleepiness in his voice, nothing that could possibly chip away at his good image, of course. “You did it in the wrong format. It’s supposed to be APA. This is a science project, not a literature project.” 

You might kill him. The project in question is to be presented tomorrow— today at ten in the morning. Ratio and you had been working on it for an entire two weeks, broken up into intermittent hour-long sessions because he was adamant that you split up the work instead of rushing to do it all the night before. Stupid self-righteous gorgeous beautiful academic genius-freak. Yeah, it definitely helped you in the long run, but he acted so sanctimonious about it that you refused to admit the benefits. 

“Veritas,” you imbue the syllables of his name with poison, as much as you can when you’re swaying as you sit up on your bed and fighting demons to not fall back asleep. “This is such an easily-fixed thing. Do you know what time it is right now? Why are you even awake? You know, I am supposed to get a full seven hours of sleep every night, and I was already cutting it short today, and you woke me up before I could even hit REM sleep. Do you know how upsetting this is? Fix the goddamn works cited yourself!” 

For once, Veritas is at a loss for words. The other end of the line is so quiet that you have to double check and make sure he hasn’t just hung up on you. Perspiration builds on your palms, thinking that this is it—this is the exact moment that you make Veritas-Fucking-Ratio snap and delete your name off the project credit slide, and you’re going to get a 0 because he will wipe off any evidence of your work from this plane of existence, and you will spend the rest of your measly life chasing after your MLA-turned-APA works cited page, too-little-too-late. 

“I’m awake because the— well.” He pauses, and his voice sounds so far away and unobtrusive that you’re almost worried. Your breath stills in the middle of your diaphragm. Waiting. “The works cited is one thing. But I wanted you to look at the slides, if you can.” 

If you can, he says, as if he’s giving you a choice, which he literally never has during this entire process. You had no role in choosing the topic, or the slide theme, or what days you worked on the project, or how often you worked on the project (because god forbid you procrastinate a little bit, right?!), but now, at almost three in the morning, Veritas is saying something along the lines of oh please my dearest project partner, I request that you open the Google Slides at once, but only if you would like to! I would never infringe on your free will at three in the morning, because I respect you as a partner. Or something like that. That was pretty much the gist of it. 

A raspy sigh escapes you, and you claw your busted laptop off the nightstand next to you, opening it up and squinting at the LED screen as you punch in your passcode. “You know, I have done a good job at going along with all of your whims, Veritas, the least you could do is fix the works cited for me. Seriously, how did you even miss that? You’re so detail-oriented, but you didn't even realize the format was wrong until tonight? Who even cares, seriously… it’s just a slideshow…” 

Your voice trails off as the slideshow presentation finally loads in. You see Veritas’ default profile picture blink in the upper right-hand corner, signaling that he’s viewing the slideshow with you. The slideshow which has apparently undergone a huge makeover. 

It’s—pleasant to look at. This entire time, you and Veritas had been editing a default, white-background black-serif-font-text slideshow. He refused to change it, telling you that it’s unprofessional to do anything too embellished, to which you fruitlessly said, Veritas, we will die early deaths because of the hole in the ozone layer, would you at least make it easier on my poor soul by letting me choose a pokemon-theme slide? Veritas had pretended like he couldn't hear you (in a very quiet library room, mind you), but the twitch in his brow gave him away. 

Now, though, the slides are decorated. It’s a really nice theme, complete with custom icons and graphic blobs of color—your favorite color, might you add. It’s—pretty. Dare you say, cute, but you think Veritas would vaporize your entire presentation if you called it cute. 

“Did you— this— did you pay for this slide theme?” 

“You— n— mn,” he trails off into an unintelligible mash of mumbling, and you hear a loud THUD that sounds awfully like the phone being thrown onto a mattress. Fabric shuffles around, before you hear Veritas’ voice again, clear and composed. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.” What a loser, and a liar, and an endearing freak. You really wish he video called you because you need to see his totally-very-ugly face. 

“I thought this was unprofessional, Veritas,” you say teasingly, a smile lining your words as you try not to giggle right into the phone. “What made you have a change of heart?” 

“Nothing,” the typical firmness of his voice has returned, much to your dismay. “The works cited is still wrong. You have to fix it.” 

“Oh, whatever you say, honored Ratio,” you open up your trusty citation-generator, ready for a long fifteen minutes of copying and pasting information. “Hey, you must be free after class tomorrow, right? Since the project is pretty much over, right?” 

“Yes,” Veritas answers after a moment of hesitation, only a hint of doubt in his voice. 

“That’s great. Keep your schedule clear, then.” 

(You fix the works cited slide, wish Veritas sweet dreams, and then wake up in the morning to completely ace your presentation. The minute the period ends, you drag him out of the classroom and into a coffee shop, paying for some five dollar pastry and joking that it’s payback for the cute slideshow theme that he definitely paid five dollars for. Veritas is an awful liar, and you tell him that, and he can’t even find the strength to deny it.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

[satorusluver]

Minors DNI

Sorry I just have too many smutty Gojo thoughts to keep them to myself. I'm not really sorry.

I thought a little too hard about how big Satoru's dick probably is and this happened lol.

Imagine Gojo Satoru teasing you for struggling to take all of his massive cock. I mean, look, the man is 6'3", I just know his dick is huge. With that kinda confidence, he's got more than just being the strongest sorcerer to be cocky about. His dick intimidatingly large -your eyes would probably bug out the first time he whipped it out, nearly smacking you in the face with it. It's the kind of cock you struggle to wrap your mouth around when you go down on him. Just a few minutes of sucking his dick and your jaw is gonna be aching. And taking him down there isn't much easier. It's a struggle, and you just know he thinks it's funny as fuck watching you try to take all of him.

Sometimes he likes to make you work for it. He'll lie back on the bed with his hands behind his head, looking up at you with a shit-eating grin while you take your sweet time trying to make him fit. Even with lube, if you're not used to being stretched out by him everyday, if he's been away awhile, then taking him hurts, at least at first. You gotta take it slow, one hand holding onto the base of his shaft and the other pressed flat against his chiseled chest as you carefully sink down onto the head of his cock, whimpering slightly from how the stretch stings a little.

"Aww, what's the matter, princess? Is it too big for you?" Satoru teases you.

"Sh-shut up," you shoot back, glaring at him as you slowly sink down onto him another inch.

"Oh, come on, you were begging for this cock a few minutes ago and now look at you, struggling to take more than a couple of inches." 

His eyes flicker down to where his length is slowly disappearing into your pretty pussy.

"Looks like quite the tight fit...fuck, feels like quite the tight fit," he groans when you sink down another couple of inches. 

Part of him just wants to grab your hips and buck up into you, forcing you to take every last inch all at once so he can finally feel all of your tight, wet heat wrapped around him. But he won't do that, no, he'll lie right there and let you take him at your own pace.

He sighs softly when he finally feels himself bottom out, finally feels the head of his cock meet the entrance to your womb. He's so long and thick that sitting on his cock like this damn near feels like you're being split in two. He doesn't even have to try to hit your g-spot, he fills you so entirely that happens on its own. You can feel it just sitting there, feel him pressing against it so effortlessly and it feels so good despite how uncomfortable the stretch is at first.

"There we go, I knew you could do it. Fuck, feel so fuckin' tight around me. You gonna be a good girl and ride me, yeah? I wanna see you make yourself cum on my dick."

[spideyhexx]

1 am thoughts with kit:

mdni; tw stepcest

Coriolanus and you, hooked up how long ago? Maybe a few months. Almost a year ago. And now your parents are marrying. An awful coincidence because the moment you’re in one another’s vicinity again, you’re both practically eye fucking one another and thinking about the one night you had.

One. Where he took you to his apartment and fucked you in his bed, multiple times. Where you had his cock down your throat and sat on his face because he wanted, no pleaded, that he needed to taste you like that.

How were you supposed to behave like normal? And your father was so happy with his mother, you couldn’t even bear to say anything to break it up.

Coriolanus pulled you aside after a family dinner and you spoke in hushed tones about how the two of you should just ignore what happened, that you don’t need to really be apart of each other’s lives that much. You’re both adults with your own things going on, it would be easy to avoid one another without rousing suspicion, right?

Except, of course, it wasn’t easy to ignore the man. Every time you caught his eye, you pictured how he looked, on top of you and pounding himself into you like he needed you to survive. You don’t know how it was possible. That night you spent with Coriolanus was unreal, unlike anything that it almost feels like a dream. You try to get him out of your mind and system, fucking other people, fucking yourself, anything, but your mind always goes back to him.

And it’s the same for him, he in turn gives into the fantasy a little more and thinks of you on your knees for him when he fists his cock in the shower. After he finishes, he always chastises himself, always tells himself he won’t do that next time but it was a lie.

You both ignore and ignore and ignore until one day, you both give in after your parents left for an evening dinner at a friend’s penthouse. The two of you, left alone for the first time really.

It takes an awkward conversation, two drinks each and Coriolanus’ knee touching yours before you’re all over one another in the couch of the lounge.

He would frantically pick you up after his lips felt bruised from yours, bringing you to your bedroom.

And while Coriolanus’ cock finally sinks into your cunt after the long period of the worst pleasures either of you experienced, he’s rambling like mad right to your ear, pushing his hands under your thighs and knees to get your legs higher. He needs to fuck you as deep as possible, he needs to remember how you feel.

“I’m so fucked up for liking this,” he grunts out, and he restrains himself from biting and sucking marks to your neck, so he just smushes his nose to it instead, “you’re so fucked up for it. You’re moaning like this for me? This is what you fucking needed huh? You’re so lucky I want it just as bad. The way you look at me during dinner sometimes hurts my cock,” and his words feel sharp, breathless and quick to your skin, as he ruts into you, primal and full of energy all for you.

Coriolanus doesn’t care that his own thighs are starting to ache, he doesn’t even care that you’ve already came, and you don’t care either.

“Cant believe how fucked up we are. We’re gonna fuck everything up,” but even with his words, he’s thrusting harder, he almost whimpers when you say, “shut the hell up, Coryo.”

[moonriverrise]

Steve has a secret, well “secret” may not be the correct way to describe it. He has something for himself, thats what. Ever since he stopped playing basketball and doing swim competitions once he graduated he's had way more free time, which at first he filled with shifts at Family Video, or bothering Robin.

Then, when she started school he started doing art more. Which, may come a surprise to many, as he never really talked about his interest in paintings and old art.

Greek sculptures that are able to show life in a still ethereal way, while still being able to twist it at their will. Renaissance oil paintings, capturing tragedy yet still being able to portray it as beautiful, in their own terrible twisted ways.

He likes sketching on paper, painting on canvas. His paintings aren't usually too different from the things he sees around him. Honestly thats the only things he paints, people, his friends, places he goes, things he sees that stick with him, dreams, moments that play on repeat in his head.

Around his Junior year, after the Demogorgon, Steve had turned the sad basement in his sad empty house, into his own space. A place where he can go and do his art, hang it, play music on his walkman, or using the record player he got from a pawn shop a few months prior. Somehow the basement is the only space that actually feels like his in his house, not even his bedroom.

Steve’s art was not very consistent to be honest, mostly the kids and Robin, landscapes that he liked, the Demogorgon/dogs, the Mindflayer (he needs some way of getting those out of his head, and somehow drawing them down feels freeing.) He does have a few paintings of Nancy from when they were together, she’s become less of a model for his work after everything though.

The last time he painted her in a painting alone, was one of that bathroom in a girl he barely knows’ house, a spilled drink on Nancy’s dress, and red solo cups littering the counter.

Steve’s art shifts though, after a moment that will never leave his mind. He knows who Eddie Munson is, obviously. How could he not? Honestly Steve isn't that surprised Henderson and the others befriended the guy, he does run a DnD club.

But then, Henderson needs a ride home after their club meetings because his mom is working late, and then Lucas and Mike’s parents are also asking Steve to pick them up too. Babysitting duty, as per usual.

Steve arrives a bit earlier than he planned. He didn't have any project to consume himself into, hitting an art block begrudgingly. But then, Steve sees Eddie Munson, sitting on a fake throne, watching the kids and other club members argue, he has his chin rested on his fist, and he's wearing a white tank top, showing off his shoulders, given the fact it’s still September.

The lighting of the small theater room captures Steve’s interest like a moth to the flame, and he is regretting having left his sketchbook at home, even though he never draws around the kids or anyone he knows.

Eddie Munson’s face and curly locks fill up the pages of Steve’s journal and some canvases for months after, and Steve rarely genuinely complains about coming to pick the kids up.

Afterwords, months later from that day. Chrissy Cunningham dies, and Eddie Munson almost goes with her. God, or whatever deity that was looking down upon him, was on Steve’s side in that moment, when he was able to revive Eddie and then drag him out of the Upside Down.

Steve gets closer with Eddie after that, they become actual friends. Steve was so used to witnessing his muse from afar, it was so…exciting, to see Eddie in all his glory, just a few feet away, and his smile being directed at him.

“Do you even have any hobbies, Harrington?” Steve blinks. Him, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and the party, are all hanging out by the pool. Steve is lounging on one of the chairs, sunglasses over his eyes as Eddie talks beside him.

“What?” Steve responds.

“I mean…I like barely ever see you do anything besides sort Movies at Family Video, or boss around the kids. Like, what do you do when we're not all together?” Eddie asks, moving his hand a little as he talks. Steve thinks for a moment.

“Funny,” Steve answers instead. Eddie scoffs.

“I'm being serious, man! What do you do?” Eddie laughs a little, most likely at the ridiculousness of it all. What would Steve know, Eddie is like a puzzle, and Steve has to take every minute slowly, deciphering everything he lays out for him, via tongue or action.

“I don't know, what do you do?” Steve says, almost carefully.

“Band stuff, DnD, Writing,” Eddie lists. “And I guess saving the world now, but thats a bit of a side hussle.” Steve scoffs.

“Whatever, man.” And thats that, they don't talk about it again. But it sticks with Steve, because his friends really do think he doesn't do anything with his life. It's not like he has college classes to study for, so what does he do?

Later, maybe two or three weeks after, Steve decides he wants to show Eddie his space. The two of them are alone, Robin is in Nevada, visiting her grandparents, so the trio’s usual movie night is cut down to a duo’s movie night.

Although Steve finds himself mostly focusing on Eddie and his beautiful hair sitting next to him, than watching ET. The little alien scares him a bit anyway. Eddie notices him staring though, his eyes flickering to meet Steves, then a smirk spreading across his lips.

“We are watching a movie, lover boy.” Eddie says. Steve goes red, his gaze shifting to his lap. Steve furrows his eyebrows then stands and shuts the TV off. “Woah! Hey!”

“I want to show you something.” Steve says, it's a bit quieter than he meant it to be, but his tone indicates something to Eddie, which has him staring at Steve, starstruck.

Steve walks out the room and hears Eddie follow him. He gets to the basement door and opens it, flicks on the stair light.

“Basement- woah- okay, guess I'm getting murdered. Thought I’d go out in a more metal way than this.” Eddie says as they walk down. Steve laughs a little and shakes his head.

“I just think you should see this.” Steve says. “Nothing life threatening, I promise.”

“Alright, I trust you, Stevie.”

“Good.”

Steve turns and flicks on the light as they step onto the concrete. The lights flicker on, revealing the paintings on the walls and art supplies on the tables and counters.

“Woah-” Eddie says. “Is this, all your stuff?” Steve sighs, he folds his arms and faces Eddie. He looks shellshocked.

“Yeah.” Steve says. “You said I don't have any hobbies, I do, actually.” Eddie looks around, walking slowly.

“Is that Henderson? Why is he wearing yellow gloves?” Eddie asks. Steve walks over to a painting of Dustin from Steve’s angle while they were walking on the train tracks, a bucket of raw meat is in one hand and he's wearing the headphones for his radio.

“D’Art,” Steve says. “That was when we were leading him away. I made that one after everything happened. I was trying not to think about the Demogorgon stuff and everything, so I just drew him. I have one of Max from that day I never finished painting in a stack I think too.” Eddie doesn't say anything for a minute after Steve is done explaining.

“You can paint.” Eddie says, though not like a question. “These are beautiful…” Eddie looks around and walks to another one he sees. It's one of the Byers and Hopper’s, all hugging while laughing. El looks the happiest. Steve had painted that after they had all gotten together after everything. “Why…didn't you tell anyone?”

“About what?” Steve asks, folding his arms as Eddie brings up a hand to touch the painting.

“This- Steve, you're amazing at this. These are…” Eddie trails off as something catches his eye, he slowly starts to walk towards a big painting propped up behind one of the tables laid out in the middle of the room. Steve walks to him to see which one he's looking at.

An angel, knelt over a puddle, crying as it stares at his reflection, which is blurred and dark. He stands in a forest, his wings are long and huge, sprawling out above him.

It’s one of Steve’s bigger ones, the inspiration came from a dream he had after they had read about Icarus in his english class back in Highschool.

“It’s… magnificent.” Eddie whispers. Steve smiles gently at Eddie’s reaction. Eddie backs up a bit and looks away from the painting. “Is that me?” Steve follows his eye, to the painting. Eddie walks towards it, Steve stays behind him. It’s the first one Steve ever made of Eddie, the one of him on the throne.

“Yeah, it is.” Steve says. “I made that the first night I came to pick up the kids.” He says. “The first time I met you, actually met you.” They share a look.

“You are incredible, Steve Harrington.”

[6okuto]

gn!reader | iwaizumi will do a lot of things if you ask, but he's always a little awkward and embarrassed about taking photos of himself. what angle does he use, why's the lighting so bad, this is his "no one will see me" t-shirt, does his smile look forced, etc, etc., which means you only ask every once and a while, mostly as a joke, and never mind when he brushes it off with a laugh.

so when you open your messages to see an unprompted selfie of him, blurry, sitting in dim light, cheeks flushed and biting his lip to stop a grin, shocked is one word you can use to describe yourself. apparently drunk hajime is different from sober hajime, and confident enough to send a second, third photo capturing his night out with his old teammates at karaoke.

and you're not sure if it was their idea or his, but you really can't bring yourself to complain when he accidentally sends a video instead of a photo that perfectly frames his slightly unbuttoned top, messy hair that he runs his fingers through (he's brought up needing a haircut every week for the past month, but keeps pushing off setting an appointment), and raspy laugh as he tells someone off screen to shut up and sing already before turning to you with a smile.

"oh, shit, it's a video."

"pft, are you really that drunk?"

"hiii," someone—you think tooru—singsongs your name.

another complains, his voice muffled by your boyfriend moving the camera, "ugh, can you move over?"

"hi babe." hajime's low, slurred voice brings your attention back to him. "i got 94 on m'last song, jus' so y'know.

"let it go! that was all luck—"

"shut up, it's not my fault y'got 67 and sound like a dying bird. ugh," he seems to lose his train of thought and sniffles. "uh...don't worry, issei's driving m'back. i'll tell you 'bout it when i get home. see you soon, alright? love you."

the video ends, cutting off the beginning of a voice crack and off-pitch note, and the responding cackle that momentarily fills the quiet of your living room.

it's not a hard decision to save everything he's sent to your phone. the real hard decision will be tomorrow, you think, when you have to decide between teasing him to death or helping with his hangover. but then you get another notification—another text from him that reads "Cany ou tell them i'm not gonna sing adell" and you smile.

you can probably do both.

(he does end up singing, but so does everyone else. the video you get is way too loud, and way too close to the microphone, and the phone falls to the floor at some point, but it's saved to your gallery anyway. he makes you promise not to play it the next morning because it's "so headache inducing he could explode.")