#this got away from me...a bit...

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[verflares]

belated valentines zelink ^_^ wanted to revisit these two in particular

[zillychu]

I NEED Loop to be further tormented by finding out confessing to their party doesn't break their loops, and Siffrin wishes to see Loop again so hard he pops out of the favor tree so he gets to be Loop's guide

[moggettt]

Anonymous asked: FOR art requests, if you're still taking: Wyll from BG3?

Red gladiolus: moral integrity, strength of character, honor, and sincerity 🗡️

Thank you so much for sending in a request!! <3

[uss-butterscotch]

Eddie almost becomes a 4th of July finger loss statistic and runs into a pair of sailors in the ER

cw: medical terminology, references to canon-typical gore

-

Eddie can feel his uncle’s glare from the seat next to him. He’s resolutely ignoring it and also attempting to ignore the pulsing pain in his hand, which he’s currently pressing a damp kitchen towel to.

Wayne, apparently, isn’t having it. “You know how many people blow their fingers off on this day every year, boy?” He says slowly.

Eddie presses his lips together. When he can’t hold his thoughts back anymore he half-whispers, “Last time I checked, all my fingers were still attached to my body.”

“They better continue to be that way by tomorrow morning.” Wayne huffs and leans back in his chair. Arms crossed tight over his chest.

They sit in silence for about 5 minutes before the doors to the emergency room practically fly open. The sudden movement draws Eddie’s eye.

He’s met with possibly the last thing he expects. The first thing he registers is that two of the people who just entered appear to be dressed like cartoon sailors, and that one of the sailors also appears to have been recently hit by a car, then the car reversed, and ran him over again.

The second thing he realizes is that the roadkill sailor is the one and only Steve Harrington. Not only is he Steve Harrington, he’s Steve Harrington, clearly on drugs.

“Hopper, we told you,” Harrington attempts to sound convincing while teetering precariously with every step, “we feel fine. I don’t even think this is as bad as last time. Nobody even… smashed anything into my head.”

The other sailor, whom Eddie has just identified as Robin Buckley, band kid and on Eddie’s short list of suspected fellow freaks.

“Nope!” Robin giggles, “just ripped a few fingernails out.” She wiggles her own fingers in front of Hopper’s face, which at the moment is locked in a simultaneously horrified and exasperated expression.

Now that attention has been called to it, and all of Robin’s fingers seem intact, Eddie sneaks a glance at Harrington’s hands, the left one of which appears to have bandages that are becoming soaked through with blood on the index and middle fingers.

“Maybe nothing got smashed into you, but Wheeler mentioned something about you smashing a certain commandeered vehicle into a certain Camaro.” Hopper leans in and speaks in a growl Eddie assumes he thinks passes for whispering, while directing Harrington and Buckley into matching plastic chairs to the one Eddie is currently occupying.

He gapes at them and blinks a few times before turning to see what his uncle thinks of this whole scene. He finds Wayne watching the newcomers with a slight squint to his eyes and a slight raise to his right eyebrow. A clear sign that he is equal parts concerned, Eddie would assume for the obvious poor condition of at least one of the teens, and intrigued, but not intrigued enough to risk intervening and complicating his already very mentally taxing evening.

Before he can do anything about any part of this scenario, a nurse calls Eddie’s name and in a blink he’s being led into the next stage of the hell of his own making. At first it’s several minutes of answering questions, nurses looking very intently at the half burn/half gash in his hand, and antiseptic. Finally he’s left alone for a few moments while they let the topical numbing cream set in.

There are two other beds in the section he’s been taken to. One of them is currently occupied by an older man, accompanied by a younger woman in a plastic chair next to him. Both of them appear to be fast asleep. The other bed is empty. Or at least, it is until there’s a commotion from the hallway, and the sailors are being ushered in Eddies direction, toward the bed next to his. Eddie catches bits of the conversation that leads to the two-high-teenagers-for-one deal he’s about to get.

Robin’s almost frantic voice, “No! They can’t separate us! Last time we got split up-“

“It’ll be fine, Rob, these guys are probably American.” Steve cuts her off nonsensically. Eddie kind of wishes he was on whatever stuff Steve was right now.

“Considering what you’ve tried to explain so far, I don’t know how much better that is.” Robin says, giggling again.

Steve clumsily grabs her hand with his right one, reaching across is own body awkwardly to get to her, and missing on the first attempt. “You also need to get looked at, little miss ‘ask me tomorrow’.”

Robin cringes at him, “Ok now I will leave you alone so you don’t call me ‘little miss’ again.”

Eddie watches the nurses lead Robin further down the hallway, and Steve to the bed next to his own. They’re left alone briefly after Steve gets settled and the nurse has rushed off to find a doctor.

The other teen stares almost blankly at him for a long moment before he exclaims suddenly, startling Eddie, “Munson! From Biology! That’s why you seem familiar.”

“Harrington,” Eddie replies, “you are aware we shared more classes than the one Biology period, right?”

Harrington blinks slowly with the eye that isn’t swollen shut. “No, actually, I dunno if you noticed, but I was sort of an asshole in high school, so…” he wobbles his head back and forth, “I kind of only remember that time you passed out when we dissected that cow eye.”

“Ah,” Eddie rolls his eyes and nods, “so you were an asshole in high school, but you’re not anymore. Got it.” He’s really going over the top with the sarcasm, but Harrington doesn’t seem to catch on.

“Yup. Earlier Robin said that I really was, but I’m not anymore, and she’s usually right about most things, even though it’s super annoying when she is right, because she won’t shut up about it, and she remembers stuff, like how many times I’m wrong and what I’m wrong about and what I ate for breakfast in Mrs. Click’s class and-“

He’s cut off by the nurse from before returning. “Sorry for making you wait, hon, it’s a real circus here tonight. While we wait for the doctor, I’m gonna get you set up with some fluids. The EMTs said you were pretty dehydrated.”

When she brandishes the needle in preparation for placing the IV, Eddie notices all the color that isn’t bruising drain from Harrington’s face. He tries to subtly scoot away from her, but the movement is a little too rushed to come from anywhere but a sense of panic.

“O-oh, no that’s, I’m okay, no-no thanks.” He stutters out, his breath coming in quick and shallow now.

“Oh, hon, it’s okay to be afraid of needles,” the nurse says sweetly, “just look away and take deep breaths, and it’ll be over in a pinch.”

Harrington winces at that. “I-I’m really- it’s- I’m fine, you don’t-“

He stops abruptly when what sounds like a screamed “No!”echoes from down the hallway. It takes half a second longer for Eddie to place the voice as Robin Buckley’s than it apparently takes Steve, because Eddie blinks and Harrington’s off the bed and rushing toward the voice with a half-shouted “Robin!”

The nurse, it seems, is just as stunned as Eddie, and it’s a few seconds before she’s racing after him down the hallway.

It isn’t until his stitches are almost halfway done that Harrington returns, now closely followed by Chief Hopper, and lead gingerly by the elbow by the nurse. The IV situation appears to have been solved, as he is now rolling a drip bag on a stand with his free hand.

Once Harrington is returned to his bed, Hopper leans over him slightly in what Eddie recognizes as his attempt to be intimidating. “Now listen closely, Harrington. You are going to stay right there in this bed, and do whatever Annette here asks you to do until I get back. Do I make myself clear?”

Steve stares at him open mouthed for a moment, before he starts giggling. “Huh, Mike’s right, you do have a little vein that pops out right…” he reaches up to try and poke Hopper in the forehead.

Before Hopper smacks his hand away, Eddie notices a thick band of bruising around Harrington’s wrist, adding to the already massive pile of questions he has about whatever series of events led to those two landing themselves here.

Steve is still giggling when Hopper stands back up, dragging a hand down his face. “Look. Just stay put for 20 minutes. Someone still has to call your damn parents.”

“Good luck with that,” Harrington says wearily to Hopper’s back as he retreats back toward the waiting room.

With all the commotion, Eddie almost forgets he’s currently getting his hand sewn back together. A distraction he’s secretly grateful for, since he was starting to get a little light headed thinking about it.

“Well, Eddie, that should be it,” the doctor says, patting the fresh bandage gently, “I’ll get someone to take care of your discharge papers and you’ll be on your way.”

Eddie gives a thumbs up with the hand that did not get nearly exploded several hours ago. As the doctor leaves, Eddie realizes he is once again left alone with Harrington. He can only handle about two minutes of the silence before he blurts out. “Ok, man, I’m dying to know. What the hell happened to you? You look like you rolled down a rocky cliffside for like a day straight.”

Harrington chuckles, “I feel like that.” He doesn’t say anything for a long moment before he apparently realizes Eddie asked him a question. “Oh, uh, the mall burned down.”

“Starcourt? The brand new mall?”

Harrington nods. “Yup.” He pops the p.

“Wh-” Eddie blinks at him in disbelief, “and you and Buckley..?”

“We were there, yeah.” He says it so nonchalantly Eddie almost thinks he’s messing with him.

“Right…” Eddie starts, not sure where he’s going before one of the questions swirling around his brain tumbles out of his mouth “so the mall was burning down and someone ripped your finger nails off?”

Harrington sits up straight, “How did you-?”

“I was in the waiting room when you came in,” Eddie answers in a rush, “overheard you and Buckley.”

“Oh.” Harrington says, then blinks slowly a few times and Eddie can almost hear him thinking. “Umm, no that happened… before the fire.” He finally says, frustratingly vague.

“Right, and the…” Eddie gestures vaguely to his own face in leu of actually asking.

Harrington hums. “Uhh, I think… falling debris…” he nods to himself, “yeah, you know, chunks of burning mall.” He mimes something falling from the sky and makes a cartoon explosion sound. Eddie’s not totally inclined to believe him, especially since he just noticed the finger shaped bruising on Harringtons arms.

“You think?” He presses.

Harrington huffs, almost like a kid throwing a tantrum. “Look man, I’m like super ultra concussed and on some kind of mystery drugs so my memory is like…” he flaps a hand around for a second, then lands on a thumbs down, “at the moment.”

Eddie nods. “Right, yeah, sorry.” Eddie puts his uninjured hand up in surrender, “Just, my curious nature, man.”

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Okay, my turn.” He points to Eddie’s bandaged hand, “What happened there?”

“Awesome firework experiment gone wrong.” Eddie says, deliberately not elaborating. It’s apparently enough for Steve who nods knowingly.

Another silence settles over the room, this time less awkward, but Eddie still feels the need to break it. “Okay this is my last question for real.” Harrington sighs, but motions for him to go on. “The outfit?”

He squints at Eddie for a moment. “Did you ever like, actually go to the mall?”

“Once. And it confirmed my suspicions that the whole thing was a capitalist nightmare that I in no way belonged within a thousand foot radius of.” Eddie proclaiming proudly.

Steve looked at him like he was speaking Spanish. “Um, sure. Yeah. That’s probably true.” He picks at some of the blood that has dried on the collar of his shirt. “Robin and I work, or, I guess worked, now that it doesn’t exist anymore, but, anyway it’s this ice cream place, and it’s like, ocean themed for some reason, so… sailors.”

The mood seems to have shifted slightly. Harrington’s no longer looking at him, instead focusing on his shoes, which also appear to be smudged with blood. No trace of the half smile that had been lingering from his random fits of giggles. With the way he’s fidgeting, it almost seems like he’s nervous.

Eddie decides the best way out of this is to pretend like he doesn’t notice and hope he can get the vibe back on track. “That sounds like the most ridiculous business I’ve ever heard of.”

Steve lets out a halfhearted chuckle. “Yeah, it was pretty stupid.”

They are both saved from trying to come up with a new direction for the conversation to go by the entrance of Robin Buckley, who is toting her own rolling stand of IV fluid with her.

“Dingus!” She calls, and Eddie notes the way Harrington relaxes slightly at seeing her. “I’m completely healthy!”

Steve mimes clapping and Robin bows dramatically. “I… am not.”

Robin taps his knee. “I could have probably told you that.” Her gaze scans the room, then catches on him. “Hey, you’re the guy that runs the D&D group, right?”

“In the flesh,” Eddie says, spreading his arms wide.

Robin cringes again. “Ew, don’t say flesh. I’ve had too much flesh for one day.”

Steve nods next to her. “He blew up his hand with fireworks.”

Robin gasps, “Really?” She turns to Steve, “I totally thought we were gonna do that, but” she holds out her hands, and while they themselves seem fine, Eddie notices the bruising on her wrists that match Harrington’s, “all my fingers. Intact.”

“That makes one of us,” he smirks and makes eye contact with Eddie.

“Did you know that on the Fourth of July, over 30% of hospital visits are related to injuries from fireworks” Robin says unprompted.

“Why would I know that.” Steve says flatly, “Why do you know that?”

Robin shrugs, “I read.”

It’s then that a nurse comes back to get Eddie out of there. As he goes, Steve waves a goodbye to him that he awkwardly returns. As he leaves them behind he hears Robin ask, “Did Johnathan Byers cut open a girl’s leg, or was that the drugs?”

He shakes his head as he returns to the waiting room, resigned to never have answers to his mountain of questions.

[gingermaple]

martyn in action!

[shapelytimber]

⭐ Besties on break ⭐

It's up as a print on my inprint ! :))

Kiki 4 bouba type ship

Loved imagining Uhura's space btw !!!! I had so much fun with the background ! Does it make sense ? Not really- but the vibes are here (I kept unconsciously adding tribbles kfkfk had to stop myself at six otherwise I would have just filled the scene with them)

[COMMISSION] - [PRINTS]

Process and rambling below vvv

The fact that quiji, back in 2022, showed me like 2 episodes before we watched the first movie.... And that I didn't hate it (still think the beginning is way too slow, especially for someone not really familiar with the characters, and the uniforms are *horrible*), should have been a sign that this fucking show would eventually consume my brain fklfof

Anyway this summer we watched more of the show and also watched up to the fourth movie ! And omfg the fourth one in particular rewrote my brain ckfkkf the Nimoy vision is incredible, the blorbos in silly situations after a pretty angsty movie, their flop era in a space clio 2, the whales- also thank god the marine biologist and old ass Kirk didn't have a romance (I'm choosing to interpret her as french, so that the little kiss on the cheek at the end is just a normal bise, the normal way to say goodbye to someone you now concider your friend <3 and not a hint of romantic interest toward this man who is 1) already married to Spock and 2) could be her dad)

I am now normal about this show I promise ! :)))))

[cantpickyourgenre]

I believe Bobby is coming back from the dead because I think we deserve to live in a world where Kenneth Choi gets to act his ass off by playing a simultaneously relieved/joyous and angry/furious Chimney, who feels like he has to thank Bobby, but also scream at him until his throat is sore because it wasn't fair to make that decision! he's going to say they should have played rock, paper, scissors and Bobby will chuckle because he thinks he's joking like silly haha Chimney, but Chimney is like "no, we should have discussed it, you died and I didn't even get to say thank you. you died and I owed you a debt I didn't even know about. you let me carry that" and he has to wrestle with the guilt of knowing that Bobby would do that for him, not just theoretically, but actual concrete proof that Bobby would die to save him. which they all know on some surface level that they'd die for one another, but it feels like such a far-off concept until it isn't. but Chimney also has to deal with the gratitude because Chimney is also so incredibly thankful that he didn't die. every step of the way he wanted Ravi, Bobby, Buck, and Athena to commit crimes, because he loves his life and he wants to keep living it. he's so overjoyed that he got to go home to his wife and kid, and that comes with its own guilt because how can he be so happy to be home when Bobby DIED. does that make him a monster? that on some level he's HAPPY that Bobby did that? and now he has to FACE Bobby. so he tries to be the Before Chimney who gets people whimsical gifts, but how do you give someone balloons about choosing your life over theirs? and he spirals because he's different now and Bobby is here and he has so so much he wants to say but all of it feels contradictory and unfair and he would normally go to Bobby for advice. so he does. he goes to Bobby and he says "what would you do, if you were in my position?" and Bobby just says "whatever you need to say or feel, I understand" and that just makes Chimney even more upset because what he needs is for none of this to have ever happened. its like they all got a re-do, but kept the memories and the feelings and now he has nowhere appropriate to put them. anyway, Bobby lives and we get Chimney angst yay <3 forever and ever.

[homemadesterekpie]

love the idea of Stiles having some typical insecurities about his body and such but once he and Derek start fucking he starts feeling himself so much.

Derek being kind of a talker when he’s balls deep in Stiles and its all praises and blissed out comments about just how fucking hot and beautiful Stiles is for him.

Stiles literally doesn’t know how to act anymore, he starts taking nudes to send to Derek at all hours, he starts wearing tighter, more revealing clothes.

he starts to go out more, obviously with Derek and Stiles gets delirious at just how tactile Derek is and always has to have at least one hand on Stiles at all times; at the small of his back, at his waist, on his thigh, at the back of his neck, on his ass…

Stiles doesn’t really see anyone else anymore because all he wants is to be with Derek because Derek makes him feel so fucking hot and so fucking wanted.

his dad starts asking questions like is he seeing anyone while knowing full well that Stiles have been seeing the guy who had been under suspicion of murder not that long ago because its not that big of a town and people like to talk but he doesn’t press when Stiles lies and say he isn’t seeing anyone.

Because Stiles has been even more distant than usual lately and it feels a lot like if he presses too hard Stiles will just slip through his fingers and disappear.

Stiles feels guilty about lying but he just wants to keep Derek and what they share together just for himself for a bit longer.

[hinamie]

yeah sorry theyre tragic in this au too

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[mugwot]

someone

[butchsucker]

WANNA BET?

pairing: ellie williams/abby anderson

contents: 18+ content!! bottom!ellie, service top!abby, fucking out of spite?, pussy eating, fingering, finger sucking, hair-pulling, slight edging, squirting

word count: 4,967

It’s always a fight between Ellie and Abby. Always. Not the serious kind, but the kind that feels incredibly immature and incredibly fun. And, keeping it honest, it’s pretty much always Ellie’s fault. She thrives on competition like it’s oxygen. Loves to win. Loves it even more when she can lean back, all smug and triumphant, and shove that win right in Abby’s face.

She’ll turn literally anything into a contest—arm-wrestling, five-second trivia, how long they can go without blinking. On occasion, she's even childish enough to stoop to the random breath-holding contest. The thing is, Ellie doesn’t really care what they’re doing. She just wants Abby’s full attention, undivided and locked on her, like a spotlight. She wants to feel like she’s the center of the goddamn universe, even if it means being obnoxious to get there.

Naturally, she doesn’t always win. Honestly, she suspects she loses more often than she realizes—Abby has that frustrating little half-smile she wears when she’s holding back, letting Ellie have the victory like she’s a kid who needs it more. And that makes Ellie absolutely feral. If Abby’s letting her win, it doesn’t count. It’s not real. It just lights a fire in Ellie’s chest and makes her double down, desperate to prove she’s got the edge fair and square.

Which is how she ends up in her current predicament: flat on her back at the mercy of Abby Anderson.

It had all started earlier that evening. Joel had gone off on one of his trips with Tess, and Ellie—left alone in the big, echoey farmhouse—texted Abby like reflex. Come over. I’m bored. Abby showed up less than an hour later, because of course she did.

They made dinner. Or rather, Abby made dinner while Ellie hovered, stealing bites straight from the pan and offering commentary like a backseat chef. Abby grumbled but let her do it, because she always does. Afterward, they sprawled on the couch in the den, half-watching a movie neither of them were really paying attention to. It was comfort. Familiar. Normal.

Then, inevitably, things derail because Ellie can’t help herself. It's a talent, really. One minute they’re trading stories and half-watching a movie, and the next, the conversation takes a sharp left into explicit territory. It’s just what she does. She could say it’s because she’s sexually liberated, a modern woman unafraid to talk about her desires. Abby, however, tends to chalk it up to Ellie being a huge pervert.

“I refuse to believe you’re fucking more than me,” Ellie declares, throwing her head back onto the couch with theatrical flair. “I bet you suck at it anyway. That’s why you have so many lovers.”

Abby snorts, low and indulgent. “Oh yeah?”

“Don’t feel too bad, Abs,” Ellie says, patting Abby’s arm in a mock-sympathetic gesture. And if her hand lingers just a second longer than necessary, if her fingers press lightly into the definition of Abby’s bicep like she’s taking mental notes? That’s her business. “Some people just aren’t good at making girls come. It’s a skill. Not everyone’s got it. I do, though. You be safe out there.”

Abby turns toward her, slow and deliberate. The kind of shift that feels like it changes the air pressure in the room. Her gaze sharpens, unreadable and dark, eyes narrowing like she’s solving an equation Ellie doesn’t even know she posed.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Abby says, voice calm but with just the barest edge of amusement, “I’d think you’re fishing, Williams.”

Ellie barely manages to suppress the smirk that tugs at her lips. She angles her face toward the ceiling, wide-eyed and faux-innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Abby leans in slightly—close enough for Ellie to catch the faint scent of her shampoo, something clean and vaguely woodsy. Her smile is razor-sharp and wickedly patient.

“If you want me to make you come,” she says, voice dropping into something low and rich and dangerous, “you can just ask.”

And just like that, Ellie’s brain short-circuits.

A logical, intelligent person would hit pause here. Maybe consider the ramifications of sleeping with your friend—of crossing a line that once blurred won’t easily go back. But logic has taken a backseat, and her brain is currently mush. Abby’s voice has gone husky, oozing with intent, and Ellie is struggling to remember her own name, let alone any sound reasoning.

Still, she can’t give in. Not all at once. That’s not how this works. There are rules to the game. Posturing. Banter. Pride.

“As if you could make me come,” she fires back, with the kind of cocky bravado that’s meant to provoke. Because it always has to be a fight.

"Wanna bet?"

Ellie can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads across her lips. "Oh, you're on." She has never wanted to lose more in her life.

There’s a beat where neither moves, but everything shifts. And then they’re moving, like a dam’s burst open and both of them are caught in the flood.

Abby’s the first to stand, and Ellie scrambles up after her, grabbing Abby’s wrist with a breathless, “Come on,” as she tugs her toward the stairs.

They barely make it through the doorway before Ellie’s kicking aside the piles of laundry cluttering her floor. She grabs a shirt, a pair of jeans, maybe a sock—who knows—and tosses them all toward the corner in a desperate attempt at clearing space.

“Jesus, Els,” Abby says with a grin, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind her. “You live like this?”

“Shut up,” Ellie huffs, a little out of breath, “you’re lucky I even have sheets on the bed.”

Abby wastes no time. She crosses the room in three easy strides and suddenly she’s there—right there—crowding Ellie back until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. Her presence is impossible to ignore, all heat and height and solid muscle. Ellie swallows, defiant and breathless all at once.

And then Abby kisses her.

It’s not a soft, testing kind of kiss—it’s all confidence and hunger, her hands already on Ellie’s waist, her mouth insistent and sure. Ellie meets it with fire of her own, hands fisting into the front of Abby’s shirt like she can anchor herself there, like she needs something to hold onto or she’ll float off the planet entirely.

Abby pulls back just long enough to smirk. “Going soft already? You must really like losing.”

“I’m not losing,” Ellie snaps, cheeks flushed, lips kissed pink. “You wish.”

But her voice trembles slightly, and Abby doesn’t miss it.

“Oh, baby,” Abby murmurs, low and indulgent, brushing her fingers under the hem of Ellie’s shirt. “You’re already squirming.”

“I’m not,” Ellie lies—bold-faced, trembling, backed up against her own bed while Abby towers over her. It's a difficult sight not to be moved by. “I just didn't know you'd be so aggressive.”

Abby laughs, that slow, dangerous laugh again. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

She tugs Ellie’s shirt up and off in one smooth motion, Ellie raising her arms automatically, like her brain’s too busy short-circuiting to protest. Abby’s hands are on her immediately, calloused and warm, slow enough to be thorough, fast enough to make Ellie’s knees feel like a suggestion.

“You gonna keep running your mouth,” Abby murmurs, pressing her thigh between Ellie’s legs as she lowers her gently onto the bed, “or are you gonna let me win for once?”

Ellie grabs a fistful of Abby’s shirt, yanking her down for another kiss that’s more teeth than lips. “M'not like you. I never let you win.”

“Oh, I know,” Abby says, mouth trailing kisses down Ellie’s jaw, then lower still, “But I don’t need you to let me.”

Ellie’s breath catches. Abby grins against her skin.

“God, you’re responsive,” she says, voice low and awed and way too smug. “You act all tough but the second I touch you…”

“I swear to god,” Ellie hisses, fingers digging into Abby’s shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself back to that last shred of dignity, “if you keep narrating—”

“What?” Abby grins, biting lightly at Ellie’s collarbone. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up.”

Ellie’s demand is only granted because Abby, mercifully, finds a better use for her mouth.

She closes her lips around Ellie’s nipple, warm and wet, flicking her tongue over the hardening bud with maddening precision. Ellie’s breath hitches. Her hips twitch. Abby anchors her with one firm hand splayed across her stomach, keeping her grounded, steadying her like she knows exactly how close she is to unraveling already. And maybe she does.

Her free hand trails downward, fingers tracing the bare skin of Ellie’s stomach with infuriating slowness, dancing just above the waistband of her sleep shorts. She doesn’t even slip her hand beneath them—just grazes along the edge, lazy and teasing, and it’s shameful how much that alone affects Ellie. She bites her lip hard, trying to choke down the sound trying to claw its way up her throat.

Abby hums against her skin, lips dragging to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention—this time adding a gentle bite that makes Ellie gasp aloud, sharp and helpless.

“That was a pretty sound,” Abby murmurs, her voice low and smug against Ellie’s chest, breath hot and heavy. Her fingers finally slip beneath the soft cotton of Ellie’s waistband, knuckles brushing lower. “Got any more for me?”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breathes, voice trembly and defensive and far too raw to sound convincing.

“That’s not very nice,” Abby says, straightening just enough to pout. Pout. Like she hasn’t already wrecked Ellie’s ability to form complete thoughts. “And here I am being so generous.”

Ellie opens her mouth to throw something back—something cutting or flippant or clever—but Abby’s already sliding down, mouth dragging hot kisses lower and lower, along her ribs, the curve of her belly, across the sensitive dip of her hip. Her fingers hook the waistband of Ellie’s shorts and panties, tugging them down slowly as she goes, her lips following every inch of skin revealed like it’s a damn pilgrimage.

By the time the shorts are halfway down her thighs, Ellie’s practically vibrating with tension, propped on her elbows and watching with wide eyes, like if she looks away she’ll lose her grip on whatever control she thinks she still has.

Abby kneels at the edge of the bed and makes a show of dragging Ellie’s shorts all the way off, tossing them somewhere behind her without so much as a glance. Then she slides her arms beneath Ellie’s thighs, lifting and pulling her forward with ease—like she weighs nothing, like Abby’s body was built for this exact moment. Ellie lets out a surprised, involuntary breath as her back hits the mattress and Abby settles between her legs on the floor, close and steady and entirely too composed.

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters, trying to sound annoyed instead of wrecked. “You having fun manhandling me?”

Abby grins, her hands spreading over the outside of Ellie’s thighs like she’s staking a claim. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Ellie snaps, then immediately realizes how that sounds. “I mean—I wasn’t not—ugh, shut up.”

Abby chuckles, low and satisfied, like Ellie’s fluster is a gift. She presses a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then another, working her way in slow, teasing circles, watching Ellie squirm above her.

“You know,” Abby says between kisses, her breath hot and maddening against sensitive skin, “for someone who talks so much, you’re awfully quiet now.”

Ellie glares down at her, chest heaving, hair wild. “Maybe you should take a page from my—fuck.”

The rest of the sentence dissolves into a ragged moan as Abby licks a long, purposeful stripe through her center and buries her face like she’s been starving for this. Her arms hook tighter under Ellie’s thighs, dragging her closer with the kind of strength that makes her head spin. There’s no patience, no pretense—just Abby, utterly gone for it, moaning into her like she’s tasting something sacred, rocking slightly like she can’t help herself.

Ellie fists the sheets at her sides, back arching off the mattress. “Holy shit,” she breathes, voice cracking at the edges.

Abby doesn't let up. She’s messy with it, relentless. Her tongue works in slow, devastating patterns one second, then flicks quick and eager the next. She’s loud—obscene, even—the wet sounds, the soft groans of appreciation, the way she keeps muttering things into Ellie like she’s praying into her.

“So fucking good,” Abby mumbles, barely audible but desperate, needy. “Tastes so good, baby. Can’t get enough.”

Ellie feels like she’s going to combust. Her pride, her wit, her well-practiced bravado is slipping through her fingers like sand. She tangles one hand in Abby’s hair, tugging sharply, and Abby groans in response—like she likes that, like it only eggs her on.

Ellie tries to keep her voice steady. “You're such a try-hard.”

Abby doesn’t even look up. “You love it.”

Ellie lets out a frustrated, fractured sound, thighs tightening around Abby’s shoulders. She’s getting close, closer than she’s willing to admit, her hips rocking helplessly, chasing the rhythm Abby’s set. Her other hand clutches Abby’s wrist like a lifeline.

“God—fuck, Abby—don’t stop, don’t—”

But she does. Just as Ellie’s about to tip over the edge, Abby pulls away with a slick mouth and flushed cheeks, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Gonna come already?” she asks, smug and breathless. “Ready to lose already?”

Ellie glares down at her, panting. Her legs twitch in protest, every nerve still thrumming.

“No,” she bites, trying to sound indignant instead of wrecked. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh?” Abby’s eyes sparkle as she kisses her inner thigh again, slow and teasing. “Sounded like it.”

“I wasn’t,” Ellie insists, dragging her fingers through her own hair, trying to collect herself and failing. “You stopped before anything happened.”

Abby tilts her head, resting her chin just above Ellie’s knee. “So you’re saying I should keep going?”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “I’m saying you better.”

Abby grins, pleased beyond measure. “Say please.”

Ellie groans. “I hate you.”

Abby clicks her tongue, amusement dancing behind her eyes as she stands with a slow, predatory stretch. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and for one harrowing second, Ellie thinks she’s going to stop. But then Abby’s gaze drops back down, dark and knowing.

“Looks like you just need a little more,” she says, voice rich with promise. “You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?”

“Gotta make you work for it,” Ellie fires back, trying to sound flippant—but the tremor in her voice gives her away.

That smug grin on Abby’s face only sharpens. Without breaking eye contact, she peels off her clothes with calm, deliberate ease, letting each piece fall into a careless pile. Ellie tries not to stare. Fails spectacularly. The muscle, the sheer presence of Abby is overwhelming. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. Solid core. It’s all too much and not enough all at once.

Abby climbs back onto the bed like she owns it—like she owns her—and drags Ellie with her. There’s no room for protest, not when Ellie finds herself suddenly straddling Abby’s hips, bare skin pressed to bare skin, heat radiating between them like an open flame.

Ellie swallows hard, pulse hammering in her throat. Her hands instinctively find Abby’s shoulders, clinging there like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

Abby lifts one hand, cradles Ellie’s jaw with unexpected tenderness, thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek. “Be good,” she murmurs, voice low and intimate. “Open for me.”

She traces her finger along the seam of Ellie’s lips.

They part with a shameful sort of eagerness.

Abby’s smile deepens—something soft but wicked. “Good girl,” she praises, and Ellie nearly melts on the spot.

Then Abby slips two fingers past her lips, slow and sure. Ellie lets her, her mouth closing around them automatically. Abby doesn’t thrust—yet—just lets them sit heavy on Ellie’s tongue, warm and slick with the faint taste of her. Ellie breathes through her nose, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Then Abby begins to move.

She fucks Ellie’s mouth with her fingers in lazy, controlled strokes—gentle at first, coaxing her open, then deeper, filthier. Her other hand rests on the back of Ellie’s neck, holding her steady, thumb brushing the nape of her neck in an oddly grounding rhythm. The whole thing is maddeningly slow, and Ellie can’t tell if she’s being teased or tamed.

“You look so good like this,” Abby murmurs, watching her with open hunger. “Mouth full. Eyes all hazy.”

Ellie glares at her—well, tries to. The effect is somewhat undercut by the fact that she’s choking slightly around Abby’s fingers, breathing hard through her nose, cheeks flushed with heat.

“Still gonna pretend you’re not into this?” Abby teases, fingers pressing deeper. “You’re dripping. I can feel it.”

Ellie whimpers, just barely, and hates herself for it.

Abby pulls her fingers free with a soft pop, dragging them slowly across Ellie’s bottom lip, wiping up a mess she made.

“There she is,” Abby whispers. “Still gonna be stubborn, huh?”

Ellie licks her lips, refusing to look away. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

Abby grins—sharp and devastating.

“Oh,” she says, voice rough with anticipation, “I will.”

At a maddeningly slow pace, Abby works her middle finger into Ellie’s warm heat. Ellie’s thighs twitch where they straddle her hips, her whole body instinctively clenching down around the intrusion.

“You’re so fucking wet, Els,” Abby murmurs, utterly transfixed by the slick glide. Her voice is low, reverent, almost awed. “You can take another, can’t you, baby?”

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, already nodding, hands clutching at Abby’s biceps. “Fuck. Yeah.”

Abby obliges, sliding a second finger in with deliberate care, watching the way Ellie reacts—her eyes fluttering, lips parting around a sharp, desperate gasp. Abby flexes her fingers inside her, curling up just enough to make Ellie jerk, her hips stuttering without her meaning to.

“There it is,” Abby says with a grin. “Thought I felt that spot.”

She keeps her fingers still for a moment, just inside, letting Ellie get used to the stretch—but also letting the anticipation build. Her free hand travels up, calloused fingers skating over Ellie’s ribs before cupping one breast, thumb brushing lazily over the nipple.

Ellie moans—quiet, but unmistakable.

“Ride ’em,” Abby says, her voice slipping into something firm. Commanding. “C’mon. Show me how bad you want it.”

Ellie hesitates for half a second—then obeys, sinking down onto Abby’s hand with a shaky breath. The stretch, the fullness—it’s too much and not enough, and the angle has her grinding forward without even thinking. She rocks her hips again, then again, building a rhythm that makes her whole body tremble.

“That’s it,” Abby coaxes, her thumb pinching Ellie’s nipple just enough to make her gasp. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this.”

Her other hand slides between them, finding Ellie’s clit with a practiced touch that’s almost cruel in its precision. The moment she brushes it, Ellie’s hips falter, a broken whimper escaping her throat.

“Sensitive, huh?” Abby teases, fingers curling again deep inside her. “Thought you were gonna win, baby.”

“I—shut up,” Ellie pants, aiming for stern. Her breath is coming in uneven bursts now, every nerve in her body strung tight.

“Oh, I like you like this,” Abby whispers. “All loud and needy. So much for keeping quiet.”

Ellie chokes on a sound that might be a moan or a curse—she doesn’t even know anymore. Abby keeps up the pressure, circling her clit in time with the thrust of her fingers. Every curl inside her makes her thighs shake. She tries to keep control, tries to hold on, but it’s slipping—fast.

“Abby—fuck—Abby, please.”

Abby’s lips curve in smug delight. “There she is. Begging already.”

“Shut up,” Ellie groans, but it’s breathless, wrecked, her hips chasing Abby’s hand like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Say it again.”

Ellie shudders, her pride crumbling around her. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Abby rewards her with a rougher thrust, curling her fingers deep and brushing right up against that devastating spot inside her. Ellie cries out, head thrown back, mouth open.

Ellie’s rhythm starts to stutter, her breath catching with each snap of her hips. Abby’s fingers are relentless now—slick and steady, curling just right, rubbing against that unbearable spot inside her while her thumb circles her clit with maddening precision.

“You close, baby?” Abby murmurs, gaze locked on Ellie’s flushed, wrecked face. “You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck...you,” Ellie gasps, which isn’t a no.

Abby grins, cruel and delighted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Ellie tries to hold on. She wants to hold on. But her body betrays her—hips jerking erratically, thighs trembling, a guttural sound clawing its way out of her throat as her climax tears through her. She crashes forward into Abby, moaning into her shoulder as she rides it out, her whole body taut and shaking.

Abby slows her hand, easing her through it, fingers still buried inside her. When Ellie finally collapses, boneless and breathless against her chest, Abby chuckles low in her throat.

“So,” she says, cocky as ever. “Looks like I just made you come.”

Ellie lifts her head, hair wild, eyes still half-lidded and hazy. “Nu-uh.”

Abby blinks. “What?”

Ellie smirks, voice hoarse but triumphant. “You can't prove it.”

Abby narrows her eyes. “You cannot be serious.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Ellie says, trying to shrug even as her limbs are jelly. “It's your word against mine.”

Abby withdraws her fingers slowly—so slowly that Ellie shivers at the loss—and holds them up between them. They glisten in the low light, absolutely soaked. Abby raises one brow as she licks them clean, savoring the taste with an exaggerated hum.

“Well,” she says, tone dripping with faux sweetness, “this tastes like someone came.”

Ellie bites her lip, not quite hiding her blush. “Well, when you really think about it, I was the one doing the riding. That orgasm was pretty much self-inflicted.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Before Ellie can blink, Abby grabs her by the hips and flips her over with terrifying ease, pinning her to the mattress with one strong arm braced above her head. Her body hovers over Ellie’s, all heat and muscle and unyielding presence.

“You just love making things difficult,” Abby growls, dipping her head to nip at Ellie’s jaw. “Guess we’ll just have to go again.”

Ellie stares up at her, lips parting like she’s about to protest—only to let out a breathless squeak as Abby presses her back into the mattress with her hips, grinding slow and heavy against her still-sensitive core.

“I'm not stopping until you know it was me,” Abby whispers, grinning against her throat. “No more technicalities.”

Ellie swallows hard, already breathless again. “Fine,” she mutters, trying to sound unaffected.

Ellie doesn’t even get the chance to gather her breath before Abby’s trailing kisses down her body, slow and deliberate, all heat and teeth and quiet little promises. Ellie tries to keep her face neutral, tries not to look as undone as she feels, but her heart is hammering and her thighs are already trying to close.

“Don’t even think about it,” Abby warns, pushing them apart with ease. Her strength is casual, effortless, but Ellie feels it like a pulse in her core. “You wanted to be stubborn. Now you get the full treatment.”

Ellie snorts, or tries to. It comes out as more of a shaky exhale. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re so wet,” Abby shoots back, dragging her tongue along Ellie’s inner thigh. “Which means I get to be.”

She licks a path up, purposefully avoiding where Ellie wants her most. Ellie groans, rolling her hips upward in a silent plea, but Abby presses a firm hand to her stomach to keep her pinned.

“Nu-uh. Use your words.”

“Are you serious right now?” Ellie huffs.

Abby gives her a look. “I haven’t even started being serious.”

Then, without warning, she leans in and finally takes Ellie into her mouth. She flattens her tongue and drags it slow and heavy up through her folds, lingering on her clit just long enough to make Ellie whimper.

Ellie’s hand flies into Abby’s hair, fingers tightening, not guiding so much as holding on for dear life. Abby moans against her, the vibration shooting straight through Ellie’s spine.

Then, just as Ellie’s starting to fall into it, Abby pulls back.

“Beg.”

Ellie blinks down at her, eyes wide. “Are you kidding me—”

Abby raises a brow, her fingers already teasing at Ellie’s entrance. “You wanna come again?” she asks, all saccharine cruelty. “Then tell me what you want.”

“You are such a fuckin' asshole.”

“That’s not a request.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Abby please make me come with your stupid mouth and your big, stupid fingers.”

Abby looks at her for a long moment, clearly not amused by her lack of effort. Heat rises to Ellie's cheeks as she chokes down what little bit of her pride remains. "Abby," she says, voice impossibly soft. "Please...please make me feel good. I want you to make me come."

Abby grins, savage and satisfied. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

And then she’s on her again, mouth latching onto Ellie’s clit with unrelenting purpose. Her fingers slide in—three this time, easy from how wet Ellie is—and immediately curl, hitting that same devastating spot that made her fall apart the first time.

Ellie’s whole body arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her lips. Abby keeps the pressure perfect, sucking and flicking her tongue while her fingers work a steady rhythm that has Ellie falling apart at the seams.

“Abby. Abby. Abby! Don't stop...fuck, please don't stop.”

Abby doesn’t. If anything, she doubles down, one arm thrown across Ellie’s hips to hold her down as she fucks her with mouth and fingers in perfect, brutal tandem. Every flick, every thrust sends sparks up Ellie’s spine, her vision going white at the edges. She feels like she's going to die.

“Abby—Abby. Fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Abby growls, pulling back just enough to speak. Her breath is hot and damp against Ellie’s skin. “You’re gonna. Come on, Els. Give it to me.”

That’s all it takes.

Her hips buck, legs trembling violently as her orgasm hits like a tidal wave. It’s too much, her body going tight, then loose, then tight again as a gush of wetness spills out around Abby’s fingers. Abby groans, watching it happen like she’s witnessing something holy, and doesn’t stop until Ellie is gasping for air, her voice hoarse and broken, hands fisting the sheets.

Abby finally slows, drawing her fingers out gently and licking them clean without shame.

“Well,” she says smugly, collapsing beside Ellie with a self-satisfied sigh. “I think that one was definitely me.”

Ellie, still blinking up at the ceiling like she’s trying to remember what year it is, manages a breathless, “...Fuck...my sheets.”

But her voice is ruined.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she’s been lying there, half-sprawled and vaguely boneless, but she's more concerned with corralling her soul back into her body.

Abby finally climbs off the bed, tugging on a pair of sweatpants and walking like she just won the fuckin’ Olympics.

“Stay put,” she says, voice a low rumble as she leans down and presses a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. “I got you.”

Ellie hums something between a groan and a purr as Abby disappears into the bathroom. She hears water running, a drawer open and close, and then Abby’s back—gentle, focused, and annoyingly competent as she helps Ellie clean up with a warm, damp cloth and soft hands.

“I can do that,” Ellie mutters, face burning even as she melts under the attention.

“Yeah?” Abby raises an eyebrow, dabbing at Ellie’s thighs with exaggerated care. “You seemed pretty out of commission a second ago.”

Ellie flips her off weakly. Abby grins and kisses the tip of her finger before heading back to the bathroom.

When she returns, she tosses Ellie a cold bottle of water. “Hydrate or die-drate.”

Ellie fumbles it but gets it open. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to hit you with this.”

“I’ll take that as gratitude.”

Ellie doesn’t answer. She’s already rolled off the bed and curled herself into the squishy embrace of her oversized beanbag chair, wrapped in nothing but Abby’s shirt—which swallows her whole and still smells like detergent and sweat and Abby.

Abby starts stripping the bed of its very damp sheets without complaint, balling them up and tossing them into the laundry bin in the corner like this is just…everyday shit.

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters, watching her. “You’re so domestic.”

Abby glances over her shoulder and winks. “Just for you, Els.”

When the bed’s remade with fresh sheets and everything’s clean again, Abby scoops Ellie right out of her beanbag like she weighs nothing. Ellie squawks but doesn’t fight it, just buries her face in Abby’s shoulder and lets herself be carried like a very grumpy, very pleased kitten.

They settle under the blanket, tangled together, and it’s warm and quiet and soft. Abby stretches out on her back, Ellie half on top of her, tracing idle lines on her stomach with one finger.

“Just admit it,” Abby murmurs, her hand brushing lazily along Ellie’s spine. “I won.”

Ellie snorts. “You’re really proud of yourself, huh?”

“Extremely.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Oh?”

Ellie shifts, just enough to glance up at her. There’s still heat in her eyes, but now it’s tempered by sleep and something that might be affection. “I could probably make you come harder.”

Abby’s eyes spark with interest. “Wanna bet?”

Ellie grins, slow and sharp and sleepy. “Always.”

[smollkittykat]

let me be REAL CLEAR here, okay?

The scene where Karen and Matt sit face to face, not touching each other - finally, finally talking about Foggy is gut-wrenching.

But then Karen reaches out and touches Matt, because Matt needs to be touched but doesn't allow himself to reach. Not after everything. Not after leaving her with Foggy's death alone, like he had.

And then she cups his face in her hands and tells him that he's known and loved, still. Even if Foggy is gone, because Karen is still here and Karen still loves him, despite knowing all of him.

Because to Matt, being known is the most terrifying thing to him. It's in every scene where he is with Heather. He's guarded, in-check, closed off and distant, manipulative when he needs something. Everything to use and then get away.

Karen knows this, she's seen it and loves him. like Foggy did.

So she kisses his forehead, and knows that Matt knows she means what she said, because her heart beats true.

[chaoslibra]

♪ ༘⋆ ᴅʀᴀᴡɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ — t.todoroki smau

//

i. stranger danger iii. practice session

ii. shush boykissers 𝄞 m.list

you were already a pretty light sleeper under normal conditions, so it wasn't surprising that the loud creaking of the floorboards woke you up in the middle of the night. at first you just assumed, that tomura had gotten up to get himself a glass of water and were ready to go back to sleep without a second thought. but something didn't feel right. the steps felt heavier, too heavy for someone who had just rolled out of bed.

immediately your chest tightened. thoughts raced to your head about who the intruder could possibly be. one thought in particular clung to you, but you refused to let yourself entertain it. everything rational within you screamed for you to text tomura and get both of your asses out of here. and yet, not a second later you had hushed across your room to hear the intruder better. your ear was glued to the door, trying to make out any sound. 

there were only a few more creaks, followed by a heavy thud. the steps were a lot lighter now and the floorboards didn't creak anymore. it was safe to assume that the person had taken their shoes off. but why? if they had broken in, why would they bother taking their shoes off? you knew, you should be a lot more terrified, but for some reason you were just confused. 

a deep breath escaped your lips before you slowly pressed down the door handle. this was a stupid decision. you knew full well, that you should have probably run the other way the moment you had heard any type of noise. the smartest decision would have been to climb out the window and use the little ledge on the window sill to climb over to tomura's room and wake him up. instead you gently pushed the door open and stepped into the pitch black living room. 

you couldn't hear any steps. the sudden dead silence enveloped you like an eery, dark cloak. you had expected to see a figure move through the room, but there was none. there was no way you had imagined all of it, was there? from the door to your room, you could see the entire living room. to see the kitchen, though, you would have to round the corner, because the wall from the entry hallway that connected to the kitchen island blocked your view to it. there was a slight rustling sound again, followed by the fridge being opened? you'd never heard of people going through fridges, when breaking and entering, but in all fairness, in this economy, you couldn't blame them for trying. obviously they didn't know your brother well, though. if they did, they would know his fridge wasn't worth opening. there was never anything worthwhile in there, except for energy drinks, ice cream and half empty take-out containers if you were lucky.

"fuck's sake!" a deep voice hissed.

you were pretty sure now, that it was a guy, but you couldn't place the voice. that was much more relieving, that it should be, but a man you didn't know was very likely to be safer, than the ones you did know. still, you grabbed tomura's keys from the little bowl in the entry way – careful not to let the keychains dangle. you tiptoed over to the kitchen, the cold metal of the keys digging into your skin. you kept close to the wall, so he wouldn't see you, but by the time you reached the kitchen island, he was already walking back toward the living room. you could only hope, that he hadn't seen you yet. you pushed your body into the wall, as if that would make it swallow you. 

he stopped walking. you decided to take that second to try and at least make out some features. he was dressed so dark, that his frame almost entirely blended into the pitch black background. he was wearing a hooded jacket, hiding any feature you would have otherwise maybe seen, beneath it. his arm shifted, at least that's what you assumed it was, since your eyes still hadn't gotten used to the dark. that proved unnecessary a second after, because his elbow hit the light switch. the sudden shift in lighting momentarily blinded you and somehow turned off the alarm signals, that should have told you to get the fuck out of there.

"not running off this time?" you jumped back hearing the playful tone of his voice.

blinking a few times to get used to the very bright light, you stared up at him. when you recognized who he was, you felt both relief that he wasn't some psycho killer and a little annoyed that he had obviously noticed you a bit ago and messed with you for whatever reason. you had been right about him wearing all black, though. his thick hooded jacket covered his pitch black hair almost entirely. it didn't however cover the shit-eating grin, that he was staring down at you with.

"to be fair, you were a strange man in my brother's apartment." you crossed your arms in front of your chest. "and i was in a towel."

"fair enough." he laughed pulling the hood of his jacket down. 

even though you hadn't really looked at him, when you had bolted out of the room yesterday, you had seen his face a bunch online before. he had been everywhere together with the rest of lov, when their first single blew up. now that dabi's face was lit entirely, you could see the black ink snaking its way up his neck from below his jacket. there weren't any on his face, but he had more than enough piercings to make up for it. just from a quick glance you could see little silver balls adorning his right eyebrow, three more on the left side of his nose and he had snake bites. his black hair was tousled into every possible direction, sticking out in messy spikes. he was taller than you and a good bit broader, too, though that could just as well be the thickness of his jacket.

"didn't mean to wake you up, by the way." he unzipped his jacket and lazily dropped it onto the kitchen island. even though the hoodie that he was wearing under it was baggy and obviously intended to fit loosely, you could see the broad shoulders underneath it. the tattoos from his neck obviously continued under the collar of his hoodie.

"you're good." you smiled, awkwardly shifting your feet.

he just nodded and slumped onto the couch. you assumed that to have been the end of your conversation and where just about ready to leave, when he spoke up again. "i'm dabi by the way."

it was kind of funny that he felt the need to introduce himself, when you both knew, that you were aware who he was. maybe he just thought it was the polite thing to do. 

"y/n." you said quietly. you weren't sure if tomura had mentioned your name. himiko had told you earlier tonight, that tomura had never mentioned you, so you probably were right to introduce yourself. dabi just hummed, resting his feet on the coffee table next to three open cans of monster and the bag of chips tomura had opened sometime before you had moved in. his eyes turned to you again, looking at you, almost as if he was trying to remember something.

"wait, i know you." you furrowed your brows looking back at him. "didn't you say you didn't like lov on twitter bout a week ago?"

if only you had taken the advice of the smarter part of your brain and climbed out the window when you had the chance. you laughed awkwardly, wishing you could be anywhere but here – preferably somewhere six feet under ground. and not right in front of the bassist of the band, you had publicly claimed hating, even though it had been for a joke. the whole thing had blown up completely with their vicious fans literally blowing up your phone with hate comments and threats. you remembered vividly that somehow dabi, of all people, had found your post and even commented. tomura had found the entire thing hilarious, because of course he did. but he had never mentioned to dabi that the person who had made that viral post, was his sister.

"i didn't actually mean that." you choked out an awkward laugh. dabi's head tilted to the side. he stared at you so intensely now, as if he were genuinely curious about the explanation. you just then noticed how brightly blue his eyes were. which was only accented with the black color that was smudged all around his eyes. and it looked like he was wearing black mascara as well. "i honestly just wanted to mess with tomu. never expected that shit to blow up the way it did."

he looked at you for a good second, as if he was processing what you had just said. and then he just snorted out a laugh. "so what i'm hearing is you don't actually think we suck?" 

"didn't say that, did i?" you decided to be petty and mess with him a little. as payback for him messing with you earlier. from the way his eyebrow raised, you assumed that he hadn't expected that answer. "wait for real?"

you just shrugged, trying your best to keep a straight face. he kept his bright eyes on you, trying to gauge your expression for any sign if you were being serious or not. he gave up a few seconds after.

"come on, you're killing me here."

you laughed seeing how invested he seemed to be. it was kind of nice to see, how serious he was taking this, especially since you know how much the band meant to your brother. you decided to make him suffer no longer.

"i'm kidding." it was funny to watch the actual relief on his face. "most of your stuff's actually really good."

"just most, huh?" he leaned back on the couch very quickly switching to his grin from before. you stared at him with a deadpan expression, which of course, he found even more amusing.

"obviously not what i meant." you rolled your eyes.

dabi let out a soft chuckle, still actively amused by annoying you. even though, he was sure, that you weren't actually as annoyed as you tried to look. and he would've been right. "you have a favorite?" 

"hm?"

dabi grinned seeing your head tilt, not understanding what he wanted from you.

"favorite song, i mean." 

the question left you more stumped, than it probably should have. you had been honest with dabi, you really did like all of their music. both the heavier rock songs they played and the very few slower songs they had – even their covers were usually very nice to listen to. even though, tomura usually asked you for your opinion the moment, they released anything, you had never really been able to pick a clear favorite. though you had been able to give him an answer earlier, that was usually heavily influenced by the way you were feeling on that particular day.

"don't think i could pick that easily." you shrugged. "but i've been listening to blue from the new ep a lot."

something lit up in his eyes, when you said that. it was subtle enough, thought for you to not really register it as out of the ordinary. dabi just hummed in response, not commenting on your choice at all. silence befell the two of you. the realization hit, that it was probably well over four am in the morning and though, tomura had the ability to sleep through five fire alarms blaring at the same time and would not be woken up by the two of you just talking, you should probably sleep at some point, if you wanted to at least pretend to pay attention in your 8am class.

"i should probably head back." you said, already turning on your heel, when dabi stopped you.

"hold on." he got up from the couch and was now standing barely two feet away from you. "give me your number."

"huh?" you couldn't help but stare at him for a couple seconds. the surprise on your face was palpable and probably really obvious, but you had genuinely not expected him to say that. especially not as demanding as he did. he just smiled, completely ignoring how you had reacted, which you were sure he was doing purposefully. 

"you live here too, now. 's only fair, i give you a heads up when i'm coming over." he explained.

that made a lot of sense, actually. and it was really considerate of him. you quickly hushed into the kitchen and grabbed a little piece of paper from one of the cabinets. you quickly scribbled your number on it and handed it to him. he thanked you and haphazardly folded it before letting it slip into the side pocket of his pants. it didn't really occur to you, until then, that you had given an entirely strange guy your number, but you figured, that it wasn't that much of an issue, considering that tomura was close to him. 

"it was nice to meet you, dabi." you smiled at him. " good night."

"night, y/n."

♪ ༘⋆ ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀɢᴇ ᴘᴀꜱꜱ

⋆ everyone in the band is a boykisser.

⋆ himiko leans more to women, but she's had crushes on boys before (she just loves love).

⋆ touya is the only one of the guys to have had been with women before. though unlabelled, tomura and spinner have both only dated guys.

⋆ tomura will deny it, but him and touya have kissed before (on multiple occasions).

⋆ the band practices under the basement of the black wing, that keigo let's them use for free, since they play gigs in the bar for free and that brings in a lot of people

⋆ keigo actually hadn't intended of having y/n work a full shift, but she did well enough, that he decided to skip the trial shift and immediately hired her

⋆ rumi and y/n immediately clicked within ten minutes of working together. on that note, rumi spent about twenty minutes teaching y/n about the bar and the rest of the day relentlessly bullying keigo and bitching about shitty customers

⋆ himiko immediately forced both y/n and rumi to stop working when she and the band ( - dabi obviously) walked in, because she was so excited to meet tomura's sister.

⋆ they spent an hour getting to know each other and it would have been more, but spinner came up from the basement to drag her to practice

⋆ y/n had fully expected ochaco to leave, when her friends called her to go out for ice cream with her and had not at all expected to be invited. himiko tried sneaking out with them, when they went down to say bye to the band, but spinner caught her

⋆ ochaco calls all her female friends muses. she has a folder dedicated to each one, full of pictures she took (with consent ofc). himiko’s folder was already twice the size of the average when the two were still friends.

[ taglist open ]

tags: @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @hktfbuo @commonmisery @lsunncy @kyiyoko @seijuroww @themultifandomgirl @samm1e13 @kalulakunundrum @porusuniverse @oddball08 @starseclipsing @jlly1 @softasshadows @peachesvault @starzzworld @starrmage @letsgolulu @cristy-101 @brixmeeler @skeletonmoths @togeswrld

ignore the timestamps

header made by @koznme ily

[wolfienation]

im shocked that i havent seen shipping of these 2 because the potential😭

edit: ive been strong armed by @softantlers the ship name is vapefork

[alltimecharlo]

welllll since you’re in an inexperienced mack phase… perhaps an inexperienced, flustered mack after their first kiss fic for the masses? 🤲🏻

absolutely!! cute prompt :)) fic under the cut!!🩵

Mack has never felt his heartbeat in his ears like this before.

He’s sitting on the edge of Will’s bed, hands braced on the comforter, breathing like he just came off a penalty kill. The room smells like laundry detergent and the faint citrus from Will’s shampoo—clean things, familiar things—but everything feels wrong now. Or maybe too right. Maybe too much.

Will is standing across the room, not far really, but it feels like miles. His mouth is still pink. His eyes are soft. And Mack can’t even look at him without his entire body locking up like someone’s fired a puck straight into his chest.

“So…” Will says, and his voice is light. Tentative. “That just happened.”

Mack makes a strangled noise. Not a word. Just sound. Embarrassment, mostly. He rubs both hands over his face like that’ll make him disappear.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters behind his palms. “What the fuck was that?”

Will doesn’t answer right away. Mack risks a glance through his fingers and finds Will smiling—nervously, but real.

“I mean… I think it was a kiss,” Will says. “Pretty sure.”

Mack drops his hands. “No shit.”

“Just checking.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? It was a kiss. A kiss. Between them. Between best friends. Between two guys who’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets since training camp. Mack’s still wearing Will’s hoodie, for god’s sake.

He touches his bottom lip. It tingles. He doesn’t even know who moved first. Doesn’t know what made it happen. Just that one second they were sitting too close watching game tape, arguing about faceoffs, and the next—well. That.

“I didn’t mean to,” Mack blurts out, panic rising like a tide.

Will’s face falls. “Oh.”

“No—I mean, I didn’t plan to. I wasn’t—fuck, I didn’t think—”

Will steps forward. Just a bit. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Mack says, and now he’s standing too, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. “You’re my roommate. We play on the same fucking line. I can’t—I can’t be the guy who ruins that.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“You don’t know that.”

Will bites his lip. Watches him carefully. “Do you regret it?”

Mack stops dead. Blinks. “What?”

“The kiss,” Will says softly. “Do you regret it?”

That shouldn’t be a hard question. Mack’s whole body is vibrating with confusion, heat still pooled in his chest like it hasn’t figured out where to go yet. But regret?

“No,” he says finally, like it’s been torn out of him. “No. I just… I didn’t know it was gonna feel like that.”

Will steps closer. “Like what?”

Mack’s breath catches. He looks at Will and he sees the problem—the reason none of this can be ignored anymore. He’s beautiful. Ridiculously, unfairly beautiful. And Mack wants him like something primal. Like hunger.

“Like my brain short-circuited,” he says helplessly. “Like you pressed a button and I forgot how to be a person.”

Will’s face splits into a grin, and Mack groans. “Don’t smile at me like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll do it again.”

The smile softens. “Is that so bad?”

Mack turns away, rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never… not with a guy. Not with anyone, really. Not seriously.”

Will’s voice is gentle. “Me neither.”

That surprises him. He turns back. “Really?”

Will shrugs. “I mean, I’ve kissed people. But this? This feels… different.”

Mack swallows hard. “Yeah. It does.”

There’s a pause. The air between them feels suspended—thin, high-stakes. Will takes another step closer, slow and careful like he’s approaching a wild animal.

“I’m not expecting you to know everything,” he says. “I’m figuring it out too.”

Mack watches him. Watches the way his hands hang loose at his sides, no pressure, no threat. Just offering.

“I just know I wanted to kiss you,” Will says. “And I’d like to do it again. When you’re ready.”

Mack closes his eyes. Breathes out through his nose. He feels too warm in his skin, nerves frayed and humming. But underneath it—under all the panic and confusion—is something softer. Something terrifying in how good it feels.

“Do you wanna sit?” Will asks quietly.

Mack nods. They sit.

It’s quiet for a minute. Just the hum of the heater and the sound of someone walking past in the hall. Mack’s fingers twitch against the comforter. Then—

“Was it bad?” he asks suddenly. “The kiss.”

Will laughs. “No. It was really fucking good.”

“Oh.” Mack swallows. “Okay. Cool. Same.”

Will bumps their shoulders. “You’re cute when you panic, you know.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I will absolutely keep saying that.”

Mack groans. “God, I kissed you and now you’re gonna bully me about it?”

Will leans in, voice low and teasing. “You kissed me twice. You went back for seconds.”

Mack buries his face in a pillow and screams.

Will’s laughter fills the room.

They don’t kiss again that night, but Mack falls asleep with his heart pounding and Will’s hoodie still clinging to his skin, and a thought he’s too scared to name just yet curling quietly in his chest:

He wants there to be a next time.

♡