#I will color him one day. it will happen.

[miirohs]

all yours, all mine [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader wc: 1.3k cw: again, slight yandere/possesive tendencies, allusion to abuse an: guys i am feeling uninspired lately,,,, needed to pull everything in me for this one. sigh. its 2 in the morning what am i doing with my life i need to sleep not be up to this bs GODDDDDDD strike me down.

Charles knew you weren’t truly his wife.

He himself had shot his bride to be, too loud and too lecherous to realize how she’d met her end, bragging about killing him for his money in his club.

He thought that’d be the last of it, that their family wouldn’t be brave enough to show face again.

Yet, they became audacious, sending him a woman, a woman who was nothing like the bride he had seen. 

Hell, you didn’t even look the same as the other.

There was no way their family didn’t know by now that he was the one who killed their only daughter, yet he could only imagine this was their attempt at faking normalcy because he’d never seen his bride before, right?

He laughed, in all honesty. 

He could’ve played along, see what would’ve happened, and have been done with you by dinner if he wanted to. But part of him wanted you to show your true colors, to be able to kill the venomous woman hiding behind the veil.

That day never came though.

He was too baffled by the sight of you clinging to their sides, eyes down as you could barely keep up in the shoes slightly too big to be yours.

He pretended not to notice. 

At dinner he questioned you, much to your visible discomfort. He could see the glances you gave the other members of your supposed family, meekly responding back as they glared sharply at your head, only smiling when they noticed his stares. It didn’t take long for him to connect two and two.

It was there and then he’d made the awfully irrational decision to go forward with the marriage. He wanted to pull you out of your shell, see who you really were under the supposed mask you had on in front of everyone.

Your marriage was a grand affair, bosses from all around the globe visiting just to see the ceremony. He had refused to give in to their demands for a smaller wedding, going all out just for you.

And true to his word, he treated you with more respect than he’d ever cared to show anyone else. For him, hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks as he tried to pull you out of your shell.

It was a while before he got the first laugh out of you. He felt like he’d won everything when you gave him small smiles. He did everything to get them out of you. Showering you in lavish gifts, surprising you with expensive dates, it made him feel like he was finally doing something right. 

Seeing your full smile was what truly made it worth it, easing the pain of your time with your former family, if he could even call them that. 

He’d made sure to cut all contact with them, and he knew you were contacting them against his wishes, so he took it into his own hands to make sure they couldn’t bother you for a single cent again. He plotted behind your back and as sorry as he felt for lying to you, he paid for his guilt in consuming you with his neediness, wrapping you tightly from your waking moments almost as if you’d disappear forever if you left his field of vision.

You didn’t question it, but you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t startle you a bit.

He hummed as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, pit forming in your stomach as you heard him mutter in Italian on the phone, pen scratching against the paper of his notepad.

You heard the bare sentences of his conversation, too fast for you to understand, but you thought you had a good idea of what he was planning.

“Dovremo metterli a tacere (We'll have to silence them)-”

A couple heartbeats passed as he listened, your heart clenching almost painfully as you held the cuff of his suit jacket between your thumb and index finger. Maybe he had figured it out, maybe he was already plotting ways to dispose of you for tricking him in such a grievous manner. You hadn’t heard from the family in weeks, and it made you anxious.

“Non sono d'accordo? Bene, uccideteli (they won’t agree? fine, kill them).”

For a moment there, you didn’t see your husband, but the Devil of Monte Carlo.

He didn’t say anything, and you couldn’t bring yourself to, letting your hand slip away from his crown.

“Y/n? What happened?” He frowned, hand rubbing against the small of your back.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, words lying on the tip of your tongue as he cocked his head at you.

“It’s nothing.” You moved your hands away from his neck, balling into little fists in your lap.

“It’s not nothing,” He pressed, staring you down firmly despite the gentle tone of his voice. He knew you, almost too well.

“I… i don’t know how to tell you. You’re going to hate me if I do.” Your voice warbled out as he kissed you on the neck, too light and breezy to mean anything serious.

“Try me. You’d be surprised at how well I take things, and I'm not unreasonable.” Another kiss, leading up the column of your neck as you squealed at the feeling of his warm lips on cooled skin.

“Well, uh, i-” He bit down lightly, earning a soft smack from you in the back of the head, “-Char, what are you doing?”

“Trying to cheer you up.” He said, kissing on the spot he’d bit with an incomparable amount of gentleness.

“I just have something to tell you and i-”

“Is it important in any way that actively harms our lives?” He butt in, giving you a curious look.

“No, but-”

“Then I don't care.” He shrugged, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth. You didn’t even know you could’ve gotten that loud, when you finally spit it out.

“I’m not your real wife, Char. I never was.”

He didn’t say anything, humming against the crown of your head as his hand snuck up your back and held you closer to him.

“Char, please.”

“I knew that, this isn’t new news.”

You held on, mouth gaping slightly.

“You… you knew this whole time, and you-”

“I deliberately didn’t tell you.” He scoffed, pulling your chin down to look at him. “I knew you’d run back to that so-called family that I did if I had told you. You barely trusted me, and it was their fault. So that’s why I'm going to make sure all of them take a nice long vacation.”

You couldn’t really feel the abject horror anymore, melting into sheer relief as you finally looked at him once more.

There was something about the way he looked at you, tantalizing and hypnotized almost.

‘But, aren’t you mad about me…?”

“Oh I was, I was furious.”

His lips ghosted over yours, the hint of a smile somewhere there.

“But they ended up giving me something all the more precious, something I couldn't replace. You know what that is, mon amour?”

You didn’t even have to say it, as he kissed you, lips smooth against your slightly chapped ones. The expensive perfume grew smaller, closer and closer to you as the space between you closed.

“I’ve done some unspeakable things.” He panted quietly against your lips, landing another soft kiss on the other corner. “But nothing as unspeakable as killing your so-called “family” this late in the game. Some part of me wishes i had done it earlier to spare you that grief.”

You didn’t respond but he continued nonetheless, hands wrapped around your waist to bring you closer to him .”Remember that you're mine and I'm all yours. I would do anything for you.”

And the worst part is, somewhere deep down, you knew it to be true. He was always yours, and you were always his. He'd made sure of it, and you weren't entirely complaining.

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie is weird.

It's something that Steve knew long before he actually knew Eddie, the older boy's oddities and eccentricities on display for anyone to see. Past Steve used to roll his eyes whenever Eddie would push against the flow of normal, but present Steve enjoys it, Eddie's brand of different. 

That's really the reason why he pretends not to notice when Eddie takes things.

Nothing crazy, nothing valuable, and that's honestly the real reason he hasn't said anything about it. He watches Eddie pocket bottle caps from the kids' sodas and paper clips from the Family Video counter, even the little tables from the pizza boxes when they have a movie night.

Steve doesn't understand why Eddie collects these little odds and ends, just sees it as another one of his quirks. Until he finally sees where everything is going.

They're walking to the corner store that's fairly close to the trailer park, the sun on its way to setting but not quite there yet. The conversation that flows between them is easy, easier than Steve ever thought it could be, and it makes something in him want to curl up and purr like a contented cat. 

He's telling Eddie about something that happened at the grocery store today, when the older boy makes a soft noise of delight before crouching and grabbing something from the pavement. Steve barely gets a look at the penny, but he can tell from just a glimpse that it's seen better days and has more than likely been run over by a few cars, if the scratches on it are anything to go by. 

Eddie makes another happy noise as he stands once more and tucks the coin into his jacket pocket, and Steve picks his story back up like nothing happened. It doesn't get mentioned at all, but Steve can see the extra pep in Eddie's step, like he's so excited over something so simple, yet trying to contain it.

His silent joy is contagious, and by the time they get back to the trailer, they're practically plastered together at their sides and giggling like children. Steve nearly forgets about the penny, until Eddie drops his bag of snacks onto the little kitchen table and beelines to his room. So, so curious, Steve leaves his own bag next to Eddie's before following.

The older boy is crouched on the floor by the bed, and Steve watches as he pulls out what appears to be a shoebox, possibly for a pair of work boots, and sets it on the bed. Steve gets a brief look at the lid and the chicken-scratch Crow Box written on the top before Eddie opens it, and a few things quickly make sense.

The box is full of little things, even more than what Steve has seen Eddie take and pocket, a clear sign that that has been ongoing for years. Little plastic dinosaurs and incredibly smooth or shiny rocks, a chain of colored paper clips and a plastic cup full of acorn hats. There's even an old pencil box that appears to house a small hoard of bottle caps, all different colors, tucked in neatly next to a handful of the pizza tables. 

The whole collection is actually well organized, and Steve watches as Eddie takes the new penny from his pocket and drops it into a tin can full of other scratched and beaten coins.

"That's quite a collection," Steve says without even thinking, and Eddie looks up with wide eyes, like he wasn't expecting Steve to follow. Steve just crouches down next to him, resisting the urge to reach out and pick up one of the acorn hats, or one of the dinosaurs. "Any reason behind it?"

Eddie just shrugs and looks down at the box. He takes one of the shiny rocks and offers it to Steve, who gladly takes it and rolls it in his fingers. "They're weird, or actually, they're things that are so normal, they're invisible. Things people usually don't think about, or throw out, or walk right by. They're… different. But I like them."

God, Steve has never related to a feeling more. Seeing something that other people just brush off or ignore and wanting to be the one to cherish it. 

"I can get that," he says as he drops the rock back into the cup with its siblings. "I mean, you're different, and I like you, so." His heart in his throat, Steve leans in and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek before standing, and he again finds himself caught in Eddie's wide-eyed surprise.

"Steve-"

"C'mon, crow boy. We've got a movie to watch."

[dark-and-kawaii]

Tiefling bachelors reacting to someone smacking or coping a feel of his partner's butt in passing? What does he do?

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ Don't Touch ✦˚₊‧⁺˖

✦ Awhhh I loved doing this one!!! We love us some protective tiefling bachelors!!! I hope you enjoy these *nervous laughter* xoxo

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ I feel like Zevlor is a man that pays close attention to his surroundings, so you can count on him when it comes to those who wish to pass on by and cop a feel.

It was such a lovely day in Baldurs Gate, the air was filled with the scents of exotic spices and the colorful sights of stalls brimming with goods from across the realms as you and Zevlor walked through Baldurs Gate. Zevlor, ever watchful, stayed close by your side, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, “You never know what could happen in a place like this,” Zevlor murmured. His presence always making you feel protected in the sea of faces.

“Oooh look at this one!” you paused to admire a stall with shimmering fabrics,. Out of the corner of Zevlor’s eyes, he noticed a man weaving through the crowd towards you, his intentions clear. Just as the stranger's hand stretched out towards you, Zevlor acted swiftly.

Without hesitation, like the seasoned soldier he was, Zevlor grabbed the man's wrist, stopping him in his tracks, “I’d Mind your hands, if I were you.” His voice was calm but carried a deadly warning. His grip tightening just enough to make the man wince, his face contorting in pain.

The man, realizing his mistake, tried to pull away, but Zevlor's hold was unyielding, “Think before you act, for you never know whom you might run into,” Zevlor added, his tone stern. After a moment, he pushed the man back into the crowd, his eyes never leaving the stranger until he disappeared into the crowd of people.

You looked up at Zevlor, “And here I was going to say you worry too much.” gratitude filled your eyes and you gently kissed his cheek, “always my steadfast shield.”

With a soft smile, his arm finding its way around your waist, he pulled you close, “let’s not allowed that to run our day.”

For the rest of the day, Zevlor kept you close to his side, his tail gently coiled around your thigh, a silent promise of safety. His hand resting at your side, while you continued to explore the market.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ After everything happened with Lorroakan, Rolan was no longer afraid to get handsy with those that mistreated him or others, especially if it involved you.

Today Rolan found himself walking alongside you, Cal, and Lia through the city during a festival. The wizard would’ve preferred to stay in his tower but you all had insisted that he come with. Cal being the one to convince him, ‘she could get into trouble and need her fancy wizard to come to her rescue for once.’ Is what he had said. Crossing his arms annoyed, Rolan continued walking.

Laughing, you nudged him gently with your elbow. “Come on, Rolan. Even you can't deny it's nice to take a break from your books and potions.” Rolan's lips twitched into a rare, fleeting smile, “Perhaps. But only because the three children are enjoying it,” he said referring to you three.

As you absorbed the joy and laughter around you, a sudden jolt disrupted the harmony. You felt a sharp smack on your rear followed by a leering voice slurring, “Hey, sweetheart, how about a kiss for the brave festival hero?”

Instantly, Rolan's demeanor shifted as he spun around to face the pig of a man. Rolan’s tail quickly brought you behind him, “Stay behind me,” he murmured, his voice low and controlled, but with an unmistakable edge of anger.

The man laughed mockingly, stepping closer. “What's this? The little devil's got a temper, eh?”

Without breaking eye contact, Rolan raised his hand, fingers weaving through the air, chanting under his breath. The air around the man's feet began to shimmer, and suddenly, he yelped as his feet were bound by glowing ethereal chains, rooting him to the spot. Rolan's gaze was icy as he stepped towards the bound man, “I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you," he warned, his voice steady.

Lia and Call watched on the sidelines in awe, proud that their brother got to finally be your protector for once.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Dammon has a gentle heart, is soft spoken, and usually always tries to help someone in need. Confrontation? Nah, not really his jam. He had always been more at home among his anvils and hammers than dealing with confrontation. However, today something snapped, perhaps it was because it involved you.

As his hammer came down, shaping a new blade from glowing steel, a commotion- your voice, had broken his focus. Whipping around, he caught sight of a passerby hastily retreating his hand from your backside with a smirk, leaving you flustered and upset. Dammon's usual calm demeanor went out the window and was replaced quickly with anger and protection.

For a moment, he hesitated, his large, calloused hands tightening around the hilt of the sword. Then, with a swift motion, Dammon pulled the sword from the forge. The metal steaming as it was removed with an orange glow.

He walked over to the man, his heart pounding from the adrenaline of stepping so far out of his comfort zone. Dammon's approach was silent but swift, and as he reached the offender, he held the hot blade just inches from the man’s face. The heat from the steel was evident, a clear threat that no words could match.

"Never touch anyone without their consent, understood?" Dammon said, his voice uncharacteristically commanding, his brows furrowed. The man's eyes widened and he nodded. Pleased with this, Dammon flicked the blade in your direction, “Good. Now apologize.”

[ecstarry]

"Regulus' Birthday" - a sweet microfic set in the same universe as my fic Dare to Stay // @fromagony @godsofwoes // 486 words

“Happy Birthday, love.” Regulus was awaken to the soft voice of his James. His James. His James waking him up. With a gentle kiss, on his birthday. In his bed. He slowly opened his eyes as a smile adorned his face. 

“Good morning, Jamie.”

It was their first big celebration together ever since they shared their first kiss a few months ago. They had longed for each other too many years to waste a single day apart. James was good at making up for lost time. 

“Get dressed, the boys have a surprise for you.” 

He quickly put on some pants and James’ shirt from yesterday. He loved nothing more than smelling like him first thing in the morning. James held the bedroom door for him, and as Regulus passed him by, James grabbed him from behind, placed his chin on Regulus’ shoulder and very gently whispered “I love you.” Three words that never failed to send a shiver through Regulus’ spine. 

Regulus turned around, his hands instinctively cupping James' face. "I love you too, Jamie."

“Let’s go, love. I can feel the boys getting impatient.”

Giggles and tiny voices grew louder as they walked down the stairs. When they reached the last step Regulus stopped dry. The entrance had a big banner reading ‘Happy Birthday’ in fun colors, and ‘we love you’ written under it in what was clearly Harry and Draco’s writing. 

Before he could even process the overwhelming warmth that was filling him, two little boys rushed towards his arms with such a force that he fell over. 

“Happy birthday Uncle Reggie!” Said Draco as he kissed his cheek.

“Aaaaah!” Harry just screamed as he also launched himself towards a fallen Regulus. Harry hugged him tightly, a gesture Regulus held onto dearly just as much as the first time it happened. 

“Okay, let’s give my fiancé some space on his big day. Let’s go show him his surprise.” James helped him up and they followed the boys towards the kitchen. 

Like two miniature guards, Draco and Harry stood on opposite sides of the pantry door.

“One, two, three!”

“Surprise!” Sirius said as the doors opened and ran towards Regulus to embrace him. 

“I thought you were going to be away,” Regulus whispered to his brother’s ear while holding onto him. 

“I have never spent a birthday away from you, I was not going to start now little brother.”

Regulus couldn’t help the tears falling down his cheeks. He remembered the loneliness and desperation that filled his fifteen year old self. He was now living a reality that once upon a time felt like a fantasy. Something unattainable, something someone like Regulus Black would never deserve.

He now had everything he had ever longed for. 

There, one day in July, standing in the kitchen of Potter Manor, Regulus Blacked had no more scars left to heal. He was happy. Entirely and blissfully happy. 

here's the complete fic that started it all

[hey-august]

Your Captain Knows Best

Word count: ~5.2k (hello to the longest one-shot I think I've written) Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, humiliation, degradation, praise, oral - reader receiving, insertion sex, spit as lube, creampie, cum eating A/N: This comes from this wonderful request! Anon, I hope you like! 🩷 Also, shoutout to @be-not-afraid-gg for getting me on the right track with this fic! ✨

Taglist: @rorywritesjunk

“Spit on it.”

You paused mid-swipe, processing what he said. You must have taken too long to think about the three words, because Buggy pressed his boot against your shoulder. Allowing him to ease you back, you shifted your weight to rest more on your feet than your knees, and looked up at your captain.

“I know you heard me. If you don’t want to do that, then you can always lick my boots clean.”

Fuck. How did he always make such disgusting things sound so good?

Reaching up, you brought Buggy’s foot back down to rest your lap. The grit of dried saltwater, gunpowder, and other debris caught on your fingertips. You weren’t going to lick his boots (not this time, at least), but you would gladly do what your captain asked for.

As a frothy glob settled onto the leather and waited for you to spread it around, a crewmember stopped by to review the plans for tonight’s show. A heat crept up your face. They had to have seen you struggle to collect enough saliva to clean the filthy boot. You focused on the task at hand, smearing the liquid with a rag.

“Right, and cut this act. It’s not happening tonight.”

The other pirate repeated your name to confirm the act. A nudge against your lap signaled that it was your turn to join the conversation.

Looking up, you gave a small smile. An understanding smile. 

“The captain knows what’s best.” Another nudge. “Besides, I’m really not that good. I would make everyone else look bad.” Another nudge. “And I don’t want to ruin the crew’s reputation by making a mistake.”

The grin on Buggy’s face grew with each comment you parroted from your training sessions. He had spent countless hours trying to get you to meet your marks and not make obvious fuck-ups, but that attention was a double-edged sword.

Just as his rare praise had your heart pounding, Buggy’s ‘motivational speeches’ during practice sessions made your knees weak. Every pause to keep your balance when your legs threatened to give way, every moment trying to catch your breath, every second lost in your sordid thoughts, everything resulted in errors that you couldn’t hide from a seasoned performer. No matter how subtle. And each blunder was followed with hissed complaints that made your knees shake.

Even when Buggy resorted to other motivational measures, they didn’t have the effect he intended. The burning shame of spending a day with ‘fuck up’ written on the back of your hands, or ‘I make stupid mistakes’ scrawled down your arm was not as strong as the heat that pooled in your body when Buggy held you tight enough to leave bruises while writing those incentives. Even if everyone could see what a failure you were, you felt proud of earning those marks, written by your captain.

Both unfortunately and fortunately for you, Buggy caught on. He noticed the way you were almost too eager to offer your body for his inspiring writings. Dark pupils overtaking the color in your eyes became obvious, despite your attempts to avoid his gaze. The breath you’d hold when he was close and when he touched you, all to hide the sounds that you’d only release when you were alone in bed with a hand between your legs. But an echo of those needy sounds carried through when you’d sigh in relief (or maybe frustration) when he pulled away.

At the end of one particular long pointless practice, Buggy was fed up with your failures. He was irritated with how much time he spent on you, while getting nothing in return. But the moment he snarled out, “attention whore,” your wide-eyed expression and stammers became the bow on a gift that he realized was his to unwrap. 

He tugged at the packaging by asking you if that’s what he should write today. If you wanted him to label you as an ‘attention whore’ for everyone to see. Shit, you couldn’t disagree with the truth. You couldn’t lie. Not at this moment. You felt yourself unravel, feeling exposed as you nodded rapidly and rushed to comment about how the captain knows best.

Boosted by the compliment, Buggy also had your costume changed. The stack of folded clothing was handed over at the end of a meeting. What was once more form fitting and flexible was replaced with items that were baggy and woven - ultimately more constricting than what you previously wore. You waited until the crew began to disperse before approaching Buggy. 

“Captain, I think I got the wrong costume.”

A quick glance was all he needed to confirm. “No, that’s the right one. Go change.”

“But Captain-”

“Do you think you know better than me?” The sharp question slipped from a tight grin. Buggy tilted his head and waited for an answer.

The question caught the attention of the few pirates in the area, whose conversations shifted in the wake of this discussion. Subtly wasn’t a strength among the crew, but eavesdropping apparently was.

“No, it’s just- It’s not what I’m used to wearing,” you explained nervously.

“Oh, you prefer your old costume?” The smile on Buggy’s face finally reached his eyes with a glint.

You nodded.

“So you like showing off your body.” It wasn’t a question. “See, I think that’s why you keep fucking up. You like the attention. You want people to watch you.”

A familiar heat was coursing through your body, already setting your face alight. Yes, you liked the attention, but from only one particular person. The person who leaned closer to continue his monologue. 

Buggy hooked a finger under your chin and continued, “I’m right, aren’t I? Or are you such a greedy attention whore that you need to have your body on display all the time?”

Buggy’s low voice stoked the fire that was consuming you, combining the flames of embarrassment and desire into a raging inferno.

“No, Captain.” The words came out in a whisper as light as ash.

“Remember what you said - Your captain knows what’s best.” Moving his hand from beneath your chin, Buggy cupped your cheek. He winked when you nodded against his touch and broke away with a pat that bordered on a light smack.

You were pulled back from those memories when a second boot dropped into your lap, the heel digging into your leg.

“Spit.”

---

The show went off without any issues. Mostly. You stayed backstage doing simple tasks to help each act progress smoothly. Making sure there was fresh water for the performers, cutting lemons for the demanding divas, and grabbing accessories and props that were forgotten until the last minute. You also stood in the wings, ready to compliment and praise those who came off stage with pissed off expressions, spewing anger about the lack of excitement from the captive audience.

Although you weren’t performing, you wore the new costume. At this point it was more of a daily uniform, due to the disapproving looks Buggy would shoot your way whenever you wore something else. Any substitutions or adjustments were guaranteed to be met with raised eyebrows, sneers, and shakes of his head that would cause his blue hair to dance with disappointment. But the worst was the silent treatment. The moments his eyes would glaze when they drifted past you, when he willfully ignored your presence like a petulant child. But the spark in his eyes made up for all the trade-offs that accompanied your new uniform. 

As you ran laps to hit different dressing rooms, the green room, various prop bins, plus the kitchen to refill water pitchers and chop citrus fruits, a heat started building up under your clothes. A big number on set created a lull backstage, which you took as a moment to find an empty corner, lean against a storage barrel, and relax. 

You tugged at your woven top to let fresh air waft in, but the humid feeling returned the moment you stopped. In need of something longer lasting, you started to unbutton the shirt. Freeing two of the shell buttons was just enough for better circulation. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to dress.” The remark was flat, weighed down by disappointment. 

Shit.

You expected Buggy to be clowning around and schmoozing with the audience, not skulking around backstage like you.

“I just- I needed to cool down,” you explained, pulling at the chest of your shirt as if the demonstration would excuse the faux pas.

Buggy watched, his eyes lingering on your glistening chest. You felt bare, like the two buttons revealed far too much. Reaching up to fix yet another mistake, you were stopped by a pair of disembodied gloved hands. The tight grip rolled your knuckles against each other and large thumbs dug until the meat of your palms.

“By exposing yourself?”

The accusation struck a sweaty nerve. “It’s not a lot! It’s just two buttons,” you spat. “I’m still dressed. It’s not like you can actually see anything.”

“Ahh, so you do want to be seen? You like when people stare at you? I mean, I figured that’s why you’re such a fuck up on stage. I didn’t know stripping was an option, though. We could work that into the next show.”

“No! That’s not-”

“I thought I knew best,” Buggy cut you off with a sing-song voice.

The swell of muffled music seeping into the back areas matched the anxiety surging in your body. Thoughts of taking off your clothes, piece by piece, while Buggy watched, danced in your mind. They traipsed and tumbled to the truth - that you did want to be seen. That you liked it when he stared at you. When Buggy paid attention to you. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“...you do. You’re right, Captain. I wasn’t wearing my costume correctly, I’m sorry.” Hopefully this acknowledgement would distract him from the other accurate observations.

Maybe it was a trick in the dim lighting, but it looked like Buggy’s eyes sparkled at your response.

“Good, I’m right. So you’ll be in the next show. We could end with a flashy number…” Buggy’s hands released yours and started gesturing in the air as he turned away with his grandiose planning.

“Wait!” You lunged forwards to pull back the one-sided agreement. Desperate fingertips grazed against his heavy coat but were unable to take hold.

“Hm, you have a good point,” Buggy said, splitting and spinning his top half to face you. “Maybe we should wait. You might be terrible at this too. I know - we’ll have an audition.”

With that, he twirled and reassembled in time with a crescendo of music that ended with a lion’s roar and strained applause.

“My room, after the show.”

---

You stood in the middle of the captain’s quarters on an island of discarded clothes and covered only in goosebumps. The muffled sounds of a raging afterparty weren’t enough to cover your shallow breathing or the scratch of pen on paper as Buggy wrote down notes about the night’s show. He hardly spared you a look after telling you to get undressed. Although you removed the clothes slowly, your half-assed, untalented striptease went unnoticed. Eventually you stood in the same spot, entirely exposed.

Every little shift you made to adjust to the rolling waves, or to keep your thoughts anchored, went unnoticed. You were able to watch Buggy from the corner of your eye and see how immersed he was in the paperwork.

His bushy brows furrowed as he chewed on the thumb of his glove in between scribbles. Papers were shuffled and unnecessary pages slammed back on the desk. This wasn’t performative - he was actually working. And it was captivating. Both because he was deeply invested in the work, but also because you didn’t know how to interrupt. Or if you even should.

That possibility was taken away from you by a flurry of knocks on the wooden door. Your heart sped up to match the pace of each rap from the unknown visitor. Was the door locked? What if they came in and saw you like this? You turned to stare at Buggy, who still didn’t look at you.

“What?” Buggy groaned loudly, throwing his head to the ceiling and leaning back in his chair.

“Captain, we’re running low on refreshments.” The words slurred their way through the door.

“Okay, and…?” The question trailed off into a pause. A heavy pause that rang in your head.

The doorknob rattled. And turned. It wasn’t fucking locked. He didn’t lock the fucking door. There wasn’t much you could do to improve this predicament. You could hold your clothes to your body and try to preserve some of your dignity. Then again, how much was left at this point? Hiding behind furniture was a terrible option - you weren’t going to play a messed up version of naked hide-and-seek.

Faster than you could consider other options, a gloved hand whizzed forwards and held the door shut. The few centimeters it creaked open were pushed back and met with a drunken grunt.

“I’m busy,” Buggy said loudly and slowly, his voice soaked with annoyance. “Exactly what do you need me for?”

“We’re running out of drinks, cap’n.”

“You already said that.” Buggy rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Can-” The sloshed pirate must have pressed his lips against the edge of the door before continuing. “Can we open more barrels?”

The request slid around the door, entering the room with clarity that sent anxiety and adrenaline surging through your body. Although you knew he was on the other side of the door, knowing someone else was so close sent tingles down the back of your head and spine before reaching around to prick your bare chest. As the conversation continued without you, the turbulent waves gave way to softer swells and your thoughts started to drift. Sure, you were still being ignored and you were still naked, but there was a strange feeling of safety.  

The discussion ended with a threat of bathroom duty if anything more than four barrels and a case of wine was opened. The door lock clicked and stillness returned to the room. Your mind came back to your body, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the condition it was in. Of the growing tension and sensitivity. Of the warmth that started to collect down low. Each sensation was amplified when you realized that you were no longer being ignored.

Buggy remained at his desk, head cocked to the side and resting on a gloved hand. The aqua color of his eyes poured over your exposed skin, ice cold and boiling hot at the same time.

“I think we’re just going to strip you of all performance duties. It wasn’t flashy enough,” he finally said.

“You barely even watched! You weren’t paying attention to m-” Shit. The words started flowing before you could even register what order they were in and you slapped your mouth shut too late.

The grin on Buggy’s face nearly put his painted smile to shame. “Say that again. Tell me what you really wanted to say.”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to put your clothes back on, go back to your room, curl up, and pretend none of this happened.

“C’mon, I want to hear you tell your captain that he’s right,” Buggy coaxed through that devastating smile. How could he make those words sound so soft and so dangerous? So enticing?

“I wanted-”

“I can’t hear you.”

Your hand fell from your mouth at the flat interruption

“I wanted you to pay attention to me, Captain.”

He nodded along to your words and into the silence after you finished speaking. You weren’t done.

“I…I like it.”

“Because?” Buggy pushed you to keep going, rather than continuing to drag each word from your pretty lips. Lips that you licked nervously before giving Buggy what he wanted. 

“Because I’m an attention whore,” you confessed.

“Again.”

“I’m an attention whore.” 

Fuck, yes you were. Everytime he made you say these words, you felt like you were stripping again - removing your sense of self and exposing who you really were inside. Someone who would do near anything in hopes of capturing his eyes and his mind. Anything he asked of you, no matter how ridiculous or humiliating, just to hear your name on his tongue.

“Louder.”

Buggy was a cat who finally caught a scrumptious canary, holding it between his paws. He was enjoying this game. And so were you, but you were ready to take it to the next level and this was your chance.

“I’m your whore, Captain!”

For once, the smarmy look on Buggy’s face flickered. Eyebrows raised slightly in surprise and the corners of his smile fell before transforming into a wolfish grin. Leaning back in his chair, the captain beckoned you closer with a tantalizing curl of two fingers.

As you walked forwards, Buggy reclined and spread his legs into an indecently dominant pose. Another twitch from his finger told you to lower yourself. You were more than glad to kneel before your captain. Trapped between his body heat and your desire, you barely noticed the rough wood floor digging into your bare knees.

A gloved hand floated over and cupped your chin. The leather from his performance gloves was rich and velvety. Softening into his touch, you felt a twinge of worry that you might melt completely. Meeting his watchful gaze, the worry dissipated. Now you wanted nothing more than to dissolve, to fall apart because of him.

The hold was replaced with a nudge against your lips. The silent request quickly changed into a demand as two fingers slid into your barely open mouth. You accepted the intrusion, dropping your jaw to accommodate the thick digits and welcome them into the back of your throat. With your bottom lip resting against the leather on the palm of his hand, Buggy’s fingers began to wiggle and flex, becoming acquainted with your insides and testing your limits. 

You were given a moment of respite, just enough time to fill your lungs with fresh air, before Buggy began pumping his hand into your waiting mouth. Your tongue lolled out with the movement, turning into an escape route for the excess drool that couldn’t soak into his glove. Whenever your eyebrows furrowed a little too tightly, you were given the briefest second to catch your breath. 

Eventually satisfied with fingerfucking your throat, Buggy recalled his hand. You could both see the discoloration from your spit. Buggy flexed his fingers to admire the handiwork before removing his gloves. Then he unbuckled his belt, the sound of which nearly had you drooling again. You wiped your mouth, just in case.

“Undo my pants. You need to see what you do to me,” Buggy said in a low voice.

The lunge of your greedy hands was stopped by an addendum.

“Ah-ah, no hands.” Buggy licked his painted lips and pursed them into a little kiss that fluttered down to you and settled in your stomach.

Oh, that’s what he meant. Dropping your hands, you leaned forwards and used your nose to push away the hem of his shirt. It wasn’t slippery material, but you struggled to move it enough to reach the hardware on his pants. Buggy took pity (or maybe he was too horny to watch you struggle for long) and pulled up his shirt, exposing a patch of blue hair trailing down to the treasure you were desperate to reach.

Another hand found a resting spot on the back of your head. It followed your movement as you twisted and turned, tilted and tugged, bit and nibbled. Sometimes his hold would work against you, causing you to slip and bump into his erection. Each press against his twitching member gave you motivation to keep trying until you were finally able to unbutton his pants and pull at them enough to undo the zipper.

“Good job,” Buggy groaned, delighted that you made it this far.

He pressed your face against his cock, which was still hidden beneath his underwear. Buggy made sure to rub your lips against the wet spot of precum. It was a little salty and more than delicious. You wanted more. Needed more. You wrapped your lips around his head and sucked on the soggy fabric, surprising Buggy. His fingers tightened in your hair as a strained groan escaped his mouth.

Spurred by the reaction, you licked along the underside of his clothed erection. You moved slowly and let your spit pave the way. Every pulsing throb that pressed against your tongue whetted your appetite. It added to the hunger in your body and soul until you were aching, so painfully full of desire that had no escape. Regretfully, you pulled back. The hand on the back of your head shook slightly at the break in contact.

“What? Are you done?” he asked between breaths.

You shook your head, mesmerized. Buggy’s eyes were hazy. Fogged up and unfocused. His face was sprinkled with a pink blush and beads of sweat. His chest was heaving. And he looked so damn good.

“Use your words, fuck. W-why’d you stop?” Fingers twitched in your hair.

“More… I want more. Please, I need y-!!” 

The rushing stream was stalled by a yelp when Buggy’s hands hoisted you on top of his desk. From your new height, you watched your captain lower himself before you, claiming the space between your legs as his. Suddenly, his mouth was on you. His tongue touching you. Fingers digging into your thighs.

Everything left you in that moment. Every thought, the air in your chest, the ability to hold yourself upright, all of it taken away in one fell swoop. Worried about falling backwards and losing sight of Buggy indulging in a feast, you reached for him. Your hands fumbled, unable to find purchase with his hat or that damn bandana. Knocking both out of the way, your fingers found what they needed in his blue hair. A growl rumbled through his throat and ripped through your body at the desperation in your grip. 

Buggy came at you with increased ferocity. With a wildness that had you crying out in excitement and fear. That damn mouth of his wasn’t just talented at turning phrases. Fuck. You felt like Buggy would swallow you down in one gulp if he could. 

He ate and ate, consuming you like he had been consuming your thoughts for as long as you’ve been on the ship. With each lick, nibble, suck, reverberating groan, and mumbled nothings against your skin, you responded. Your toes curled. Your legs shook. Your fingers tightened and released. His name poured from your lips on repeat, becoming a jumble of syllables in your ears.

You could see stars, they were within reach. Swollen and ready to explode. But before they could shower you in their delicious warmth, they disappeared.

“Is that the best you can do?” The question wasn’t said with lips against your skin. You looked down, bleary eyed and confused. “I’m giving you all of this attention and you’re quieter than a mouse’s fart.”

What the fuck. Your head was swirling, mourning the loss of those sweet stars. His name lingered on your tongue, the full-bodied taste leaving behind an emptiness. What more could he want?

“Are you afraid everyone will hear you? Don’t you want to show me what a good job I’m doing?”

Your eyes fluttered, the stars returning to the edge of your vision. You nodded, promising to do a better job. Promising that you wouldn’t fuck up, like you usually do.

Buggy stood up and rushed to pull down his pants, clanging his belt against the wooden desk in his excitement. His pants and underwear caught around his knees, but he didn’t move to shimmy them lower. Now the focus was on his thick cock, dripping with precum that begged to be spread and smeared. 

It looked so heavy. So fucking thick and heavy. Buggy’s smile twitched at your reaction, caught between embarrassment and pride.

“C’mere, show me what a whore you are,” Buggy said, interrupting your assessment. “Show me you can take it.”

Your movement forwards was aided by his bare hands on your ass. Rough calluses on soft skin. Fingers digging into supple flesh. Buggy’s touch was searing hot, etching his hold on your body so that you felt it even when he let go. He lined himself up, stopping just as his body kissed your entrance. A passionate kiss that he continued with his lips against yours.

“Spit on it,” he murmured around your bottom lip, which was trapped between his teeth.

Buggy just barely missed getting headbutted as you pitched forwards, more impatient than eager. You wanted to see his cock again. You wanted to coat it. To feel it. To have it inside. You wanted it so badly. Gifting him a mouthful to use as lubricant, you hoped that he would give you what you craved in return.

And he did. You watched as Buggy pushed inside, slowly. So tantalizingly slow. It seemed impossible that he’d fit, especially if he wasn’t going to shove it in. But it did. Your body stretched to accommodate Buggy’s wonderfully thick cock. You whined and hissed through the intrusion, relishing the pleasure and pain he brought.

“It- it fits,” you gasped.

“Uh-huh, I knew you could do it. Such a good fucking whore for your captain.” Buggy paused with his hips slotted against yours, shoulders rising and falling with each restrained breath he took. “A tight one…m’gonna change that.”

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as he pulled back and began fucking you as promised. You felt entirely at his mercy, caged by his body and stretched to your limit. Your nails dragged across his clothed shoulders, catching on ripples in the fabric, rather than scratching his skin and muscles. Tight muscles. All of Buggy was hard and tight.

“I can take it,” you urged. “Please, just fuck me. Use me.” 

The steady tempo turned into a staccato at your words. “That’s it, that’s my good whore,” Buggy said, his voice dripping with pleasure. “Keep that fucking mouth open, I need to hear you take it.”

He slammed into you, little lights exploding behind your eyelids. A little taste of the stars that you knew were coming. Slack jawed, you let your moans fall in time with his thrusts. Moans and cries of delight echoed off of him as you clung loosely to his body. You barely heard Buggy’s demand before his teeth were digging into your shoulder. A loud shout met his demand and raised the level of the sounds that fell from your mouth.

Fingers in your hair tilted your head to the side. “Louder. Don’t tell me you’re afraid they’ll hear you being fucked by your captain,” Buggy growled against your ear. A bite on your earlobe brought another increase in volume and tears to your eyes.

You shook your head and called out his name. Another nip. Another nibble. You cried out louder. Your hands began shaking. You pleaded, crying Buggy’s name on repeat against his shoulder. Arms wrapped around your back and held you closer, pressing you harder against his mean thrusts.

“C’mon, you can do it…”

That was it. That was all you needed. Even if you couldn’t put on a good performance for the circus, you certainly could do this. You could take this. You could take a rough fuck from your captain. You could cry his name to the heavens, to the stars that would explode with you. 

Moans stretched into screams that scratched your throat. His name stretched into high-pitched cries that hurt your ears. Incoherent pleas took all your breath and made your lips numb. Yet, with all the cacophony you created, all you could hear was your captain’s sweet, sweet praise.

“Come on my cock like a good whore,” he rasped, clearly struggling to hold back his own orgasm.

“I can-I can do i- I’m cu-” The words were choked out of you. The immense pressure that built up was too much, but it kept growing, taking all the space left in your body. Carrying you away until everything exploded. Until starlight and shimmers filled your vision. 

For a moment, you were gone. You hardly existed. Everything wiped clean. And then you were back in your body. Back to feeling all sorts of sinful things. Your body was still struggling against all the pressure that had built up. Trying but failing to squeeze against Buggy’s thick intrusion, which was still ravaging your body. The bright cries that ripped through you were now edging into dry sobs of pleasure.

Your performance was finally rewarded. Buggy’s own sounds were strangled as he came, depositing a hot load of cum deep in your body. He fucked through each pulsing shot, your tension milking him until his balls were drained and you were full. Uncomfortably full.

Buggy’s orgasm ended with a groaning sigh as he nearly collapsed against you. One arm was still holding you close, while the other rested on the desk, propping you both up.

The room felt stuffy, yet empty. Full of everything that just happened, but the sounds of passion were replaced with the dim soundtrack of the ship’s party. After a few minutes reveling in this atmosphere, Buggy peeled himself off your sticky body. He raked a hand through his hair, dragging the loose strands stuck to his forehead back into place. A casual movement that was so… He winced as your body clenched around him, an appreciation for the view.

“So needy,” he said through a crooked smile. A weary but pleased grin.

Arms on your knees kept your legs spread, as Buggy pulled out. Disconnected hands were right there, thumbs on either side of your used hole to keep it open. Gaping. Drooling white cum. 

A shiver tore through your body at the feeling of his heavy load sliding down and out. A shiver that was frozen in place when a finger scooped up some and brought it to your lips. A moan traded places with the offering, exiting your mouth as Buggy’s coated finger entered. The mingled taste was wonderful, so fucking tasty. And his cum was such a soothing texture on your aching throat.

---

You woke up feeling almost hungover - not because of alcohol though. Your body throbbed and your head was spinning, but it was pleasant. A weight on your chest kept you pinned to the bed. Buggy was haphazardly draped across your body, his head and arm resting on your torso, and a leg hooked around yours. He was still sound asleep. Closed eyes tracked his dreams and his snoring breath skated across your skin. 

Gently, you brought over an arm to push some hair from his face. He looked so beautiful in the moonlight. The snores quieted for a moment.  Then they were replaced by a heavy sigh and a tighter embrace. Tucking his arm around you more and curling his leg to hug yours, Buggy snuggled against you and fell back into his deep slumber. As his breaths crinkled back into snores, they carried you back to sleep.

A sweet, comforting sleep, well-earned after a performance that you didn’t fuck up for once. All because your captain knows best.

[emmcarstairs]

The Ghoul and Lucy MacLean as Modern Orpheus and Eurydice: A Fallout Meta

(art by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot)

We’ve all heard the Greek myth of Orpheus who ventures to the Underworld to bring his wife Eurydice back to life. It’s one of the greatest tragic love stories that has been retold and passed down to us in different forms of media.

Isn’t it interesting that Fallout begins with The End and ends with The Beginning? It refers to the bombs falling in the first episode, and the past being revealed in the last, but I believe it goes deeper than that. It’s a direct reflection of Lucy’s character journey.

Lucy’s journey begins with the shattering of her perfect world. It's the end of her life as she has known it. The event that triggers her descent (in her case, ascent) is the raiders’ attack. Which significantly happens at her wedding. Lucy is stabbed by her husband who had snuck into her Vault with deception. Similarly, Eurydice is bitten by a snake at her wedding with Orpheus, which kills her and sends her to the Underworld.

Interestingly enough, if we think of Norm's words as Lucy walks down the aisle, the Ghoul is coded as a possible husband for Lucy. And it's only after she goes to the Underworld/Wasteland that we are introduced to the Ghoul.

In a post-nuclear world, hell would be on the surface and heaven under the ground. The Ghoul emerges from the underground like Lucy as if he's coming after her. (It's funny that three men welcome him as if he's Orpheus at the gates of the Underworld and they're Cerberus.)

After the tragic wedding, Lucy resides in the Underworld. (An important note here is that while we learn that the Wasteland isn't dead, it is perceived as an Underworld by the Vault dwellers.) Throughout her journey, there is one person who, by happenstance, is always on her trail.

In the final episode titled The End, we find some thematic and visual similarities with The Beginning. Lucy is again betrayed by a person she considers family. Also, the passage of time in both episodes (midday-sunset-night) is clearly marked by the change of colors in the sky.

Two significant scenes for Lucy happen during the sunset. As a symbol, the sunset stands for transition or even death. The world is changed for the night. It's both an end and a new beginning. It's a meeting between the day and the night. In both these scenes, Lucy agrees to share her journey with another person.

If we rewind back to the Ghoul's entrance in the scene, we see him catching Hank by surprise with his words. In fact, the Ghoul speaks a lot and almost enthralls his enemies with his power of speech/acting. It's reminiscent of Orpheus' gift of music which helps him tame the beasts.

Here begins the deviation from the original story. In the myth, Eurydice has no agency. Orpheus ventures into the Underworld, begs for her soul, and takes her on the journey back. Some modern critics point out she'd already forgotten him and wouldn't want to return back to life.

The Ghoul offers Lucy a clear choice between her staying with the dead (in this moment, they are surrounded by Max's unconscious body and her mother's remains, as well as the soldiers' corpses) and risking that she dies herself. Or going with him to learn more about the world.

Another important element in the myth, is the backward glance. Hades lets Eurydice leave the Underworld on condition that Orpheus doesn't look back at her until they make it out. As they near the exit, Orpheus turns back and Eurydice vanishes back in the Underworld forever.

In this case, the backward glance isn't a condition. Yet, in this scene, the Ghoul and Lucy's gazes don't meet at all! He has his back turned to her and the one time he turns around, she isn't looking at him. It shows their vulnerability but also their newfound mutual trust.

What follows is the scene that inspired this whole meta. The night has fallen. The Ghoul climbs up from a ruined building's dark exit alone. After a moment, Lucy emerges too. They have made it! And the Ghoul still isn't looking back at her. He leads and knows she'll follow him.

Take a look at this bit from A. S. Kline's translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book X, and look at the following frame:

"They took the upward path, through the still silence, steep and dark, shadowy with dense fog, drawing near to the threshold of the upper world."

A final note about Orpheus and Eurydice's names: Orpheus means "the darkness of the night", while Eurydice means "wide justice". Well, what can I say?

Looking back on my Lucy analysis, it's interesting that the final scene with them both emerging from underground marks the transition between Act 2 and Act 3, or Death (Transformation) and Emergence (Support). This would've been Eurydice's POV journey if Orpheus had succeeded.

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Hair Dye- Christopher Sturniolo

Summary: chris was about to leave for the Versus tour but wanted to do something dramatic for his fans for the tour! you dye his hair and he dyes yours!

warnings: nothing :)

A/n: i was watching the video where chris dyed nicks hair and i thought it would be cute if i wrote a lil sumth based of this!

PSA: DONT STEAL MY WORK! IT BELONGS TO ME MYSELF AND I!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chris and I have been dating for roughly about 3 years. We had met not long after their YouTube became popular and quickly we both had made it official. Considering I was Chris’ first ‘real relationship’ because he had commitment issues and I swore off dating till college, we both moved to LA because we couldn't do long-distance.

“I can't believe we're going on fucking tour” Chris’ excitement squealed out of him as he's getting his bags ready for the Triplets ‘Verus Tour’

“What am I gonna do without you, I got this big ass house and big ass bed with no Chris to share it with,” I say sprawling in a starfish position.

“You could always invite Tara over, you two can do whatever you two do best together” he chuckles shoving some socks into a deep pocket of his suitcase.

“So drinking and partying?” I laugh out sitting up and resting my weight on my elbows.

“Please do not get drunk for over a month straight i would genuinely check you into a Rehabilitation center” Chris chuckled throwing his arms up.

“Don't worry I'll probably just chill here most of the time and eat, sleep, watch Gossip Girl for the 30th time, and occasionally go out with Tara,” I reassure him flicking my hand up and down brushing his comment off.

“I wanna do something crazy before tour,” he says as his lips curl up into a smirk.

“Like what? You guys leave in like 3 days” I adjust my body sitting up crisscross.

“I wanna dye my hair orange, 'cause you know each of us has a color for our team so like half of my outfits for tour consists of orange,” he says walking towards the bed sitting next to me.

“Chris normally I would be supportive of your impulsivity but dying your entire beautiful virgin brown hair orange? I won't support that one” i laugh running my nails through his long wavy brown locs of hair.

“Okay, maybe not my whole hair but maybe like the tips of my hair?” he says grabbing a small piece of hair and pointing at the tip of it.

“Chris it's 8 pm and no hair salon takes last-minute hair appointments and I only trust my hair stylist Hazel” I laugh sitting back and leaning my head against the headboard of the bed.

“Then why don't we do it? Walmart is still open and they have hair dye, right? I mean I've dyed Nick's hair before with the help of Maddie but how hard can it be?” he moves closer to me shooting me a smirk.

“I have dyed my hair before. Fuck it let's do it” I stand up off the bed smiling at Chris whose smirk turned into the happiest smile on his face.

We both chuckled and made our way downstairs to discover Matt and Nick giggling while looking at their phones.

“Where are you guys going?” Matt's head peaked up looking towards us.

“To get hair dye” Chris laughs and spoke before I could

“Oo Y/N what color are you dying your hair this time?” Nick shimmies his shoulders smirking.

“Well Chris wanted to do something crazy before the tour so he wanted me to dye the tips of his hair orange and I'm dying the underneath of my hair orange as well” I nervously spit out gripping Chris’ hands.

“Okay that's actually disgustingly adorable” Nick laughs out

“Well be back in like an hour” Chris and I walked out together, hand in hand, and made our way to my car.

We're currently sitting in the car, cruising down the road on our way to the nearby Walmart laughing at the possible situations that could happen.

“Are you sure you know what you're doing” Chris asks propping his feet up on the dashboard of the car.

“Chris it's gonna be fine” I reassure tapping his thigh laughing softly.

As we arrive at the Walmart parking lot, Chris steps out and stands in front of my car, his hand outstretched, waiting for me to take it as I step out of the car as we enter the store.

“What about this one?” he says “Splat is a cool name” he chuckles

“NO” I exclaim “That is one ingredient away from being fabric dye”

“Oh my god why would they make this stuff” his eyes go wide as he laughs and throws the box back on the shelf.

“Okay here, this is Manic Panic, Nick used it when he dyed his hair, it's pretty good” I say holding two jars of the dye.

“Okay, so how much do we need?” Chris gives his little sassy side eye when he's confused which happens to be a lot of times when I have to over-explain myself.

“Well you don't have a lot of hair to cover and since I'm only dying the back of my hair and maybe my money pieces then maybe two” my voice raises with question.

“Two it is” He nodded and smiled, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he reached for the hair dye. As he took my hand, a rush of warmth spread through me, and we made our way to the register together to check out.

The car ride home was filled with laughter and comfortability within each other. In the 3 years, we've been together, I can't remember a single time where we had ‘small talk’ or ‘chit chat’ we could always talk about something big or small for hours. It was always one of the things I loved about Chris, he was a yapper but we could always bounce back and forth with nonsense.

As we entered the house, we couldn't contain our laughter and giggles, our voices echoing through the halls as we made our way inside.

“Why are you two so disgustingly cute” Nick spits smiling at both of us.

“You acting like we're a new couple” Chris chuckled.

“No, but still so sickening how cute you guys are together even after 3 years of watching you two be together” Nick shrugs popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

With a chuckle, Chris leads me into the bathroom we both share. “Do you want me to use one of my old shirts to cover up with?” he asks leaning against the counter “We can just share the shirt too”

“Do you even own a shirt you don't care about?” I softly laughed.

“You know how many wife beaters I own, why question anything” he throws his hands up in defense laughing as he grabs a black tank top from his room and quickly swaps his shirt out.

“Okay sit between my legs” I smile up at him as he nods and sits Indian style between my legs.

“So how does hair dye work? Like what makes the color stay? Who invented it?” he questions as I start to apply the dye on the tips of his hair blending it out to create an ombre effect.

“Chris I'm not sure about any of those questions i just know that I use it, and I hope this will come out, or else Hazel is gonna be really mad at me” I chuckle out.

“So you don't know how it works? Or who invited it?” he leans his head back facing me as his big blue doe eyes stare at me.

I smile but lightly push his head back down to dye the back and the bottom of his hair. “You know I don't always know the answer to everything, I may always be right about most things but it ain't nothing to just go on Google and type it in,” I say softly laughing

“I know but why use Google when I have a super-smart girlfriend” he shrugs his shoulders smiling.

I carefully completed the styling of his hair, ensuring that I covered all the sections he wanted dyed and coated them with a vibrant orange color.

“Now we wait 45 minutes” I smile helping him up off the floor.

“YOUR TURN” he squeals holding his hands out for me. “Now you can sit between my legs” he smirks moving his shoulders.

“WAIT, let me section my hair because I don't want my whole hair orange,” I stand up go to the mirror and section my hair in a ‘Halo’ hairstyle. “okay here you go just dye the parts that aren’t in the bun up here” I smile sitting back between his legs.

“got it” he smiles back at me beginning to rub his fingers that are coated with orange color through my hair “If I pull your hair too hard let me know” he lightly pulls my head back to look at him before giving me a little peck on my lips.

He made sure his hands were gentle through my hair and made sure it was coated on every strand and maybe even overly coated. “I'm putting a lot of dye on your hair but only to make sure it is coated properly” he smiles moving my head to the side to get the side of my hair.

“This is nice” My lips curl upwards in a smile as my body becomes relaxed. “I enjoy these little bonding moments with you”

“Oh believe me I enjoy this more” he smiles “okay turn around so I can get your shorter pieces of hair”

As I turned around to face him, I noticed his eyes brightening with excitement as he carefully applied the dye to the shorter pieces of my hair.

“Okay now we wait” he smiles sitting next to me.

I pull out my phone and get a picture of Chris and me with the wet dye in our hair so we can remember this moment. “You're so beautiful ma” he smiles at our picture. “God I'm gonna marry that woman one day,” he says pointing at the picture on my phone.

“Chris you're so corny” I softly laugh out softly pushing his shoulder.

“You're gonna miss my corny jokes when I'm gone” he raises his eyebrows smirking.

“Chris you sound like you're dying, you're just going on tour, and we're gonna face time like every night, and I'm gonna come visit you obviously” I playfully roll my eyes.

“I won't let you not visit, you're gonna visit” he softly says placing a kiss on my cheek.

After 45 minutes had passed, Chris and I carefully rinsed out the dye from our hair and then proceeded to blow dry it. Chris wouldn't stop staring at himself in the mirror touching his hair and making goofy faces at himself.

“God we look fuckable” he smirks at me in the mirror.

“Christopher Owen” my jaw goes slack as the words come out of his mouth.

“I'm being honest we look hella good right now” he smiles “WE NEED TO POST THIS ON INSTA” he pulls out his phone taking a couple of pictures of us with our hair.

Liked by Nicolassturniolo, Matthewsturniolo and others

Christophersturniolo: Tour ready 🧡

______________________________________________

Nicolassturniolo: YALL ARE SO CUTE ITS SICKENING

Matthewsturniolo: i would give you the menu but yall already ate

> Matthewsturniolo: i don’t know why i said that..

Sturnioloteam: #theverustour

LuvY/N: we fuckable

> christophersturniolo: oh but it’s okay if you say it ✋😧🤚

______________________________________________

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A/N PART 2: PLS IGNORE THE FACT THAT THE PICS ARE RED AND NOT ORANGE I COULD FIND ANY ON PINTREST LOL ALSO SORRY FOR THE INACTIVITY IVE HAD ZERO MOTIVATION BUT I

LOVE YALL AND I HOPE YALL HAVE AN AMAZING DAY/NIGHT/EVENING!

[ccraccz]

Hello! I'm a new follower of yours~ I may not know how much are you in the manga, so this might be a lil spoiler for you (sorry). Suo actually knows the language of flowers! Maybe this could be a req of him courting fem!reader owo

Have a nice day!

SO CUTTEE!! THANK YOU FOR BOTH THE FOLLOW AND THE REQUEST!!

Flowers for you

Suo x Fem!Reader

TW: assault, reader being used as a hostage, implied bullying? (PLease tell me if I missed a TW!!)

The first time it happens is on a random Monday. A bouquet of different colored camelias being given to you by Suo, a sly smile and unearthly attractive smile on his face as he hands them over. His uncovered eye squinting as he watches you blush at the situation.

"For you, my lady," he says, confirming the main question that was swimming in your brain.

"But... Why?" You ask, genuinely wondering about the reason of the sudden gift. Suo chuckles as you grab the flowers in your hands and hold them closer. "Well..." He starts, turning to walk beside you, hands behind his back as usual, he looks at forward, ignoring your eyes that were intensely looking at him. "They reminded me of you, and there was a special on them, so I decided to try and make your day start in a good way."

That was a lie. Well, part of it was a lie. The beautiful, multicolored camelias did remind him of you, but the bouquet was going to be a lot more expensive if he wasn't recognized by the flower shop owner for saving his daughter from some perverted gang members. Not only was the bouquet free as a payback for saving his daughter, but as a thanks for helping around the town.

"Well then..." You pout, looking away as you arrive at the bridge that connects you to the gates of your school. You genuinely didn't want to leave him there, but you had cleaning duty to go to and if you're one minute late, your class would chew you up, especially now that you had a bouquet of flowers in your hands.

That day you started your day with a smile, and ended it with that same smile.

Suo was right, these flowers did make your day start, and stay, a good way.

The second time was the day after he, and his group, fought a group of drunken, old, perverts decided to take you and your girlfriends from your class as hostages. The glare that Suo sported that day before he quickly beat up the guys that were between him and the guy holding you was still burned into the front of your memories.

His eye seemed to glow under the street lights of the town, movements swifter than a cat but stronger than a bear. The drunken man holding you faltered at the sight of his men being beaten down, quickly seeing the disadvantage he's at. Due to that, he quickly pushes you away, having you land harshly on the ground and enraging Suo further.

After the fight, Suo was silent, too silent for your comfort as he walked you home. His arms weren't behind him, now one was wrapped around your waist and the other in his pocket.

The day after, there were flowers on your door step. Another bouquet and a plush of a fluffy puppy holding it.

The flowers were in a beautiful arrangement of white gardenias, daffodils, primrose primulas, and white heather flowers, a red ribbon tied around the bottom of the stems to keep them together. Under the plush, there is a note from Suo.

His hand writing is gorgeous, letters smooth and readable, sentences arranged in such grace it was shocking to think that this was written by a teenager in a delinquent school.

The letter said: Dear [Name],

I hope this letter finds you well and recovered from what happened yesterday night. I can only imagine how hollow you might feel...

And the rest was history, as tears bubbled up in your eyes and dribbled down your cheeks, the flowers tight in your embrace as your tears soaked into the paper and the top of the plush.

The third and last time was at the end of the day, two months after the incident, and a week before your birthday. You had been talking to some girls, who were gushing and blushing about their crushes while you stayed quiet. Walking out of the school and over the bridge, you see him.

Suo was standing at the other end of the bridge, another bouquet in his hand, a small gift box in his other hand. You paused as the girls beside you start fawning over Suo, talking about how attractive he is, and wondering who those flowers were for, and what about that box?

You were internally sweating, starting to walk behind the girls again, who were giggling and bumping into each other before you.

"So?" One of the prettier girls walks forward, having the guts to confront the delinquent. "Is that for me?" she asks, bottom lip bitten seductively.

Suo smiles at her, "Definitely..." He pauses and looks around the group. "Not," his smile drops before he walks forward and breaks apart the group, until he was in front of you.

"[Name]?" Suo smiles, eye closing with a light blush on his face.

He looked ethereal, better than any mythical, historical, or fictional character you've ever seen in your life. The sun was the perfect shade, hitting his face in every attractive way it could.

"I'm here to give you these," He speaks, his voice soft and nearly musical. He holds out the flowers towards you to take as your cheeks flush a beautiful pink as the situation registers in your mind.

"For me?" You whisper in shock.

"Yes," He nods "for you gorgeous."

In her hands was a large bouquet, filled with white gardenias, red roses, white camelias, baby's breath, and a multitude of gloxinias. "Those white gardenias represent your purity and how lovely you are, the roses represent my love for you, the white camelias describe how adorable and perfect you are, the baby's breath are a symbol of-"

You cut him off, putting the flowers into one arm as you grab him by the cheek and slot your lips onto his.

The show of affection makes the girls around swear and leave, while, somewhere in the bushes, there is a sensor going off, smoking even.

That wasn't the last time he brought you flowers, and it definitely was not the last time he described them, since every time he did, it would lead to something more.

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things: chapter six

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

Fridays are also the only day where you don’t go directly home after work. Instead of catching the late night Orange line, you snag the Blue and take it down, down, down, right out of the city and it’s the almost surreal serenity of the suburbs. Street lights and cars turn into trees as the sun dips low. Only the ambient sounds of your music and the wheels on the tracks keep you company as you pass familiar stops, all the way to the end of the line.

From there, you walk: down the dark sidewalks, across the one lane roads, stopping only in the little diner along the way. It’s hours later when you finally make it to the doorstep. Before you can knock, the door is ripped open.

“You’re late.” The shortest woman you’ve ever seen stands there, hands on her hips and glasses shoved to the top of her nose bridge. Her scrubs are baggy, but clean, with the name of her service stitched on the pocket: UA Palliative. “I thought you were hit by a car.”

“Sorry, sorry.” you try to laugh her concerns off.

“And you’re sweaty.” Nurse Chiyo clicks her tongue at you as she hands you a face mask. “You should really let him send a car.”

A car would be faster, but you can’t justify someone footing that bill when your metro card has money on it. “The exercise is good for me.”

The woman scrunches her face and gestures to the bag you’re holding. The bottom of the brown paper is practically see through with grease. In the other, you have two styrofoam cups, taken from the diner down the road. “And that food is good for you too?”

“It’s a friday treat.”

“Just don’t feel bad if he’s not hungry,” she sighs with the weight of someone who knows. “Towards the end, the appetite tends to dwindle.”

You slip on your face mask and slip off your shoes. Toshinori Yagi’s home drips with old money; subtle detailing mixed with hints of extravagance, it's the air of wealth with none of the gaudiness. The halls are sparsely decorated, only the occasional artwork and statue to keep you company as you walk to the back of the home, past the luxurious, yet almost never used kitchen and through the abandoned living room. There, in the middle of it all, hangs an oversized picture of Yagi back in his acting days.

If it was anyone else, it might seem egotistical, but the man on the wall might as well be a completely different man, a Yagi from another universe. Bound solely in brightly colored latex, this Yagi grins ear to ear, flexing an obscenely thick bicep for the camera. The Hollywood cameras and actors are a blur in the background. It’s from the set of his first All Might movie-- the one you’ve seen hundreds of times. The longer you stare, the more jagging it is. At 55, Yagi is twice the man that he was in his twenties, but a quarter of the size. All of the important pieces are there -his smile, his laugh, his energy- but there’s a part of him, always locked away in a time where this picture was taken.

You press on into the study. This room is a stark contrast from the rest of the house; it’s cluttered, all flat surfaces stacked with magazines and printed articles. Coloring pages litter the floor, in between broken crayons and pencils.

In between it all is a stick of a man, dirty blonde hair buzzed short enough you can see the shape of his skull. He’s pouring himself over some reading, tired eyes tracing the page with a monotonous haze. He’s lost weight again; you can see it in the sharp dip of his cheeks.

“Happy Friday.” You rap on the door frame and he jolts up in surprise. Hand over heart, he laughs in delight, even though he knew you were coming. “How are you?”

“I thought-” He inhales. You can’t remember all of the details of what’s happened to him, but you know one of his lungs is practically nonfunctional and the other struggles keeping up. “You’d be celebrating your birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” He pushes up to stand, but you wave him back down. “You should be. Out with friends.”

“I’m happy where I am, sir.” You place everything on the table in front of him and then retreat to your side, your drink still in hand. Once you’re far enough away - six feet- you take off your mask. “Chocolate Peanut Butter shake and extra crispy fries, just for you.”

It’s his favorite. No, it doesn’t have the nutrition he should be getting, but… well, he’s going to die no matter what. Let the man have a fucking milkshake. He takes it in both hands, like he’s cradling an award or a piece of gold.

The first time cancer struck him, Toshinori Yagi decided to leave acting and do something with his money. He didn’t have a family to take care of -- and his sister is independently wealthy-- so he invested in medical technology. He hired a team that knew better than him, put some of them through school, and grew a rather successful business from the ground up, no formal training of his own. Now, ironically enough, he’s wealthier than ever, and still pouring it into product development.

“You do too much.” He picks the darkest fry of the group and crunches down on it.

It’s the least you can do. Isolation is taxing; you don’t mind sacrificing a bit of time and $19.76 for a quick meeting and meal. You settle down in your usual spot- a fluffy velvet chair in the corner of the room- and take a long sip from your own drink.

“How are things with Shouta?”

You choke so hard it goes up your nose. How did he know? Did the interns figure it out and pass along the word to the whole office? How are you going to explain to your boss that you’ve sexted his colleague? Or did Aizawa tell him? Oh, what if he shared those pictures--

“Wh-what about him?”

Yagi gives you a strange, tired look, brow knitted with a kind concern. “You called me- about his employee?”

You physically sigh with relief; no one knows. Everything is good; you need to stop panicking. Aizawa won’t share the pictures; it’d ruin his career faster than it’d ruin yours. Besides, he’s apparently embarrassed of you, so why would he even show you off? “Oh, well, everything’s good. Kaminari is back in the office.”

Your boss chews a single fry for a long while. A melancholic twang stirs inside you. No, you haven’t known him as long as some people, but over the years you’ve gotten attached. He’s a fair man, a good one too. Watching him waste is… it’s hard. Plain and simple. On the books, you say that you visit for work, but it’s honestly a social call, something to quell your worries.

“He wasn’t very happy when-- I called,” Yagi draws in from his nasal tube as he talks sometimes and it cuts his words short.

“Yeah, I know.” That’s an understatement. You chew on your straw as you try to decide how to respond. “Aizawa had some choice words for me afterwards.

The look on Yagi’s face tells you that he already knew that. Word always makes it back to the big boss one way or another; even sick, he always has his fingers in every pie.

“Don’t let him-” He runs out of breath in a weird spot. “Push you around. He’s a strong personality.”

That’s an understatement too. You wish you could stomp your feet and demand for his removal, but unfortunately Aizawa is very, very good at his job. Besides, you don’t especially want him fired. Maybe just… a series of paper cuts everyday for the rest of his life. Or that his train never comes on time. Nothing serious.

“Trust me- I won’t.” You throw an arm up and flex. “I can put up a fight.”

“No fighting.” The man tries to give you a stern look, but it just looks a bit silly. As demanding as it sounds, it's like being scolded by a grandfather; there’s too much affection between you for anything to feel threatening. “Don’t wage any wars in my office.”

“No promises!” you tease. “Ready to go over reports?”

He smiles back, those hollow cheeks pulling into tiny apples. “Of course.”

…

It’s late when you finally make it home. Yagi had forced you into a car, calling it a birthday gift, and the drive was long and quiet. The driver turned on some soft music, songs with the tinkle of piano, and you almost dozed off by the time he rolled into your apartment complex.

You kick your heels off and strip out of your work clothes as you enter your apartment, letting everything stay where it falls. In the wake of Touya, your place is pretty much empty, with the carpet still pressed in spots where lamps and tables used to be and a jammed lock that won’t click closed. The less time you spend here, the better. You throw yourself onto the couch -something too big to take, apparently- and flick on the television. The usual mindless garbage you like is already on; perfect background noise as you play on your phone.

There’s nothing super new going on. Couple of group chat notifications. Nemuri had texted you to check in-- so did Hizashi. And-

Aizawa’s unopened messages stare at you. There’s no reason to read those texts, right? It’s just mindless sex talk. In fact, he probably doesn’t want you to ever see those texts again.

…Unless he said something important. Maybe he had told you to play dumb at work! Oh, that would open its own can of worms, but at least it would explain why he said to forget everything-

Wait, that wouldn’t make sense. You two were alone at that point. He could have been normal or said something like ‘wow, love your tits!’ or--

Ugh. He wouldn’t say that! Ugh!

You pull on your messaging app again. You need to get this over with.

-> I bet you looked so pretty when you came.

The preview still makes your skin prick with unwanted excitement. The lust nipping at your ankles isn’t easy to ignore as you tap the button and open the conversation. The immediate visage of your words, your drunken musings and flirtations, makes you physically cringe. Luckily, the new messages take up enough space to keep you from seeing your own nude visage.

The first response hits you like a truck.

-> Do you have any idea what I’d do to lick your fingers clean? What I’d do to smell your perfume on your skin?

The thrum of your heartbeat goes funny for just a flash of a moment and you have to shake off any semblance of arousal. No-- you do not like this. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about that thought! You don’t want the warmth of his tongue or the tickle of his breath against your pulse point, or that little bit of scruff against your lips-

The video is below the first message. It’s paused on an out of focus still, but you can make out the golden touched skin of his stomach and the blur of hand. Heat flickers in your core at that, but you tense your legs and try to ignore it.

Get yourself together. It’s just a fucking jerk off video. You scroll right by it.

-> Look at what you do to me. It’s all for you.

There’s a couple of minutes between that text and the final one.

- >I think you fell asleep. Talk in the AM.

And… that’s it. Nothing else.

That told you nothing, other than the fact that Aizawa Shouta is just like any other man: a horny freak. A sexy, amazing texter of a freak, but still a freak regardless! When you move, you can feel the wetness between your legs spread against your pussy lips.

You turn over and try to focus on the medical drama that’s onscreen. Ugh. Ugh! You're over this man and his fucking bipolar attitude and his work bullshit and his, his, his….

The click on the wall ticks away.

His kind of alluring demeanor.

You turn back to your phone. Maybe the video has an answer. Yeah.

The volume on your phone thrums with audio, low and deep, when you click the image. It takes you a second to realize it’s a groan- unabashed and loud- and you swear it resonates deep down into your own lungs.

This video is aimed a bit higher than the other and is shot from farther away, probably resting on a desk from the looks of it. It feels silly that you ever confused him with Touya. Shirt clutched between his teeth, Aizawa’s skin is a deeper color, completely untattooed, and his chest is filled out with weight. A broad, thick hand is white knuckle tight around his cock, glazed and dripping with wetness. It’s thick, oh god, it’s thick, and he’s holding it so tightly that it must hurt. Your jaw aches at the sight of it. Everything about him is wide//, from his cock to his thighs to his slightly soft middle.

A bead of precum rolls from his tip as he slowly drags his hand up and back down. His entire body jumps and twitches with the sensation, a red blush tickling down his chest and another moan on his lips, muffled by the fabric of his black shirt. He makes the same sound again, this one softer, almost affectionate--

And you realize something that feels like a punch to the gut.

He’s saying your name.

Heat flushes your body. Oh, you can barely breathe out of fear you’ll miss something. With a high, tight sound, Aizawa’s body goes stiff, but his cock kicks as he comes undone. Spend splatters down his chest and onto his black shirt, pearl string after pearl string. Just like everything about him, it’s too much.

And then the video ends.

You digest this for a long moment. Then, you watch it again. And a third time.

There's a tremor in your hands as you put your phone down. Okay, that didn't give you any information, but it- well-

Fuck, it was hot. Really fucking hot. Unfortunately, terribly, awfully, horrendously hot. You want to scream and kick and rub your clit just a little, because all you need is a little friction and you'll cum for him again--

No. You can't give that victory to him, not again. Even if Aizawa will never know about it, the universe will.

You grip the remote and turn up the television's audio, trying to shift your focus on to the interpersonal drama on the screen. You’re stronger than this. The little thing between your legs does not dictate your behavior!

You don’t jack off that night.

Or the following night.

Or the following.

No, you resist. You punish yourself for even entertaining the idea of cumming to the idea of him again.

Monday morning you are unsurprisingly cranky when you settle into your desk. Kicking off your shoes and booting up your computer, you stretch in your chair and try to pop the kink in your shoulder. Thirty must be catching up with you, because you didn’t sleep well all weekend. Every muscle in your back is bunched, but the little bits of movements seems to be helping-

“Jesus fucking christ, I'm sweating through my fucking shirt.”

Bakugo's accent slips out as he gripes, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck as he walks. It’s easy to forget that he and Izuku grew up in the same hometown, but when he’s genuinely pissed, that homecooked Southern twang comes out. You look up to see what's gotten him so aggravated before nine. Sweat dampens his hair and glitters his skin. Oh, and he's right, that white shirt is absolutely clinging to his middle, into that tight, tiny, toned, slutty little waist of his--

Oh, god. You slam your food into the edge on your desk in hopes the pain douses whatever horny monster had overtaken you. Is this just life now? Practically drooling over every man with a pulse? Bakugo Katsuki is gay and very much not your type-

“You okay?” Izuku gives an awkward laugh. He and Denki are apparently right behind Bakugo, equally worn. Well, almost equally. Denki doesn't seem to be sweaty at all, despite his puffing. “You're like, making this weird face.”

Shit. Quick-- lie. “Cramps.”

“Damn, hate that,” Kaminari grips his stomach in sympathy. The other guys share an uncomfortable glance.

“So-” You change the topic. “Why are you guys..?”

“The elevator is shot.” Bakugo hooks a thumb behind him towards the stairs. “Had to carry this fuck ass bed up to the fifth floor for that meeting today.”

The investor meeting: even though Toshinori Yagi is wealthy, the newest bed prototype still needed outside funding. These fine millionaires require occasional proof that their money is being used well, so once a quarter they get jammed into the nicest room in the building and get a rather boring lecture from the important department heads. You usually sit in and try not to nod off when Enji starts in with the accounting information.

“The entire elevator?” You lean back in your chair and try to see. Sure enough, some technician is fumbling away at the buttons. “No one tell the ADA.”

“Actually, the ADA is a law, not a governing body,” Izuku chirps. “It's enforced by the DOJ, EEOC, and, oddly enough, the DOT-”

“How do you know this shit?” Denki says.

“Healthy curiosity,” Izuku tries to say.

“‘cause he's a fucking genius.” Bakugo says at the same time, louder and more confident. “Using that big head of his all the time.”

Izuku touches his temples with a concerned frown. “You think my head is big?”

“Massive.” Bakugo elbows his lover, all saccharine smiles. “It works for me though.”

Kaminari snorts and the other blonde throws him an icy glare.

“What? You gonna make a joke about massive head?”

Kaminari throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes, surprisingly annoyed at the jab. “I was going to joke about his head working for you, but whatever! Ruin my fun.”

“As much as I love head jokes-” you interject. “I do need to get work done.”

Kaminari turns to you with the sweetest of smiles, so syrupy that everyone else recoils a bit with suspicion. “Like what?”

“Getting everyone’s powerpoints together, printing out our reports, putting those reports into actual human words and not engineering garbage, greeting our guests-- blah, blah, blah.” Just talking about it makes your head ache. “Plus the other daily reports and---- Kaminari, no.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“You were going to ask me to do your work again!” you say.

“Come on, please?” He puffs his bottom lip out like a kicked dog. “I have to leave early this week and -”

“Denki, you’re so fucking stupid.” Bakugo groans. He starts to leave and the other two follow behind. “I'm too tired for your shit today.”

“There’s a gay joke hidden in there.”

“I'm going to report you to fucking HR.”

“See you at lunch?” Izuku asks from over his shoulder. You shake your head-- you’ll probably just sneak one of the forgotten italian ice cups from the freezer when no one’s working. There’s so much to do and not quite enough time.

--

You’re solving that little frozen treat into your mouth when Aizawa makes his appearance. It’s strange to see him so late in the day; pure embarrassment must be keeping him away. His usual sunny yellow sweatshirt means you can’t even pretend not to see him when he rounds the corner.

Aizawa is as he always is; a bit scruffy and properly annoyed. His expression is neutral, if not a bit sour, but the crinkle in his brow is tighter than ever. The bunch to his shoulders only gets higher when he spots you.

This is really the guy that's been tearing you apart? Really? Why couldn't you have fallen for Hizashi or Enji or-- anyone else that isn't wearing a neon hoodie in the office.

“You should really take a proper lunch.” Those deep bags under his eyes are darker than usual, almost purple; he must be drained, but he’s been avoiding the coffee machine. A twang of sympathy hits you-- lack of caffeine might actually kill the guy.

When he walks towards you, you're reminded of how pretty he is, even without proper sleep. High cheekbones, smooth olive tone skin-

Your fighting spirit almost fades, but the post it note taped to your monitor catches your eye. Be mean. Yes, that's right.

“Well, uh. What do you want?” Your tone is a bit snappy.

His eyebrows twitch up in momentary surprise, but Aizawa recovers quickly.

“The elevator won’t be fixed until tomorrow.” He raps his knuckles against the wood once. “Move the investor’s meeting from the top floor.”

“Say please.”

Aizawa is half turned and midstride when he realizes what you said. He looks back at you, brow knit.

“Excuse me?”

“I said.” You hit the spacebar with a bit too much force. “Say please.”

“I-” You expect him to fight or argue, but he just sighs, hands on his hips in defeat. “You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't demand things. Can you please move the investor’s meeting from the top floor down to the ground floor? Thank you.”

That was more sincere than you expected. Your stiff upper lip almost wobbles. Almost.

“No.”

He gives you the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen. “What do you mean, no?”

“I said no.” You push back from the desk and let your wheeled chair roll away. “There’s no reason to move it. The room upstairs is already set up for the meeting-- full demo bed included. I’m not moving everything.”

A muscle tightens in his jaw. Seems like that good attitude is on a short fuse. “There's a second demo. I'll have the boys wheel it into the meeting room on this floor-”

“It’s a less finished model though, right?”

“That's…” Aizawa huffs. You know you’re right and so does he. “Yes. Sure. A less complete model, but it’s still leagues ahead of what they saw last time- ”

“We shouldn’t use it.” You have no right bossing him around, but you try to embody Bakugo and his cunt-like behavior. “They are going to see the best we have to offer. Besides, the fifth floor meeting room is bigger and nicer-- and it's already set up.”

“I-” He leans forward, arms crossed on to your desk. It’s not threatening, but rather humble, as he meets your eye. The silver healed skin of his scar catches the light differently than the rest of his face. “It’s four full flights of stairs.”

“And you can walk.”

A beat passes. Then another. Aizawa stares at you, dark eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“I have never, ever thought of you as a cruel person.” He doesn’t blink the entire time he speaks, deep, endless black eyes boring into yours. “But time and time again, you show me that side of you. “Well-” You don’t blink either. “I’ve always thought you were awful.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, quiet but with an edge. His lips are curled so high you can see his gum line.

You should let it die here. Let him walk away. Escape with your dignity.

But your teeth and tongue are sharp, and the look on his face is only sharpening their edges, so follow the instinct and go in for the kill. As you stand, you lean on to your hands and push yourself face to face to Aizawa. Unabashed, unafraid, unblinking.

“You wish you could.”

His face collapses. Then, it hardens again, even tighter and more disgusted than usual. The flat ridge of his nose is crinkled with a snarl, eyes narrowed so thin they're practically closed. When he pushes away to stand, Aizawa jams his hands into his sweatshirt and flexes his jaw, up and down like he's chewing on every insult and curse he wants to throw your way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again with a deep exhale.

“Fine.” He says through closed teeth. “Fifth fucking floor.’

And with that, he turns and marches off back down the hall.

By the time you breathe again, you realize your hands are quaking. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, rushing your heart faster and faster. This must be how a marathon runner feels when they cross the finish line-- because this is victory.

Sorry, Yagi. War has been waged.

You did say no promises.

[figsandphiltatos]

i'm a waste of a woman, but i taste like success

read it on ao3 here!

Story: i'm a waste of a woman, but i taste like success

Chapter: 1/1

Characters: Kipperlilly Copperkettle, Lucy Frostblade, Ruben Hopclap, Mary Ann Skuttle, Ivy Embra, Oisin Hakinvar

Summary:

Kipperlilly Copperkettle has never been great with people. She's worse with friends. Forming an adventuring party is like making friends, but with greater stakes and far less time to consider your options. But, it's also a kind of friend making that has structure. And Kipperlilly can work with structure. -- Inspired by these comments by Brennan Lee Mulligan about Kipperlilly and the formation of the High Five Heroes: "There's an indication there of Kipperlilly's focus because yeah, the High-Five Heroes is sweet, but it's also sort of a indication that Kipperlilly is pushing them towards, for lack of a better word, do we have something that we're about? The Bad Kids get their name because they've all been given detention on the first day and it's connected to their story. Whereas you get the sense from the High-Five Heroes that it's not actually describing anything. It's like the person being like, "Our inside joke is going to be high-fives." And you're like, "Well, everyone high-fives." So there's an indication there, for me at least, that Kipperlily is trying to make a comradery right away that is not actually there. It's not based in something that happened to them."

The lunchroom of the Aguefort Adventuring Academy was bustling with excited freshmen. Students shouted across the large space to friends they recognized, throngs of already-formed cliques chittered with exclusive excitement, and groupings of sorcerers and bards scoped out potential parties that still needed their skill sets. Technically, the formation of adventuring parties wasn’t meant to begin until after lunch, but it was immediately clear that those who waited were most likely to be left out. 

A group of kids who clearly all fit the stoner archetype had already gathered around a table, swapping bags of chips and chatting eagerly about systems of control. A few kids hung nervously around the edges of the cafeteria, some on their crystals and others fidgeting nervously as they watched the ruthless game of high school socialization play out in front of them. 

There were a few tables with lone freshmen, either texting friends or digging into their food with little care for the scarcity of resources that were friends and party members. Kipperlilly was one such student, but she had her eyes on the prize. She unwrapped the lunch she had carefully packed for herself, and laid out her bullet journal to review her color coded notes while she waited for Lucy. 

She hadn’t discussed the plan explicitly with her best friend before their first day—and there was nothing Kipperlilly hated more than not having a plan nailed down—but she had faith in Lucy. She would know that they belonged in a party together, naturally. From there, it would just be a matter of constructing the perfect party around them. That would hardly be a challenge when she’d been planning this out for months. She knew exactly the kinds of party members they would need, and had started her scouting early.

A powerful wizard could make or break a party, and Oisin Hakinvar was a perfect candidate. He had gone with them to Oakshield Middle, though they’d never spoken before. Once, in seventh grade, Kipperlilly had watched him give a presentation on his proud dragon heritage—the exact kind of thing that made a great adventurer.

She had a few ideas for fighters and barbarians, but she’d already watched Nixie Humphries, a human fighter she’d had her eye on, and Fog Marrowthirst, a transfer half-orc barbarian, get snatched up by other adventuring parties. She carefully marked them from her list, bouncing her leg impatiently under the table. She looked up from her notes and craned her neck to look for Lucy when a small, kobold girl with an ax strapped to her back sat down at the table several seats away. 

Kipperlilly’s grip tightened on her red pen, but she breathed out slowly through her nose just like the counselor at Oakshield had always suggested she try. Things were not going according to plan, but that didn’t mean all hope was lost. 

“I’m saving these seats for my friends, actually.” She flashed an approximation of a friendly smile across the table.

The kobold girl didn’t look up from her device—It wasn’t a crystal, but some kind of childish looking handheld game. Without taking her eyes off of it, the girl reached around to grab a soda out of the pocket of her backpack.

Kipperlilly cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” She said, a bit louder. “I’m waiting for my friends to sit here with me.” 

Her future friends, that was. Her adventuring party that she would save the world with time and again. For now, they’d just be getting to know each other, but why waste time with half measures? Their lives would be in each other’s hands. They would share in their glory for the rest of their careers. They would be friends, closer than they could imagine eventually. Calling them anything other than friends felt like a slight against that eventual bond. 

It was like the kobold girl wasn’t hearing her at all. Kipperlilly set down her red pen and stood—

“Kip!” Lucy called as she approached. She was dressed in one of her favorite cable knit sweaters, one that she’d only recently reclaimed from Kipperlilly’s theft, and was carrying her tray of creamed corn and cafeteria food. 

Keeping pace next to her was Ruben Hopclap. He was wearing cargo shorts and flip flops, smiling in a way that Kipperlilly could only interpret as smug. 

“Sorry, Ruben and I got held up in the lunch line,” Lucy slid into the seat across from her. She knew Kipperlilly well enough to know that she was brimming with impatience before more than a word had passed between them. “You want to be in our adventuring party, right? I’m so excited!” 

Our adventuring party. As in, Lucy and Ruben’s adventuring party. Heat rose to Kipperlilly’s face. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all. It was meant to be our party as in, her and Lucy’s party. Lucy was meant to come find her first. Lunch line or no, why had she sought out Ruben first? 

Hot, angry tears closed up the back of her throat but before they could start to prick at her eyes, Kipperlilly inhaled sharply through her nose. Steadily and slowly inwards, hold, then breathe out at the same pace. She dug her fingernails into her palm under the table for good measure. 

“Yeah, of course.” Now wasn’t the time to pick a fight, even if she’d picked fights over less before. She had to keep her eye on the goal. “Just, forget my plan, I guess.” She muttered, unable to help herself, and marked a large, red ‘x’ over the names of potential bard candidates for their party. Ruben’s name hadn’t been listed there. 

She should have discussed this all with Lucy beforehand. She knew it.

Lucy’s brows pinched together in concern and Ruben huffed out an incredulous breath. They were both familiar with her moods.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a plan.” Lucy reached across the table tentatively, resting a cold hand on Kipperlilly’s. “Can I see the rest? I’m sure you’ve got good ideas.” 

Always patient. It wasn’t fair. Sometimes, Kipperlilly could manage to goad Lucy into a fight but it was a vanishingly rare thing the older they got. Something about it made the molten rock in her chest feel heavier. 

“Yeah, I had some ideas for who we could ask.” She said, reminding herself that self-pity needed to take a back seat to accomplishing her goal. She’d worked hard to convince her parents to let her attend Aguefort. She’d created a comprehensive, data-backed presentation about the benefits this school could offer that Mumple couldn’t in the first semester of her eighth grade year. A vital part of proving herself right was forming the ideal party. As much as she might have liked to sulk until Lucy had no choice but to admit that she’d been wrong for not seeking her out first, now wasn’t the time.

“Great!” Lucy smiled, pulling the bullet journal toward herself. 

Her eyes were such a deep blue that it was hard to tell their color in some lighting, but under the fluorescent cafeteria lights they were easy to see as she turned her careful attention to the pages in front of her. Her focus was always steady and intentional. At sleepovers and study groups, Kipperlilly would often get distracted just watching her read. 

“Why are these names crossed out?” She asked, pointing with a long finger to Fog and Nixie’s names. 

“They already have a party.”

The corners of Lucy’s lips crept upwards in a soft, amused smile. She looked up from the list and carefully scanned the cafeteria before her eyes landed on the kobold girl sitting only a few seats away.

“Oh, I’m sorry for ignoring you,” She said, “I’m Lucy Frostblade, what’s your name?” 

The girl still didn’t look up from her game. Watching Lucy get rebuffed was almost enough to make Kipperlilly properly lose her cool, but Ruben suddenly leaned forward to get a better look.

“Is that a Quokki Pet?” He asked. 

Finally, the girl’s head rose. She regarded Ruben with mild interest. “Do you play?”

“I used to have one in middle school, but a teacher took it. My parents wouldn’t buy me a new one.” Now that he mentioned it, Kipperlilly remembered the small handheld game Ruben had clung to for a few months in seventh grade. 

He’d been caught checking it during math class and it was confiscated by Mrs. Nikothoe, who even Kipperlilly had to admit was a nightmare of a woman. While she probably couldn’t be blamed for taking away a distraction from a student, she hadn’t even liked Kipperlilly despite all her efforts. So for once she and Ruben had come down on the same side of an issue. It had been a refreshing change of pace, even if it had only lasted an afternoon. 

“Lame.” The girl responded shortly and her attention started to turn back toward her game. 

Lucy was quick on the draw, though, “You have an ax! Are you a barbarian?” 

“Yes.” Mary Ann seemed slightly bothered by the continued distraction, but humored them for now.

Kipperlilly could see where this was going and very much didn’t like it. She tried to signal Lucy to stop, tapping on the bullet journal that was still in front of her. Sure, her first choices were off the table but there had to be better choices than this girl.

“We’re looking for a barbarian for our party. Do you want to join?” 

The kobold girl looked between the three of them for a moment. Kipperlilly stared back and tried to imagine her going into a rage—tried to imagine what good a two foot tall barbarian could possibly be. She just prayed that they’d be rejected.

“Sure.” No such luck. “I’m Mary Ann.” And with that, her attention was back on that stupid Quokki game. 

“I’m Ruben!” 

“Didn’t ask.”

Kipperlilly was staring at Lucy in disbelief when their eyes met again. What was she thinking? This was a disaster. “We need to find Oisin Hakinvar.” She said, gathering up her things. There was no time to waste. She couldn’t possibly let this go any worse than it already had. 

“Oisin? From Oakshield?” Lucy asked.

“I haven’t finished my creamed corn!” Ruben complained through a mouth full of the stuff. Kipperlilly shot him a dangerous glare. He did not want to get in her way right now.

Lucy rushed to catch up with Kipperlilly as she shoved her things in her bag and made a beeline out of the cafeteria. Oisin may very well have already been out on the quad, where there was an even more concentrated focus on forming parties. It might have been too late. 

“Kip, calm down,” Lucy insisted as they pushed through the front doors of the school together. Ruben and Mary Ann trailed somewhere behind them, the latter with her nose still stuck in her game. “It’ll all work out. There’s no rush.” 

But that just wasn’t true. Kipperlilly didn’t have time to argue the point. Stepping onto the school’s quad, she took careful stock of everyone there. Some girls had gathered around one of the many statues of Arthur Aguefort and were giggling to themselves. A few students had gathered around to watch an elven boy show off his magical prowess. Kipperlilly had to dash through his prestidigitation sparks when she spotted a blue, scaly head behind the base of a nearby statue. 

Lucy followed after her, apologizing to the elf as she passed. Kipperlilly came to stand in front of Oisin Hakinvar. He was sitting at the base of a statue, eating his lunch with a vaguely familiar wood elf girl. If he had a party already, they were nowhere to be seen. He looked up from his food, pushing up his glasses and frowning thoughtfully at the halfling in front of him.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked.

“Yes,” As she spoke, Lucy and the others caught up behind her. “I’m Kipperlilly Copperkettle. We went to middle school together. I’d like you to be the wizard in our adventuring party.” 

“I’m Lucy Frostblade,” Lucy jumped in when Oisin’s hesitation dragged on for a beat too long. “We had history class together last year. I know this is kind of a lot, but you’re really impressive! And we’ve got enough room still for you to join, too, Ivy. Are you a ranger?”

The wood elf girl, Ivy—Kipperlilly noted the shortcomings in her research that she didn’t realize Oisin had someone he wouldn’t join a party without—regarded Lucy with a carefully controlled expression. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s perfect! I don’t think any of us here are super well versed in the natural world, so you’d be a great help.” Lucy offered a friendly smile, a real one, and Ivy and Oisin exchanged glances. 

“Okay, so you all want us, but why should we want to join you?” He asked after a moment. 

He was considering it. This was good. Kipperlilly could work with this. “We’re impressive in our own right! I’m a rogue, and one day I’ll be the greatest mastermind Spyre has ever seen. I was in student government in middle school; I was the president of four clubs, and the creator of two of those. I’ve never gotten a grade worse than a B in my life. If you stick with me, you don’t have to worry about failing.” And I’d be the perfect leader, was what she didn't say. “And Lucy is a prodigious cleric of Ruvina. She’s worked some serious miracles—”

“I’ll keep you alive.” Lucy interrupted sheepishly. She wasn’t one for bragging, even if Kipperlilly thought she should have been. “That’s what you really want to hear from a cleric, isn’t it? And this is Ruben, he’s a bard and a genuinely talented musician.”

Ruben flashed a proud grin. “I’ve already figured out how to cast healing word, so you doubly won’t die if you stick with us.” He had no problem bragging.

“And this is Mary Ann, we just met but—”

Mary Ann pulled her ax from her back with the hand that wasn’t holding her game. She dropped it into the soft ground with a satisfying thud. “I’m a barbarian.” 

“She’s a barbarian.” Lucy repeated with a grin. 

“Nice elevator pitch. Did you practice it?” Ivy asked, and Kipperlilly honestly couldn’t say if she was intentionally being snarky or not. 

“Doubly not dying is a pretty tempting offer,” Oisin admitted. “One of my friends in middle school was a worshiper of Ruvina,” he addressed Lucy directly, “Pretty cool stuff—No pun intended.” 

Lucy laughed, “Pun appreciated, intentional or not. So, what do you say?”

Again, Oisin and Ivy exchanged some kind of silent communication—Kipperlilly wondered if it was a message spell, or if they really did just have a knack for understanding one another—before either of them spoke. 

“Sounds like a plan. Makes it easier that you guys already have all the other members figured out, too.” 

Ivy joining the team hadn’t been the plan, either. But Lucy was right that a ranger would be helpful and, even if she seemed mean, she had to be better than Ruben or Mary Ann. A small weight lifted off Kipperlilly’s shoulders as she realized she’d succeeded, at least in her first goal of the day. 

She grinned, mostly because she was relieved that this was done, and quickly held up her hand for Lucy to high five. She owed her shared credit, especially for winning Oisin over, even if the improvisation with Mary Ann had been unwelcome.

With a satisfying smack, their hands collided, and Kipperlilly carried on down the line. Ruben seemed confused, but returned her high five nonetheless. Ivy and Oisin seemed equally amused by the offer, but played along. Mary Ann, who was focused entirely on her game, didn’t even look up to see Kipperlilly’s hand hovering in front of her. Kipperlilly paused, and waited, but felt the awkward tension growing the longer she did, and eventually dropped her hand. 

“Look at that! We can call ourselves the High-Five Heroes!” She chimed, trying to power through the way Mary Ann’s snub had robbed her of some of her momentum. She’d prepared for this moment, planned out the name.

It had to land. 

Kipperlilly had never been great with making friends in the past. Lucy was her best friend mostly because Lucy was a wonderful presence and brought joy and light to her life, but there was certainly an element of the fact that Lucy was her only friend, too. Adventuring parties were all best friends. They were bound by blood and trauma and life debts. This was the perfect opportunity for her to finally get things right. And she intended to; She had meticulously planned exactly how she would.

An awkward silence fell over the group. Ivy looked at Oisin with raised eyebrows and Kipperlilly tried desperately to read into the expression. Maybe awkward was the wrong word, maybe it was awed? She fidgeted aimlessly with her hands, feeling the way sweat collected on her palms. 

“Everybody high fives.” Ruben scoffed and Kipperlilly felt her heart drop. This was exactly why he couldn’t be here. He was going to ruin it all, and just to piss her off. 

She silently worked her jaw for a moment, trying to grind out any combination of words that would salvage this.

“I think it’s cool!” Lucy came to her rescue, as always. “We’re going to be heroes!”

It seemed that, at the very least, that was a sentiment they could all get behind. Her suggestion might not have been met with the enthusiasm she’d prefer, but Kipperlilly relished her accomplishment as each member of the group signaled their approval. The High Five Heroes weren’t only going to be heroes, they wouldn’t just be friends—they’d be great. She could feel it.

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you: aizawa x fem!reader x hawks

summary: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy. Nothing could go wrong... right? relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader warnings: some chapters will be NSFW, they will have a warning on them in bold. not many descriptions of reader, other than she's midsize.

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms

CHAPTER SEVEN

this is a super smutty chapter and i'm not sorry

Your fingers grazed the petals of the roses that Keigo got you. You placed the vase in the middle of your dining table and they were undoubtably the center of attention.

Keigo is a rose. Stunning, adored by most people, and gives whoever receives them an immense sense of adornment.

Shouta is an Azalea. Specifically purple Azaleas. They need more shade in order to flourish, but they are absolute stunning once in full bloom. Azaleas also never receive a quarter of the love and recognition that roses do.

You pour yourself a glass of white wine after your first day as a teacher at UA. You're now in a cream colored lounge set consisting of pants that hug your curves and a tank to.

As you swirl your glass you glance at your phone. You're not sure why you're hoping to see Aizawa's name - he doesn't have your number and you refused to give it to him.

Keigo's name flashed on the screen. You slid the arrow to the right to answer the FaceTime call.

"Hi." You smile as you answer the phone. Keigo is in the air, you can tell by his dark red wings moving through the air.

"Tell me all about your first day!" He smiled into his phone. His yellow goggles moved with his cheeks.

"You're too cute. Well, it was good! Then I got a gorgeous bouquet of flowers from a man that just so happens to fly."

"He sounds like a keeper." Keigo flashed his teeth. Your heart rate increased when he said that. You didn't know if you wanted him to be your boyfriend. You didn't know if you wanted a boyfriend period.

Did you want to have this conversation now?

No.

So you don't.

"How's patrol going?" You changed the subject. Keigo's lips slightly lowered as his smile faded. Not too much, but noticable enough.

"It's going pretty well. League of Villains seem to be in hiding. Which worries me."

"Well at least it's quiet for now." You sigh thinking about Shigaraki. How much pain he was feeling, that in turn you had to feel but only temporarily.

"Please get home safe, Kei." You pressed your chin into your palm as you leaned on the counter. Keigo smiled at the screen - his honey coated eyes shining under the moonlight.

"I miss you." Keigo said softly.

"I miss you too. Come over on Friday and you can sleepover since it's not a school night." This makes Keigo smile form ear to ear.

"It's a date." He takes flight and you notice the screen moving slightly.

"Keigo please hang up if you're gonna fly while on FaceTime, I feel like I'm gonna be sick." You giggle.

"Sorry, I fly when I get excited." He stops moving, presumably leanding on the ground. "Have a good night baby bird."

"You too Kei. Be safe, please." You press the red button on your screen to hang up, leaving your phone on the counter.

One glass of wine turns into two. Two turns into three.

Three turns into knocking on Shouta's door.

Your body felt fuzzy. You could control your actions (mostly) but you felt more... free.

So why wouldn't you knock on Shouta's door at 11 PM?

You pressed your knuckles to the door and knocked semi-quietly.

"Eraserrrrrr." You sing as you plant your hands on your hips.

You hear footsteps and then suddenly the door is open.

Shouta is standing in front of you wearing a black t-shirt, sweatpants and slippers.

"Why are you knocking on my door at 11 PM? No boyfriend tonight?"

"I don't have a boyfriend silly." You look past his shoulder into his room. "I've never seen your room so I wanted to see it!"

"At 11 o'clock at night?"

"Yes. Why do you keep mentioning the time?"

Aizawa stared at you for a few moments, analyzing your face. "You're drunk?"

"I've had 1... 2... 3 glasses of wine!" You held up three fingers in front of his face.

Aizawa grabbed the hand you were holding up and pulled you into his room.

It's spotless, but very dark. He has one light in the corner that's on next to a comfy looking chair and a book. His kitchen is the same as yours, just decorated different.

"You're so clean." You press a finger to his counter.

"Did you think I would be dirty?"

You shook your head and plopped on his couch. "No. I don't know what I was expecting." You shrug your shoulders. Shouta sat next to you and placed a glass of water on his coffee table.

Your eyes wandered to his chest, his muscles filling out his shirt perfectly. His biceps peeked out of the sleeves, something you didn't know turned you on.

But the wetness in between your legs would say different.

His hair was in the low ponytail that it was this morning that made you cross your legs. You must've looked like you were squirming.

"Are you okay?" Aizawa leaned back on the couch and extended his arm behind you. You bit your bottom lip at his movements, unable to hold it in any longer.

"I want you to touch me." You blurt out. Aizawa stared at you through his lidded eyes.

After a few silent moments, he spoke.

"Show me where." He moved his body closer to you, your hips touching. You grab his large, heavy hand and bring it to your body.

"Here." You pressed his index and middle finger to your lips. "Here." You moved his hand to your chest, goosebumps growing along the skin of your tits. "Here." You slowly brought his hand to your aching, wet core. His fingers grazed your clothed heat gently, causing a moan to escape your lips.

"I haven't even truly touched you and I have you moaning already. How long have you been thinking about this?" Shouta's body covered yours as he brought the hand that you were using to show him where you wanted to be touched, to your cheek. His other arm is still laying behind you on the couch.

"I've thought about it a lot."

Why were you admitting this.

You could smell the mint of his toothpaste as he leaned in to rub his nose on yours, something you take note of. He did this before. He loves to kiss with his nose first. It's cute.

"Have you thought about it?" You tilt your head to the side and wrap your arms around his neck, letting your fingers drag through his hair.

"Only every day. Hourly, probably." He whispered and kissed your lips slowly. You take no time to deepen the kiss, opening your mouth to let his tongue in.

You're needy and he knows it. You felt his lips form into a smirk as he slid his tongue into your mouth, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip tightly.

You drag one of your hands down his chest to his lap where you feel his erection pressing against his sweatpants. You smile into the kiss with satisfaction, knowing you caused Shouta Aizawa to get hard.

"You're not touching that tonight." He whispers and moves your hand to his chest as he brings his mouth to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses and bites. In your drunk state, you're not thinking about the bruises he will leave behind.

"Why nottttttt." You whine as he bites down on your skin, rougher this time.

"I want you to be sober when you see it. So you remember." His words are hot against your skin as his large hand grazes your clothed core. You whimper with need, knowing your panties are soaked at this point just from kissing him.

"I need something, Shouta." You throw your head back when you feel his tongue drag along your neck to your chest, leaving bites along the front of both of your tits. He looked up at you for approval to take your shirt off, to which you nodded.

Your touches are turning desperate. You're about to come and he has barely touched you. You feverishly pulled him into you, dragging your fingernails along his back.

Aizawa pulled your shirt down, your tits bouncing out of them. He needs two hands for these, maybe three, but he's not complaining.

He left hot kisses along your right breast before he took your sensitive nub in his mouth, sucking and biting as he kneaded your other breast. Your cheeks were red from arousal as he kissed down your soft stomach to the top of your pants. He kissed your cloth core with a smirk on his face.

"You are such an ass." You squirm as he moves to his knees on the floor. Your thick thighs encase his head as he uses one hand to spread your legs apart, pulling your pants down to your ankles.

Aizawa sees your black laced panties and runs his fingers over the fabric. "These are pretty. Too bad they're about to be ruined." He pulled the side of your panties and watched them break with ease.

The sound of your panties breaking sobered you up just a little.

"Hey! These were my favorites." You whined as you looked down at him. He looked like an angel between your legs, his tired eyes gazing up at you as he planted one of his hands on your thigh.

"I'll buy you more." He mumbled as his nose grazed your entrance. You moaned quietly as you felt his tongue slide past your folds. His other hand kneaded your breast with his calloused fingertips.

Aizawa dragged his tongue down your slit, letting all of your juices fill his tastebuds. You place your hand on top of his head as he devours you.

This man is starved.

He turns his attention to your clit, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub. Your breath hitches as his lips attach to your clit, while he inserts two of his long, thick digits into your aching pussy.

"Shouta," You moan as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you.

"You taste so good, baby." He mumbles as he laps up your juices. You watch his lidded eyes find yours as he continues to destroy your pussy with his tongue. His stubble tickled your thighs as he buried himself into you using his tongue.

You feel the knot in your stomach about to break as you buck your hips into his face. "Shouta, fuck, I'm about to come."

"Not yet." His words vibrate against your body.

"The fuck you mean not yet? I can't control-" His thrusts his fingers into you, curling them once they're burried in your pussy. "Aizawa, please." You whine.

He ignored you, his mouth sucking on your clit and his fingers pumping in and out of you. "I know you can do it, Princess. Don't come until I say so."

You felt the knot in your stomach grow tighter as you heard the squelches of his tongue against your clit. Your hand gripped his raven hair, pulling it gently as pleasure ripped through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, hoping it was enough to stop you from coming.

"See you are a good listener." He smirked against your pussy. "Tell me what you want, baby."

"I want to come. Shouta, I want to come." You moaned as your toes curled. You were so close. "Please."

"Go." Was all Aizawa said before you had the most mind blowing, body changing, rippling orgasm. The knot in your stomach finally broke. You were seeing every color in the rainbow. This was euphoria.

Aizawa lapped up your juices as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. He sucked on your sensitive, overstimulated clit, sure to drink up all you had.

His hands gripped your thick, plush thighs as you he took his last slurp of your sex. His nails dug into your skin when he finally removed himself from your pussy, his face lathered in your arousal.

He wasted no time bringing his lips to yours.

"Taste yourself." He mumbled against your mouth as he slid his tongue inside of yours. "I could live between your legs and never get hungry."

Your mouth was greedy with his kisses, drunk off of not only wine but also his mouth.

Reluctantly, Aizawa pulls away from you slowly. His cheeks are a shade of red that matches his bloodshot eyes. You whimper at the loss of his touch, knowing that this was ending.

"Goodnight Princess." He kissed your forehead gently before standing up. You sat on his couch for a moment, your pussy devoured to the bone, your body bruised from love bites, and your mind was a mess.

"Night." You pull your top and pants up, and you leave.

Without another word.

[universallydestinytaco]

Drowning My Sorrows (ONE-SHOT)

I felt like making a vent-y hurt/comfort one shot where after Charlie, Alan and Glep get into a fight, Pim fails to resolve it and sends strange texts over the group chat that have the gang scrambling to get there. Ends with an happy ending, I promise.

TW: PTSD, P*nic Att**k, Mentions of Ab*se + Victim Bl*m*ng, The Ab*se of Alcohol as an Unhealthy Coping Mechanism and an all-to relatable nightmare sequence. Read at your own risk.

The sun began to set for the day as Pim came inside his house after work as he usually did, turning on the lights and evoking a warm, cozy vibe for he was trying to feel for a sense of comfort, but he felt so drained after that bungled attempt to peacefully resolve that nasty argument between his co-workers ended on a sour, defeated note. He tried to take his mind off of it with a curling up on the couch with a blanket, a cup of warm tea and turning on one of his favorite shows with the little boy and his pastel-colored alien family…but on nights like this, it failed to break him of his shakes balms and his beating heart which was getting worse and worse as he ignored it.

“What do you know about it, squirt?! Keep your goddamn nose-er, whatever you have between your eyes out of it!”

The memory of the irritated Charlie telling Pim to back off reminded him of another memory that plagued him for years, when he finally forgot about it and began to heal it seemed to finally come back to haunt him after all this time. Whenever his mom would hear he got into yet another “fight” with another family member, he would be punished even if he did nothing of note to make them angry in the first place. Whether it be a long lecture that could be boiled down to “It’s your fault for being unhappy.” or among those lines, she would cherry pick anything to somehow make the connection that it was Pim’s fault and he deserved it all while hammering it over his head that it was immature to not be positive over even the worst things that happened to him. Did he really deserve all of that to happen to him merely for telling any of them to leave him alone when they started it? Pim tried to think of happy memories he had with his friends, taking yet another note from his mom…but always came back to what happened before he left work…..

Pim couldn’t take it anymore, he needed something to soothe the pain by making him forget. Pim promised himself he wouldn’t do it again, over and over, but the feeling of spacing out with alcohol was (even if temporary) a wash over of relief, simply forgetting about everything bothering him even if it would leave him throwing up with a hangover the next day. No wonder his mom loved her wine so much.

….

Charlie was playing Rust on his PC, accompanied by a bag of chips and his second ice-cold can of Monster, tuning reality out best he could in his crappy studio apartment…his flow got disrupted after he started hearing his phone blow up he tried to ignore it, but knowing the exact extent of his friends’ irreverence it had to be the funniest obscure meme from 2005 or something. He picked up the phone and opened up the group chat to be greeted to a wall of texts, where he started reading the first two initially figuring it was just going to be Pim apologizing for butting in him that verbal smackdown he and his other two coworkers had….the rest of the text, on the other hand, started to startle the yellow critter as it progressively got more personal. The last text was sent as he was reading the rest, and when Charlie read the last one, it sent him in a panic. He started spamming the chat begging Pim to respond, apologizing for his behavior earlier but despite Pim being marked as active, none of the texts that Charlie had been desperately beaming out from his fingertips were marked as read…after waiting five minutes or so, Charlie who was anxious with sweat finally received a message, but it wasn’t the one he was expecting.

Alan: The hell are y’all in the chat doing waking me up at this hour for? >:(

Charlie’s hopes of reaching out to his best friend were dramatically dashed, as tears pricked in his eyes. Charlie wasn’t the touchy-feely-type of guy, as he hid his emotions like a “true” alpha male but in this particular case, how could he not? He really screwed up this time, leaving Alan and Glep furious at him and Pim….he really shouldn’t have lashed out at the sensitive little guy. Sure he butt-in while he was trying to make a point but at least he was trying to peacefully bring him back to earth. Charlie felt the tense vibration of anxiety in his palm when texting Alan, typos and all.

Charlie: Sc r ol hp noq scroll yup noq shit scroll up now Alan: FUCK Glep: (=3=) zzzz (>0<) !! ???? Alan: EVERYONE MEET ME AT PIM’S HOUSE ON THE DOUBLE.

Charlie shoved his phone in his pocket, trying to hold back tears as he ran out of his apartment and zoomed out the door as he almost felt as if his world was crashing down right in front of him. Pim was the first true friend he ever had, if it weren’t for him he wouldn’t have gotten out of unemployment and while he never showed it all that much, he was deeply touched by all the thoughtful little messages Pim would leave for Charlie on a daily basis letting him know he was loved. He could have spent all that time an energy keeping up his stoic image to return the favor, then again he always had trouble communicating with meaningful words to those he cared about.

….

Sometime after his erratic breakdown, Pim blacked out. Everything prior was a blur to him, not that his memory was all that clear to begin with. His eyes were shut, but he could visualize how he felt: tied up in vines of roses and dangling upside down as the thorns pierced his skin and the blooms snickered, laughing and repeating in echoey siren calls reciting all the worst memories he had and the more he struggled while swinging to-and-fro, the thorns dug deeper and the siren calls spewing from the blooms got more colorful. Pim was in absolute agony, but as he would come to think of it, it’s always been this way. Even when he left that wretched household, he still couldn’t escape. The siren calls turned into his mother’s voice, chiding him for being so “immature” as to let all the negativity get to him, and why Amy or his brother Damien where far more grown up for repressing all their issues and not pushing them on anyone else and that Pim was just the spoiled baby of the family who had it easier than everyone else and was the last to be upset about anything. Pim felt his shattered heart pierce through his chest like broken glass and dripping all over the place. No matter how hard he tried with every trick in the book he could think of, he couldn’t stop feeling this way…his family was right, he wasn’t a normal functioning person, therefor he was a problem for everyone else. Who would want a mistake like him around anyway? If his own family saw him as lesser why would anybody give him the time of day?

….

Pim was in that weird stage between being awake and asleep, his eyes were closed while vaguely hearing all-too familiar voices whispering. For some reason he felt cold and damp, shivering on the floor…just what on earth did he get himself into this time? Once he opened his eyes he found himself wrapped up in a familiar red hoodie like a blanket, he found himself surrounded by unexpected company. Not only were two of his co-workers and a Mr. Boss where there and displaying worried looks, Pim looked up and witnessed the most emotional guest of all…he never saw Charlie this devastated before, tears flooded his eyes like a faucet as his stoic “alpha male” facade crumbled before his very eyes. Then Pim suddenly remembered everything that lead to this and once again Guilt, being the legendarily confrontational bitch it’s been long-fabled as, struck him in the heart with her shiny golden dagger. He was scared to say a word, knowing from experience he would be harshly scolded for acting out like that, but considering the people here where showing more genuine care for him, he knew they’d at least understand.

“…I’m incredibly sorry, I was being very selfish upsetting you all like that, you all deserve better and I won’t ever scare you like that again.” Pim sheepishly spat out while starting to cry…. just then all four of the guests immediately burst into tears with Charlie’s being the loudest and most pained in the room as the other four all rushed towards him in support for a rare group hug. Pim and Charlie cried themselves to sleep as the other three stayed at the formers’ place all night to comfort him. ….

That morning while Charlie and Pim where still asleep on the couch, the bigger critter still cradling the smaller, Alan whipped up an hearty breakfast variant of his iconic grilled cheese sandwiches as Mr. Boss was making cowboy coffee all while Glep was helping in-between. The two were awaken by the delicious aroma permeating the house. Everyone sat down in the living room to enjoy breakfast as more cheerful conversations recalling humorous past events lit up the room like a candle to a lamp, Pim wriggled out of Charlie’s hoodie feeling like a butterfly releasing from it’s isolating chrysalis to feast upon the meal of which was lovingly cooked up and served. “Feeling better?” asked Mr. Boss in a warm, Grandfatherly tone. It wasn’t like how his mother used to ask that same question, since it was less-so making Pim “back to normal” so that her mood wouldn’t be soured but rather out of genuine care and concern. For once Pim was aware how loved he was, and while it was normal for people to fight and have misunderstandings, unlike certain people Pim was aware he and his merry group where actually committed to listening to each other.

“I never felt better.”

[gimmeurtummy]

Ethereal Desires: Chapter 1

Pairing: Lee Know x Y/n × Hyunjin (Y/n x Jeongin) (Brief Heeseung x Y/n) (ft. Jay)

Genre: supernatural, triangle love, unrequited love, angst, 2nd chance, 'so called star crossed lovers', what if's, deaths, scary stuff in a cute way

Chapter warnings: Domestic abuse, mention of alchohol, mention of death

"If you could change one thing about your life, what would that be?" Was the first thing her Psychology teacher asked the class today. It was a trick question to be honest, with a lot of outcomes. Apparently, she chose to pretend to be satisfied with her life, but with all honesty, she wasn't. And everyone knew.

As soon as she had stepped out of the class, a familiar wave of nostalgia washed over me. She wasn't used to walking out of classes alone, no, not once he came along. If she was Lily Bloom, then he was her Atlas Corrigan, that's how she used to view herself back as an emotionally unstable teenager. But when she saw him lying in the casket, after being in a coma for 2 years, she knew that everything was a dream. 

From then, she had grown up a lot, both emotionally and physically, and had tried her best to put everything behind herself, but standing here at the stairs of my own house, she felt unsafe in all the ways possible. Y/n took a deep breath, and pushed the door away, it made a silent creak, but it was very quiet to be noticed. She carefully closed the door and took off her shoes, and made my way to the staircase.

"Y/n? Is that you?" She closed my eyes, a soft curse falling off of her lips. There's no point in hiding anymore, she slowly walked towards the kitchen. "I made cookies!" Her mother smiled, placing the tray on the counter. She took in her appearance, apart from the bruises, she looked fine. "Here, have some."

"I am not hungry," Y/n lied, but in reality, her body was hurting so bad all she wanted was to drop dead.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" Before she could rush over to me, she stepped back. And gave a tight smile, followed by a "I'm fine." Y/n turned on her heels and left before her mother could ask her any more questions. Sighing,she closed the door, dropping her bag by the edge of the bed, she flopped down. Her eyes focused on the now fading off white ceiling which had been last painted when her medium sized room was her nursery. Her eyes scanned the room, most of the things she had, things she loved were now gone. Sold to a thrift shop, because 2 jobs weren't paying her enough to get a bare minimum decent apartment. 

She blindly searched for the laptop on her bed, and sat up once she had her hands on it. The screen had an impressive crack, thanks to her father. The sides were dent, and the color was fading away. She turned it on, and searched for more apartments. The air blew the curtains further in her room, and the clock ticked silently. Her eyes scanned the article with a deep frown. Once. Twice. Thrice. She checked her notepad and let out a deep breath, the apartment was being rented out at a low rate. Surprisingly, no one had applied for it. She quickly sent in a, "I'm interested in this offer," before getting up to get ready for work.

Like everyday, today wasn't also in her favor, she huffed, staring out of the window at the busy street as the day passed by quite slowly. Pushing her hair out of her face, and straightened up and wore a polite smile to greet the customer who had just walked in, and just at her moment her phone vibrated with messages. She skillfully ignored the vibrations, and focused on her work. 

The doorbell of the cafe rang, as the night had already fallen, and it was quiet all around, it was not the first time Y/n had to deal with a customer coming after the closing hours. “I'm sorry, the cafe's closed,” she said, wiping the nth table. 

“Oh, I was actually here for L/n Y/n,” the skin on her body stood up at the words she turned around crossing her hands over her chest. “How may I help you?”

The man in front of her wouldn't be older than 30, his hair was styled back and he was wearing an expensive suit with glasses, “You applied for the house article I posted a while ago.” Y/n slowly nodded, frowning. Upon understanding her  confusion he quickly added, “It's not the smartest idea to put up the shifts you work on the shops on social media.”

Y/n took a deep breath, “Yeah, I know, but what about the house?”

“Oh it's available,” he nodded quickly. “It's actually a mansion I must admit, so you will have to share with others.”

“And I wonder why the rate was so low,” She thought to herself. “That's not a problem.”

“Great, if you are free we can go and visit it tomorrow,” he smiled a little too wide for the given situation, making Y/n nod wearily. After exchanging numbers the man left in a hurry. Y/n couldn't help but clutched the cleaning rag in her hand, an uneasy feeling washing over her. 

A sigh escaped her lips as she stared at the front door of her own house. Her chest filled with doubt as to whether to sneak in, or let them know about her presence. Y/n entered the house and closed the door silently, and took off her shoes. Just as she was about to sneak up the stairs, a movement caught her eye.

“Stop right there!” She heard her father's gruff voice, yelling at her. She closed her eyes before opening them again and turned to face her father. “Where were you?”

She sighed, rubbing the tip of her nose, “I work late shifts on Saturday.”

“Don't lie to me!” His loud voice made her flinch. “I know what they told me! There was a man at the cafe after it was closed!” 

“That's really creepy and weird of you,” she pointed out, and no sooner had she taken one step, she was pulled back by her bag and thrown down the staircase. Her head collided with the wall behind, her vision going blurry for a moment and her  ears ringing. 

Once she came back to my senses, she heard her mother yelling at her father, and him just yelling back at her. Her mother did her best to distract him, so she could slip into her room. Crawling up the stairs, she did. She silently slipped in and locked the door, and pushed her nearly empty glass book rack in front of it. Her bag fell off her shoulder as she dropped onto the ground, tears flowing freely.

Her nose scrunched up, forming wrinkles of confusion on her face. The mansion was lavish, the maintenance cost could pay off 4 times of her house loan. The living room was twice as big as her house. But the thing that confused her was the price. Even having to share the house with others did not explain the low cost. 

She took in her new room, which was bigger than her room, her parents room and the guest room combined. It has been 3 hours since she walked out of her home. Her mother didn't even try to stop her, knowing if she stayed there, there was no future for her. Her father had been gone since 6 in the morning. The landlord was confused, but understood her desperation to get over the paperwork and move in.

Y/n dropped her bag on the ground and sat by the window, overlooking the garden. A girl, about her age was listening to music and scribbling on a book. She stood up and wiped her hands on her pants, and walked downstairs. Just as she passed by the hallway, her shoulder brushed agasint another taller and broader shoulder. Her head snapped back, but the figure of a boy, his head low was already disappearing into another room. Her breath picked up, the scent, the touch, it felt too similar. 

She turned away continuing down the stair case, once she had closed the door behind herself the cold air greeted her like an long lost friend, making her pull her jacket tighter around herself. Another girl, her age probably, long black hair running down was yelling at the landlord, who calmly dealt with her. Seeing how calm he was, the girl felt frustrated and marched passed her back into the house.

Y/n looked a little amused and continued on her way, “You don't look like someone to get on others’ nerves.”

The man took of his glasses rubbing his nose before putting them back on, “Believe me, I get that a lot. She asked permission to throw a party.”

“And you said no?” She chuckled.

The man shrugged with a upside down grin, “I said no alcohol,” she made her laugh, because it sounded pretty stupid. Party without alcohol. A comfortable silence filled the atmosphere, making her forget why she even came here. “I suggest you stay inside the house, if you don't have any work outside of course, it's cold here.” With a nod her turned to take his leave.

“Hey, sir!” Y/n called out. “I didn't ask your name…”

He turned back, his car door opened and smiled, “Park Jongseong.”

“Do you need something?” The girl, whow as scribbling looked up at her. “You have been lingering here for a while now.”

“Oh,’ Y/n shrugged in embarrassment. “I am just new here, I have nothing to do…”

The girl tilted her head frowing, “Don't you have any shift today? At the library right?”

Y/n nodded slowly, “You are an weakly visitor, I took off today.”

The girl shurgged her shoulder, “Your library needs to stack up more books on dark magic,” she paused briefly. “Alex.”

“Y/n,” she said timidly, turning away to leave catching the faint ‘I know’. “Ask Heeseung to show you the library!” She froze. Heeseung? The frown deepening on her face. “Lee Heeseung?” She turned to look back at the girl who slowly nodded. 

Y/n took fast steps inside the house, mumbling to herslef, “It's okay, don't worry, there are plenty of Lee Heeseung's out there, that are just as tall as him and smell—”

“Watch your steps dummy!” The voice scolded her in the familiar tone. Y/n rubbed her back, whining internally until the voice hit her ears.

Oh no. 

[canisvesperus]

I’ve seen some discussion on this, so allow me to explain something.

Some people do not seem to grasp why artists like me draw so much fashionable Eridan. He’s not fashionable at all, just look at his canon outfit, they say. Well, it is simple. Eridan is one of the few trolls actually experimenting with fashion at a young age in the comic. Look me in the eye and tell me you too weren’t a hot mess trying to dress “fashionable” in middle school. Yet, chances are that if you had that awareness and drive early on, you will also develop a sense of style and grasp on aesthetics earlier in life compared to your peers. This was my experience. I was well known for being very stylish as a kid, but this didn’t happen overnight. Indeed, if you were one of these kids you most definitely started off with some odd or disharmonious clothing combinations that you threw together in an attempt to express yourself aesthetically despite inexperience in that type of self-expression. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I usually draw young adult Eridan. Obviously given some time, his tastes would develop and mature into something derived from those original aesthetic visions, but far more cohesive.

It’s clear he’s trying to assert his individualism and status in his clothing choices, and most of y’all shrug him off as having bad taste while not also foreseeing the intent and vision behind those choices. I see it, and so do other artists. We differ in how we portray this derivation because there are frankly a dozen different directions he could take it depending on the circumstances of the post-canon/fix it scenario. This is why you may see me refer to the Eridan in my depictions as “my Eridan”. I don’t presume to depict something identical to Homestuck proper, nor am I particularly interested in doing so. If you’re the type of person who is married to the events of canon and cannot consider a scenario involving an older Eridan who was allowed to grow and change, this is why we are not seeing eye to eye— and I’m certain this is the root cause of various other discourses as they pertain to portraying the character in post-canon fanworks. That’s fine. That’s your choice. My choice is different.

Eridan consistently demonstrates concern (an excess, really, which backfired for him in the cruelest of ways poor thing) with respect to how he is perceived, hence the consciously thought out image-crafting and classic Eridan façades that his own peers call him out on for being poorly executed, transparent, and otherwise not believable. They were kids. This is normal. Of course he doesn’t have himself figured out yet. It’s a process. Some people in this fandom believe his façade in the most literal and uncritical of ways but this is all a story for another day. Is his drip game shit though, without regards for fan interpretations? If you’re asking me, I don’t think it’s really that bad considering his age. I really don’t think it’s that bad. That kind of scarf with the cape is a bit much to wear around the neck. Maybe he’ll swap the big scarf for something similar in function and category but less top heavy— a cravat, jabot, bandana, or lavallière? If the cape is too overwhelming for the rest of the outfit, a smaller caplet, shawl, or a coat will work. To accommodate some of the alternative neckwear, a shirt with a collar would be preferable. What many people perceive as a turtleneck sweater, need not be entirely sacrificed. Put a sweater vest on that boy. I see lots of complaints about the shoes and pants. More discreet pinstripes and more formal shoes (field boots, paddock boots, oxfords) will work. Of course he can go in the opposite direction, less formal, in that case the cape can go and the long scarf can stay, get some cool sneakers, consider denim bottoms or casual slacks in a single color, accents welcome. However this isn’t the derivation I pursue so I feel less qualified to speculate. He could ditch all of it even. Start new and fresh especially if he were to go through a markedly subversive reclamation of identity and character redemption sort of process. In any case, he can work with it!!! You just have to believe in him.

I believe Eridan had a lot of narrative potential that was wasted, possibly out of disinterest for the character. It’s only predictable that artists like me simply want to devise a world in which these characters had a chance to actually live their lives. I truly do not understand why there has to be so much confusion over this. That‘s all.

[reginalucernis]

As you can see I've entered my Genshin era - I wonder when it'll end

In brief, I just wanted to do some warm-up before starting a big art (I hope it'll happen one day...) and show my headcanons just for fun, why not? And ofc I do not impose anything on anyone, this is just my personal opinion and blah-blah

I find Genshin char design quite entertaining. I like the devs try to rethink and use some national stereotypes, folk costumes, some ethnic motifs etc, but absolutely the same blank faces for all characters regardless of their sex and age are just killing me. So that's why I decided to diversify it a little, to estimate possible ethnic and individual differences (yes, all the nations in Genshin are fictional etc, but in fact all the national and historical prototypes seem to be quite obvious). OK LET'S GOO

Tortellini. First of all, I'm sure freckles really suit gingers. Dimples can also add some character to the image of a naive fool and a positive dude (although Tort isn't actually stupid, he's a straightforward simpleton 'cos of his young age - this fact is stated directly in the game, e.g. in Arle's dialogues). Speaking about the general features of the face, I should note the more pronounced angles of the jaw and brow ridges, thicker eyebrows, thicker neck, slightly larger chin - features that correspond to a more realistic facial structure and the difference between a male and a female face. Regarding the nose, the situation is a bit ambiguous: on the one hand, a curved nose is usually considered more Southern European or West Asian (including Arabic and Persian regions) but I once found information about two subtypes of curved noses a long time ago. Like, if the nose is curved in the upper part closer to the bridge of the nose, then this is usually the Asian type, if it's curved in the lower part closer to the tip, then it's usually European. Considering that I've met guys on the street with the latter type of a curved nose (which is also raised up) and their appearance corresponded to the "Nordic" type (light straight hair, light eyes, pale skin of a cold shade), let's assume that this is still a Northern European nose and everything is logical

Signora. Her facial features are slightly softer. She has a usual straight narrow nose. Her appearance is close to the type of a femme fatale, she is suited by slightly defined cheekbones and plump lips (I have nothing against symmetrical round "bow" lips which are trendy today, but I just prefer classic ones with a pronounced cleavage in the middle). Her head is proudly raised. Moles can complement the image: a mole under the eye can add some sophistication and elegance, while the one above the upper lip can add a bit of sensuality (for example, look at the photo of Nika Turbina - her story raises many questions, but her appearance is definitely memorable). In other words, quoting The Twelve Chairs by Ilf and Petrov, Rosaline is "a sultry woman, a poet's dream" :)

Dottore. On the one hand, his color palette gives the impression of albinism (although albinos among humans, unlike animals, practically do not have red eyes, but let's forget about it). On the other hand, his Sumeru origin directly asks to add something appropriate, so I decided to choose a hooked nose (yes, I love noses, the most diverse and memorable part of the face). His character and his actions are conducive to introducing a bit of "monstrosity" into the image: sharp facial features and teeth, withered thin lips, a greenish tint in the palette. Well, it turns out he's a true gremlin. I like the widespread headcanon about him having scars, why not - in general, the guy could both earn one in the process of experiments and receive it from his fellow countrymen. I decided to make him stoop a little, but this is a dangerous move. I mean the Doctor is bursting with aggression, determination and arrogance, he is a daring and self-confident person, and such a tightness doesn't fit him. However, his obsession with scientific research, poring over books and constant work on experiments can (probably) cause a curvature of posture. In the end, I decided that this man can straighten up normally if necessary, but he usually still slouches (just like my uncle :)). Or at least like Dead Space protagonist who is also stooped but still is quite a good fighter

Arlele. Here I didn't do much 'cos the developers have already given her a bunch of distinct features: crossed pupils, and black hands, and some patterns on them, and contrasting hair (although most chars have more or less monochrome or at least similar shades of their hair). In general, she's good the same as she is now. In comparison with Signora, her image is slightly more restrained and refined, her lips are slightly thinner, her eyebrows, on the contrary, are slightly thicker, and her cheekbones are less pronounced. The only major detail added is a slightly hooked, drooping nose. I don't know why, but it seems to be very French for me. Some famous French actors and actresses have kinda similar noses (e.g. Louis de Funès, Pierre Richard, Christian Clavier, Sophie Marceau, Laetitia Casta etc.) - well, at least I think so

By the way, I honestly wanted to diversify somehow emotions in my drawings, but all of the characters are smiling again - what can I do if the smiles suit these guys as well as nobody else: Tort has a half-friendly, half-self-confident smile kinda like 😼, Signora has a proud one, Arle has a cunningly condescending one, and Dottore has just a snide "ehehe"

Hooray, it's a Chinese wall of my text again - well, this time it has at least some sense

Have a nice summer everyone!! I hope to see you again before the autumn :)

P.S. hello to the old ones who has recognized the original album cover, it's been 19 years since its release, feel old yet?

[ofallthingsnasty]

there is an absolute drought of dark Smoker content so can I request a ticket with him for a Long Night of Museums?? Pretty please with a cherry on top 🙏♥️

💕💕💕 you're so right... Smoker, my love... Instead of taking some souvenirs home with you, you end up as one with that man 🤭

🎂nasty's 2024 birthday event 🎂

Your order:

1 x ticket to The Long Night of Museums with Smoker! (Adult only, exhibition might contain content such as stalking and kidnapping, proceed at your own risk.

Smoker is the type of man you only meet because his usual bar is directly next to your cheap little hotel - blue with smoke, wooden interior, two games of darts and the TV always tuned into some type of sports game and him sitting right by the barkeep, nipping at his beer for two whole hours. You only stumble in on your first night because you really, really want a beer after a long, exhausting day of traveling. And instead of paying for that overpriced crap they offer in the hotel lobby that you’d have to down all on your own in your hotel room, you’d rather spend an hour with total strangers who smoke one cigarette for every word they speak. It’s convenient, the neon sign hanging by the door tells you it’s cheap and not too packed - and that’s all you need right now. What you don’t expect is two meters of bulk and cigars waiting right by the bar, tacky Hawaiian shirt inappropriately open for the spring weather. He’s intimidating, blocking your path to a cheap stout - but you’re grown and in a strange city. You figure you’ll never see him again anyway, so you swallow that little tickle of nervousness and order a pint of whatever they have on tab. And, despite your flighty stomach, you stay right by the bar - booths are for multiple people, not for out-of-towners who can’t handle the places they wander into. It goes pretty well, all things considered. Aside from an initial greeting, he doesn’t even look your way, too busy grumbling into his own pint and watching whatever match is on up on the ancient screen. It’s bearable enough that you come back the next day - a long, surprisingly hot day of sightseeing and dragging your feet through pedestrian areas has you thirsty for another beer and you’re yet again too tired to wander any further than your hotel room. The comfort of being able to simply fall into your bed after getting a little bit of a buzz going trumps the pull of flashy bars and expensive cocktails. So you poke your head through the door of the dingy little pub again and, like he’s part of the inventory, two-cigars-hawaiian-shirt guy already sits pretty by the counter, in that very same spot as yesterday. You greet him with a little too much enthusiasm but get nothing more than a mumbled answer back. 

The next day, you feel strangely watched on your trek through the city. It’s pretty obvious that you’re a tourist (the puzzled looks to your maps app might be a dead giveaway), still, there are dozens, if not hundreds of you at any given little park or museum or statue. It’s not like the locals aren’t used to people traipsing through the city center looking at everything as if they’re seeing color for the first time, no, the city is on every damn ‘top 10 must see’ lists that have been plaguing the internet for decades - but you simply can’t shake it. No matter how long you spend pouring over paintings at a gallery, no matter how slowly you take your lunch in an eclectic little bakery, it never stops. You all but flee to that shabby little bar in the evening, looking to seek cover among the many eyes of strangers once again. A little buzz and handful of potential witnesses (should anything unsavory happen) sound safer than staring at the flimsy lock on your hotel room’s door until you collapse from exhaustion. Or maybe you just want to shake off that nasty feeling of being followed with one too many beers right now - you can’t really decide. That night, two-cigars-hawaiian-shirt guy doesn’t sit by the bar when you enter. He comes in, almost dawdling, half an hour after you. You’re already halfway through your first pint and have no intention of stopping at just one when he sits himself down with so much heft right beside you, it actually makes you sputter. It almost feels like your stool shakes when he plops down and orders his own drink, absentmindedly biting his cigars. It takes you just another pint to actually talk to him. And a third one to realize that he’s stupid hot. Sure, you registered his sheer size two nights ago already, but he’s actually ruggedly handsome: well-groomed and tastefully gray in a rough way that reminds you of some sort of 80s action movie character. He doesn’t talk much. It doesn’t bother you in your slightly inebriated state; every question is met with only a short, almost bitten out answer but it’s all made up by the way his voice seems to crawl right underneath your skin, deep and gruff but irresistible and somewhat smooth. You joke and laugh and sway around enough for the two of you, feeling weirdly safe with this total stranger. Smoker, that’s his nickname, and you think it’s oh-so-fitting and funny in your haze. He seems to have taken a liking to you, too - because even though he grumbles all the way through it, he even tolerates a game of darts that you spectacularly lose. It’s a wonderful evening, you think, and it’s nice to properly socialize after two days of looking at dusty museums and flashy sights, and even better today, after you’ve been uneasy every waking minute. You’re happy and drunk and even gutsy enough to feel up the abs of that handsome stranger who supports your shaky legs to guide you to the hotel room, trying to get the most out of this little chance meeting.

At least until you wake up in an unfamiliar place the next morning, the wonderful, airy feeling of a fun night out replaced by sheer and utter dread. You can barely register that your hands and feet are tied together, that it’s not the alcohol making you feel nauseous but rather the position you seem to have spent the last couple hours in- because just a second later, Smoker’s face is all you see. 

That gravely voice you found so charming yesterday suddenly makes your stomach bubble in raw fear as he tells you to stop fighting and that you’re better off with him, anyway - seeing as you’re way too weak on your own and he's been looking for a little spouse, anyway. And you'll do.