#also I like bright colors apparently lol

[synthshenanigans]

Jashtober Day 19 - Devil

Redraw of the thumbnail from Chonny's Inferno & Shutup You're Stupid technically

[Alt versions below of course] v

- TW for bright colors!-

Og image I mostly used:

[dailyedgeworth]

today, polly got shy...

[singlecrochet]

gonna pull a Halsey and ask you guys whether I should dye my hair “lavender” or “gerard way red”

[mostlylurkinbarelypostin]

Can’t stop thinking about how unhinged this scene is. I LOVE it so much.

This is literally the next supermarket scene that we get after Mike’s failed love confession to El, where he couldn’t say the words and couldn’t get her to understand his cryptic, coded language. Dustin interrupts on the radio, probably to Mike’s immense relief, and then we get this absolute masterpiece.

Mike goes from sitting close to El in the scene prior to sitting the farthest away from her, directly next to Will. In the previous scene Mike is sat close to El because Max instructed him to hold pressure on her wound. It continues a common theme of El and Mike being forced together because El is in need of help and Mike is being made responsible for her. As soon as Mike has the CHOICE though, he sits next to Will. And not just next to him, but barely even a foot away. Like they’re sat so close together that even the shots that are focused solely on Mike have Will partly in them.

Moving on from the positioning, there’s possibly the best and most unserious part of this entire scene which is the fact that they sat them right in front of the FRUIT section, which is simply incredible. They also put Will on the left so that he’s positioned under the “Always #1” part of the fluorescent sign above their heads.

Then there’s the obvious fact that they’re all coupled off, including El who is sat with her beloved eggos behind her. This scene also draws your attention to how complimentary all the couple outfits are. Max and Lucas are both in shorts and Max’s thick strapped top is reflected in the layered look of Lucas’s shirt. Both Nancy and Jonathan rock pants and striped shirts. Finally, Mike and Will look like they share a closet (lol) with their short shorts and color blocked polos with bright collars. They all look so good together. Even El is matching with the yellow Eggo boxes behind her.

Finally, there’s the fact that Mike isn’t even really paying attention to El in this scene. Instead he’s more focused on arguing with Lucas about New Coke.

This whole scene feels like a test to see how obvious they could be about Mike’s sexuality without people noticing, which is apparently extremely obvious considering they put Mike and Will with the couples and literally spelled out that Mike is fruity and that Will is his #1, yet most people came away from that scene still thinking that Mike’s love confession was successful and that he’s madly in love with El.

All of this has been pointed out before but I just think this scene is incredible and I keep thinking about it. Bless the people that make this show ❤️

[lovebugism]

hiii idk if you’re still taking requests but can you do something smutty with steve in season 3 w his scoops ahoy uniform on after he gets home from work or something🙏🏼🙏🏼

like sub!babygirl!steve is so 🤤🤤😽😽 and a

dom!femreader 🫶❤️❤️ AND OMG HE HAS A MOMMY KINK😧😧 I BEG OF YOU

✶ ┄ OH, BABY !

summary: after a long day at work, steve harrington needs someone (*cough cough* you) to take care of him. pairing: sub!steve harrington / f!reader word count: 5.6k warnings: sub!steve, brief use of a mommy kink, r calls steve daddy like twice i think, mention of a breeding kink, 18+ mdni (ignore any typos, i am way too tired to proofread <3) a/n: hi, it's me again, turning a blurb request into a full length fic. also i can't stop writing for sub steve apparently. all i can say is baby girl is baby girlin real hard in this one lol thanks so much for your request! enjoy xoxo

( BLURB SLEEPOVER ) | ( MASTERLIST )

It’s sunset by the time his shift at Scoops concludes. He serves the last few remaining customers while Robin less than kindly ushers out the loitering teenagers that have stuck around all day. 

A group of moms clad in vividly colored spandex tells him “we’re being bad today” like some sort of mantra that makes them feel better about ordering plain vanilla ice cream. Some middle school aged girls with a mouthful of braces, crimped hair in pigtails, and absolutely wreaking of fruity perfume and daddy’s money try helplessly to flirt with him while they use a matte black card to purchase a banana boat sundae.

His last customers of the night are an old married couple, all gray and wrinkly and smiling like life’s still so new to them. They order one strawberry cone to share between them and hold onto each other’s shaking, frail hands as they make their exit.

Steve smiles as he watches them go. He sees a lot of you and him in them. He hopes by the time you both are all old and brittle, you’ll still be happy like that, still so in love.

Working in the downstairs abyss of Starcourt makes him feel crazy sometimes. With no windows and only manufactured fluorescent lighting for ten hours straight, it makes time feel less and less real.

Sometimes he’ll be in before sun out and cower like some sort of vampire when his shift is over. Other times, he’ll come out when it’s pouring down rain and be absolutely baffled at the sight of it because it was perfectly sunny when his shift started.

Everything else but ice cream all but ceases to exist in the hole of Scoops Ahoy — weather, time, life.

Even though it’s closing when he leaves, Steve doesn’t realize how dark it’s gotten outside until he’s walking through the desolate parking lot to his car. The bustling mall has fallen asleep with the rest of the town. The sky has long turned to a navy velvet, the stars and full moon bright white silk. 

It makes his limbs heavy and his eyelids heavier as his tired bones ache for rest.

Steve makes the longer drive out to the cabin rather than his own home to see you. Hopper’s out for some conference which means El gets to spend every ounce of her time at the Wheeler’s and you and Steve get to play house. 

He doesn’t bother to knock before he comes in. He shuffles through the entrance like his feet are made of lead and leans his weight against the door after he clicks it closed.

The sound of his arrival gets your attention from where you scurry around the kitchen. A smile pulls slowly at your face as you turn over your shoulder to look at him, placing a cover over a pot of something that smells like your infamous chicken alfredo.

“Hey, Stevie,” you greet with a beam and a sort of sunshine in your voice that Steve’s been missing all day.

His body relaxes for the first time since he got up this morning at the sight of you, freshly showered and in your pajamas for the night — an oversized t-shirt that definitely didn’t belong to you before, because it used to be his.

You look more like home than any four walls could ever be to him.

Steve tries his best to give you a smile in return, but it’s weighed down by fatigue and not all there.

You can see it all over him, every ounce of exhaustion on his lax and tired features. Slinging ice cream for less than grateful customers for ten hours straight has taken an obvious toll on him. The bright blue sailor’s uniform makes him look more boyish, but no less tired — or hot.

Your heart swells at how cozy he looks, fatigued and warmed and in dire need of being taken care of. It makes you glad that you started dinner earlier than normal, even happier that you’ve got the house to yourselves.

You exit the kitchen and walk the short distance to him, taking his scruffy cheeks in your palms and rubbing your thumbs against his cheeks.

“Hard day?” you wonder softly and smile to himself when you feel Steve nestle further into your touch.

The boy hums lowly in reply — neither a yes or a no, but a short hmph that means he doesn’t want to talk about it now. He doesn’t like thinking about work when you’re in his arms and all over him. He’d rather pretend like you’re the only thing that exists and let the rest of the world slip slowly away.

He turns his face to kiss the inside of your wrists. You smell like lavender, he finds, and it makes him that much more tired and needy for you.

His hands settle on your arms, fingers wrapping themselves just below your wrists. “Just tired,” he answers finally. “How was your day?”

“Better than yours, I’m assuming,” you quip with a smile. Your hands drag from his face, down the tense columns of his neck, and settle at the white lapel of his uniform. Steve lets you pull him down by his red neckerchief until his lips press against yours, the pillows of them far cozier than the bed and blanket he so craves right now.

He grows somehow heavier against you. He exhales deeply through his nose as his aching muscles start to relax, the warmth of it brushes against your cupid’s bow. His hands fall to your back and ball into your shirt as he clutches so ardently onto you, as though terrified he might have to go another agonizing ten hours without you.

Your smile contorts against his mouth. A laugh exhales sharply through your nose at this tired boy, exhausted and too willing to let you swallow him whole.

As much as you want to take care of you him, you want him to get a little food in his belly and fresh clothes on his skin.

He’s got freshly laundered cottons sitting in a drawer you cleaned out in your room especially for him and a pot of his favorite food simmering on the stove. He’ll be golden in an hour or more and you’ll happily take care of him then.

Steve whines when you pull away from him. The pathetic sound bubbles from his throat and his face screws up like you’ve actually pained him by not kissing him more. He ducks down, looming over you, as his lips chase yours.

You giggle at him, letting him kiss you — one, two, three quick pecks and a fourth sweeter, more drawn-out one he presses against you as the two of you stumble back into the living room.

“You need to eat first, okay?” you protest when you part from him again, lips clicking wetly as they separate. “You probably haven’t had anything all day.”

“I had half a banana in the break room at lunch,” he retorts, half-heartedly.

“Exactly,” you scold. “Go get changed and then we can eat, ‘kay?”

“If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you could’ve just said.”

You roll your eyes at him and how he’s still so sly despite being so damn tired. You push playfully against his chest and squirm out from under where he’d cornered you between his body and the back of the couch. “You smell like a sundae and cheap cologne—”

“Blame those assholes from Abercrombie.”

“—hit the showers, Harrington,” you tell him with a playful sternness, swatting him on the ass as you pass by him.

The action stopped surprising him a long time ago. He’d complained relentlessly about corporate and the stupid outfit they made him wear to work every morning until he realized how much you liked it. 

After that, Steve figured he could put up with the itching and the chaffing and the weird stares from other mall-goers. As long as it meant you being unable to keep your hands off of him, dropping to your knees in front of him before he left for work, visiting him at lunch because you just had to see him again.

“You comin’ too, or…?” he jokes in reply, already inching towards the bathroom, but secretly hoping you’ll say yes.

You refuse to amuse him, though, and instead tell him that you have to keep stirring the pasta so it won’t burn. He’s too tired and too excited to wash all the muck of the long workday from his body to beg.

You knew just what he needed — like you always do. He’s as good as gold by the time he gets out of the shower, smelling of your shampoo and practically glittering at how good he feels.

His skin gets to breathe for the first time all day when he slips on a pair of boxers and a faded forest green Hawkins High sweatshirt. They’re freshly washed. He can tell by how soft they feel and the way they smell of fresh detergent. 

It makes his heart swell. 

While he’s been slinging ice cream and questioning all of his life choices, you’ve been washing his clothes, folding them and putting the in their own drawer in your dresser. You’ve been cooking him his favorite dinner, knowing he hasn’t eaten all day, because you know everything about him. 

You do it all because you love him. You don’t have to think twice about it before you so effortlessly take care of him.

He swears you’ll feed him if he begs hard enough, but Steve hasn’t reached that level of tiredness yet. He does, however, force you to sit halfway in his lap while the both of you opt to eat on the couch in the living room rather than the kitchen table.

A repeat of Miami Vice plays on the tiny television across the room and you tell him about what you’d done on your day off in between shoveling forkfuls of pasta into your mouth with your legs slung into his lap.

Most of it was spent taking care of chores, a feat made harder without Hopper and El to take on the extra workloads but easier because their absence meant less shit to get done. 

You drove Dustin and Lucas to the Wheeler’s house later that morning, then doubled back across Hawkins when Max called and all but begged you to free her from the hellscape on Cherry Lane, as she so lovingly put it. You picked her up and dropped her off with the rest of her friends.

And even though they all swore they had rides back home, they’d called again some hours later and asked too sweetly if you could take them back across town.

You complain and grumble about it, but you do it for them anyway.

Because you take care of people. That’s just what you do.

“So you were a personal chauffeur for a bunch of kids all day?” Steve jokes and laughs to himself as he swipes a smudge of alfredo sauce from your chin with his thumb

“Basically,” you nod in reply.

When that’s all done — and the episode is over and the dishes are in the sink and your teeth are freshly brushed — you tell Steve to get into bed, and then to get his head out of the gutter at the look he gives you after.

He’s pleasantly surprised when you bring a whole basket of things from the bathroom and into your bedroom. He watches silently, obediently, as you light a candle on the far side of the room before climbing into bed beside him.

“Scoot down a little,” you tell him. “And take off your shirt.”

He does it all without question. He rises, strips himself of his top, and tosses the thing mindlessly on the floor beside the bed. With his lean torso and bare chest on display, spotted with tufts of chestnut-colored hair and smelling of your body wash, he lazes back onto the bed again with his head on the pillows.

Steve holds his breathe when you straddle his chest.

“Comfy?” you ask him quietly.

He can only nod in response.

His eyes are wide, twinkling with love and curiosity. It makes you smile. He’s always so soft in his way, so compliant with you — and, fuck, if you don’t love how he looks when he’s underneath you.

You lean down to press a chaste kiss to the chiseled tip of his nose then reach for one of the many bottles stacked inside the wicker basket. You drip the rose-scented liquid onto a cottonpad and tell him that it’s cleanser.

“I thought I was already clean?” he retorts.

“Well, this shit is gonna make ya glow like a baby, Harrington,” you tell him and swipe the stuff up and down his face — across his forehead, along his nose, and around his stubbly jaw. “Which means it’s perfect for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Means you’re a baby,” you quip once, then smile lovingly down at him. “My baby,” you correct.

“Damn straight,” he hums with a soft smile, then shuts his eyes when you trade the cleanser for what you call a liquid exfoliator. He doesn’t ask what that means. He doesn’t say much of anything really, because he’s enamored with the way you dote on him.

Your day has been just as busy as his, maybe not as mind-numbing, but still busy. You’ve been bouncing all across town, trying to make sure a bunch of kids weren’t putting themselves in total danger — Steve knows firsthand how hard that can be.

And yet, you keep caring for him, like it’s more important than how tired you must be.

The way you’ve settled on top of him is just a bonus. It’s not as domineering as you usually are in this position, straddling your legs over him and forcing his face between your legs with your fingers tangled in his hair. He wouldn’t have minded if that’s what you’d done in the first place. He would’ve thanked you for it, really.

It’s comforting more than it is anything, the subtle weight of you on top of him, keeping him grounded.

You rub something that feels like lotion into his skin. The tips of your fingers massage his face — they dig softly into his temples, relieving all the strain there, then trace around his curve of his jaw. Steve sighs and melts into your touch. It makes you laugh.

“Look at you,” you giggle, all soft like the moonlight streaming in rays from the windows. Then you tease him. “My baby’s gettin’ all pampered tonight, huh?”

“That stuff smells really good,” he notes. “Think it’s safe enough to taste?”

You know he’s joking, but you flick him in the center of his freshly moisturized forehead anyway, when his tongue darts out the side of his mouth to lick around his lips.

“You’re such an idiot,” you scold with a laugh. “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to have a kid if you keep acting like one, Steve Harrington.”

The boy's eyes fly open. “…A kid?” he repeats in something short of a whisper.

You only hum in reply with a little shrug like you’re trying to play it all off. Like you didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on him and left him to pick up the pieces. Like it isn't the sweetest goddamn thing he’s ever heard in his life (even though you are sort of making fun of him).

“You want a kid with me?” he presses, eyes sparkling and full of hope.

“‘Course I do,” you shrug again, focusing on capping the moisturizer and putting it away rather than meeting his intense gaze. “Want anything and everything with you, Stevie.”

The boy doesn’t bother to hide the grin your words put on his face. He’s all but beaming from where he lays beneath you, trying to make sure he’s still breathing because his heart has started to flutter something fierce.

It was something the two of you only ever talked about in passing — usually him bringing up the idea of having kids and you swatting them all down.

“We’re too young,” you tell him. “We’re too broke”, “we’re too dumb.” The occasional “my dad is literally in the next room, he’ll kill you if he hears you talking like that” shuts him up real quick.

But here you are now, telling him you want a baby with him, that you want everything with him. It drives him absolutely insane.

“Yeah?” he hums in response, idle hands rising and settling upon your bare thighs, rubbing at the smooth skin there, petting you almost. The room gets suddenly and unbearably hot with the look he gives you, innocent and knowing and hungry.

You feel him shift from underneath you, the hardening cock in his boxers making it hard to stay as comfortable as he had been.

“You wanna be a mommy, honey?” he all but coos. “Wanna take care of our kids like you take care of me?”

Though his words set a fire in the pit of your stomach, the tone of them makes you roll your eyes. It’s like flipping a light switch when it comes to Steve. It takes next to nothing to turn him into a puddle of mush.

He’s always raring to go when it comes to you, and you’d be lying if you said it was totally invigorating. 

“What happened to my sweet, sleepy, baby Stevie, huh?” you tease, hands leaving his face to caress the ones he’s got resting on your thighs. “Thought you were too tired?”

He shakes his head defiantly. “Never too tired for you.” 

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you scold with bubbly laughter when you feel his large hands trail up your legs. His finger falls beneath your shirt, the tips of them sneaking into the rounded hems of your underwear, all but cupping your ass to drag you further up his chest.

He’s practically salivating at the mere thought of tasting you. Of knowing that the only thing separating you from him is a couple of inches and the thin fabric of your underwear.

He knows that when he slides them to the side, you’ll be wet and needing him underneath, slick enough for his tongue to slip right in.

And, truth be told, oral sex wasn’t the easiest when you weren’t alone. It was too precarious of a position. If Hopper knocked on the door and barged in hardly a moment later, you needed to break away quickly.

So when your dad and little sister were home, it was easier to use your hands to get each other off. And, maybe, if Steve was real good, you’d let him fuck you.

But his mouth on you? There wasn’t enough good he could be for you to let him do that, not when your father was on the other side of the door in the living room. Because you’re pretty sure death would be easier than your dad catching Steve Harrington giving cunnilingus to his daughter. You’re pretty sure you’d die on the spot, anyway.

But Hopper is miles away. Your sister is on the other side of town. And you’re alone with your boyfriend, hidden away in a cabin in the middle of the woods. It’s the perfect recipe for the best sex of your life.

“Don’t care,” Steve murmurs, pressing kisses to the inner parts of your thigh when he settles you more intently over his shoulders. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” you croon. From below you, the boy notes the arched brow and knowing glint in your eye that usually means trouble. “Daddy wants to make mommy feel good, huh?”

Steve knows exactly why you said it. Why you chose to say it like that. It’s the same reason you brought up the kid thing in the first place. Because you knew it would drive him crazy.

And it’s not like you ever had to try to make him mental, all you really had to do was walk into a room and he was done for. But you didn’t just want to just make him go insane, you wanted to ruin him. 

And you know you’ve done just that when a groan spills from his mouth and two strong hands dig rather ruthlessly into your hips. He pulls you down without warning, pressing your clothed pussy closer to his face and dragging his nose between your covered lips. A moan leaves your mouth in a heavy exhale when the tip of it nudges your clit.

“Like being called daddy, huh?” you tease through bated breaths.

Steve nods in reply as he hooks a finger through the hem of your panties and slides them to the side, putting your pretty, glistening pussy on display for him.

He was right about what he said before — you were soaked. 

All but drunk on the sight of you, he presses open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh. “Like the other thing, too,” he mumbles against your skin, like he’s hiding himself there.

“The other thing?” you question with pinched brows. The confusion ebbs like a rolling tide as you realize: “Oh. You wanna call me mommy, Stevie?” you ask with a joking lilt.

“Shut up,” he groans against you.

He’s pleasantly surprised when your hand grabs the strands of his hair like reigns, pulling him back just before he puts his mouth on your pussy. He’s even more stunned at the stern expression taking over your features, not nearly as playful as you’d been moments before.

Suddenly you’re ten feet tall, and he’s nothing more than an ant, at the mercy of your boot.

“That’s no way to talk to your mommy, is it, Stevie?” 

He shakes his head with glazed over eyes. “Sorry.”

“Sorry… what?”

There is an underlying tone in your voice, something teasing and yet somehow serious all at once. It’d make him roll his eyes if he weren’t lying beneath you like this. Now, with your pussy mere inches from his face, he isn’t quite sure how to be anything but obedient.

“Sorry, mommy,” he corrects.

A flip switches and you’re smiling again. “Good boy,” you praise and it makes his cock twitch in the confines of his boxers. Your hand guides him to your pussy again.

Steve’s always been good at oral. A little too good, actually. It made you jealous sometimes, to know that his technique has been perfected over years of experience.

“All the other girls were just practice for you, honey,” he’d soothe your seething rage with a wink and a tongue shoved deep into your cunt.

You believe him now, that every other girl was just an obstacle for him to get to you, because no one’s had him like this. No one will ever have him like this.

You’re the one who’s got him on his back with his mouth on your pussy. You’re the one who’s got him calling you mommy.

And it makes you feel like a fucking giant.

He wastes little time to envelope your cunt with his mouth. You feel the muffled grunt he lets out at the tangy and familiar taste of you. His tongue pushes into your cunt, licking you with the intent of devouring you entirely. His nose presses intently against your clit, prodding the little button as you ride his face. He encourages every thrust, guiding your hips up and down his mouth.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you whine and feel him smile drunkenly against your pussy, never ceasing his assault against your sensitive skin.

Your head falls back, suddenly too heavy to hold up. Your gaze settles on the ceiling, though you’re not exactly looking at it, and moans fall from your open mouth and into the heavy air — billowing laments in the moonlight.

“You make me feel so good,” you murmur to yourself, but to him especially, knowing he turns into a ticking time bomb when he’s praised. “Always make mommy feel so fucking good, baby.”

He groans against you, and it makes your hips twitch over his face.

Your head turns and your glazed over eyes fall on the hard cock trapped in his underwear. It’s more than apparent against the thin fabric with a wet patch of precum darkening the plaid cotton. The sight of it, paired with his lips wrapped around your clit, makes you moan most pitifully.

“Fuck, Steve,” you cry. “You’re gonna make me come. Holy shit, baby— gonna come so hard in your mouth.” The promise makes Steve double his efforts against you, wanting nothing more than to taste every drop you can give him. “I’ll ride you after, 'kay? Make you come so hard you can’t see straight. Fuck. I’m so fucking close.”

You figure his muffled whine is an affirmative.

“If you make me come now, maybe I’ll let you come inside me—”

You barely get to finish your sentence before Steve’s wrapping his arms around your thighs and keeping you pressed against his face. His tongue works overtime inside of your cunt, attentively flicking against every part of your velvet walls that it can reach, while his nose nudges your clit most relentlessly.

It has you reaching your climax within seconds, hips jerking against him while his hold on you tightens. Steve only lets you go when he’s certain you’ve ridden out every inch of your orgasm.

You’re shaking and half-numb when you unfold your body from his and settle next to him on the bed. You press yourself over him as your lips swallow his, tasting yourself on his mouth that glistens with you.

Your torso is splayed over his bare one, knees digging into the mattress at his side as you arch your back to push yourself further into him.

“Was that good for you?” he mutters after you’ve pulled away, sliding the tip of your nose up and down the bridge of his.

A laugh escapes you in a sharp scoff. If he couldn’t have felt how good it was for you — after you all but writhed against him — surely he must’ve tasted it dripping like honey from your cunt.

“It’s always good,” you assure him, then murmur more quietly, “Always so good for mommy.”

You keep the promise you’d made him no more than minutes beforehand. You pull down his boxers at the same time he’s trying to get you out of your shirt, and it’s just a mess of yearning limbs until the both of you are naked.

You rub yourself over his cock a few times, getting it all slick with you in the place of lube, because you know taking him is never an easy feat. The stretch of his dick inside you is always delicious but fuck if it doesn’t burn. It’s like fire in every sense of the word, hot and filthy paired with a distant ache.

Steve lets you set the pace as you get used to his length nestled deep inside your velvet. His hands rest compliantly on your hips as you grind against him, honeyed gaze fixed on your fucked out features as you take him — brows pinched, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Then, when every inch of him is snug in your cunt and your senses return to you, you deny him of his want to touch you. Your fingers wrap around his wrists and push them into the pillow on either side of his head. “Mommy didn’t say you could touch her, did she?” you purr to him as you lean over him. He shakes his head obediently, if only it meant that you kept fucking yourself on top of him.

And you do. Most ardently.

You keep your bare chest pressed against his fuzzy one, nose-to-nose as you slide your hips over his. And even though he’s had you like this before (in this position and many others), it feels brand new every time. It’s like he’s never felt you before despite how familiar you feel.

It triggers his body into a sense of fight of flight, as though frightened he’ll never get to have you again. It leaves him fucking you like it’ll be the last time he’s inside you, every fucking time.

It never is, though — obviously. Most times he only has to wait a couple minutes or more before he gets to take you again.

But now, with his hands balled into fists beside his head and your’s braced on his chest, digging into the patch of hair there as you rock back and forth on his hard cock — the tip of it nestled deep inside of you and hitting every sweet spot that makes you keen — has left him an absolute wreck beneath you. 

He’s chasing his pleasure like he’s never felt it before. Like he won’t feel it again.

“Your cock feels so good, Stevie,” you moan above him.

“‘M not gonna last long, baby,” he mutters between harsh and labored pants.

“’S okay… I want you to come,” you promise and press a too sweet kiss to his swollen, pink lips. You move your hips more intently over him. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. “Want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out in something short of a whimper. His eyes are glassy and his brows are furrowed and it takes everything in him not to fuck up into you — because he wants to be good, he wants to be good for you. 

“Yeah… Want you come in me… Fuck me until it takes,” you babble over top of him, knowing exactly what it’s doing to the whining boy beneath you. “Wanna give you a baby— fuck— I wanna make you a daddy, Stevie.”

A whine spills from his throat. His toes curl into the fabric of your comforter, eyes rolling back into his head, body tensing as he digs his fingers into the skin of his palms that still ache to touch you.

Your name spills from his mouth along with a string of curses and pretty little cries when he stuffs you full of his come.

You happily accept every load he shoots into you as work him through every aftershock of his orgasm. Yours doesn’t come so easy — you roll your hips over yourself and rub your clit until you’re twitching right along with him. 

You come down from your highs together with a tender softness. You lay over him, one hand combing through his curls and the other stroking softly at his sweat-slicked bicep. You watch with heavy eyes as his orgasm rolls over him. 

His chest rises and falls with every heavy breath, stuttering when another pang of pleasure hits him all of a sudden. “Fuck,” he whines harshly into the heavy air.

He’s happy you don’t deny him when his arms wrap around your waist, hands rubbing up and down the expanse of your slick back.

You press tiny kisses to his face as he comes down — his nose, his cheeks, his forehead his stubbly chin and jaw. You press one, two, three pecks to his lips before you slide off of him, then laugh when he whines.

You’re gone for hardly more than three minutes, but to Steve, it feels like an eternity’s gone by.

You return from the bathroom, wiped freshly clean, and blow out the nearly burnt-out candle on your dresser before you slither back into his side. One of his arms curls beneath your shoulders to pull you closer to him with his other rests on the back of yours that’s settled on his chest.

You share one pillow, noses inches away from one another’s, while you bask in the warm moment and the sex-coated air around you before you have to break it.

“You know I’m still on the pill, right?” you ask him.

He nods.

“And that we’re—”

“Way too young to have a kid right now?” he finishes for you, though the idea makes him sad. He nods.

“Yeah… And—”

“Too broke? I know that too.”

“Also my—”

“Your dad would kill me if I got you pregnant?”

It makes you laugh. You hadn’t realized you’d talked about having kids this many times — at least, not enough for him to memorize all the reasons why it’s not the best idea right now.

“Yeah, I know it’s not happening any time soon,” Steve says with a sigh. “I like to pretend, though. Plus, it’s not even about that to me, you know? I just… I just like being with you and… everything.”

Everything, you repeat to yourself. A word that means so much and nothing at all.

No one knows what everything means, they just know that it’s a lot, a whole lot. That’s what makes it so special. Steve wants it all with you — the overbearing dad, the sister with powers, the teenage kids who never let you have a single second to yourselves when they’re around. 

It’s a lot sometimes, most times, but he’ll weather it all with you.

“You like being with me?” you echo just to see him nod.

He does. “I love being with you,” he corrects.

“Love calling me mommy, too, huh?”

He realizes then, the sincere moment was just a set-up for that stupid joke. He groans and flops his head back on the pillow, but makes no move to distance himself from you.

“Oh, my god,” he moans in annoyance. “Am I gonna have to deal with this the rest of my life?”

You nod. “Sorry, Harrington, but I’m never letting that shit go.”

Good, he thinks to himself, even though he pretends to hate it because it makes you laugh. He never wants you to stop.

[deadaliensalad]

I cant stop thinking about trolls, specifically Floyd. Finally decided to just go wild and draw fanart. Im going insane over this little guy

HE IS THE SIZE OF MY FINGER

Pretty short theory/rant under cut

I also really love the idea that he’s been hanging out with the rock trolls since the brothers separated. It could even kinda make sense. His looks kinda remind me of something you could see a rock troll looking like, just mess up his hair a bit. Ofc he has wayy too bright colors to be a rock troll, but he was born as a pop troll. (I can just imagine how much he would stand out oml.) Not to mention, Prince D said in the second movie that trolls can enjoy more than just one type of music. He was also apparently kidnapped 2 months prior to the movie, and the second movie was just a week before the third, meaning Floyd had been missing for 1 month and 3 weeks by the time of the second movie. Someone would probably try to look for him, but after a while of no signs they could’ve just assumed him dead and given up. By the time of the movie the rock trolls wouldn’t even think to ask anyone of the other tribes about him, because he’d been missing for a while and because the whole rock-apocalypse was going on. Only reason i can see it not working is if the rock trolls were against any type of music the entire time and either would’ve just kicked him out or forced him to only play rock (which i don’t believe Floyd would be able to do). Really going into theory mode here: Floyd showing up could be what made Queen Barb find out about the other tribes and first get the idea of the world tour, but only starting to plan it after Floyd disappears and they fail to find him.

I would also love if this was true and every time Floyd plays rock music he gets aggressive and scares the sht out of his brothers lol.

I literally came up with the oc as i drew this, i just wanted some random guy for the pose and suddenly i had a character. He’s just someone that basically clung himself to Floyd immediately when he got to the village. Bro’s kind of a bully but he’s also a loser. (Just wanna say I’m not the type of person that ships ocs with canon, and i’m not doing it here) They end up having a sort of rivalry, as Floyd gets better at Rock and manages to mix it with his pop, he gets a bit popular. Meanwhile Brick has never really tried to gain an audience, but when Floyd gets followers and Brick was already challenging him, he ultimately gets some attention too. They sort of team up and become a duo, but they ensure that they’re still rivals. Inevitable though, they become friends, hang out a lot, sing and dance, like normal trolls. Brick teaches Floyd some specific things about rock and Floyd tells him about his tribe and brothers. Brick would be the devastated when Floyd got kidnapped and would be the last to stop searching. (Never stopped hoping he was alive though). Of course though, he is a rock troll and theres no way he would show how much he cares about Floyd.

Im currently working on colored designs of Brick and Rock!Floyd

[itsmeatballworld]

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}

[ganondoodle]

Hello 👋

Swallowing my nerves at last to send you an ask! I was just wondering, what inspires your designs? Are their inspirations in stuff like movies or games? Or just things you come up with yourself?

i .. honestly its kinda hard to tell, sometimes i just randomly think of something, like some detail, or color combination and try to incorporate that into a design somehow; it can come from anywhere, like the color scheme of a pithaya/dragonfruit is something i have been wanting to make a design with for ages but havent come up with anything good in all those years ;O;

im a very easily fascinated by color, espeically in nature, like sometimes i just stop and stare at something like i froze in time bc i just woooooooooooooah color! i probably look like a weirdo doing that though

its really hard to pinpoint anything specifically, the most is probably .. other artists? i guess? which always makes me nervous bc my memory is shit in most areas of life and i worry myself to pieces whether i unintentionally "stole" an idea and just dont remember and think it was my own, it goes further that sometimes i see something that makes me want to draw a similar concept but dont bc i dont want to 'steal' even if that couldnt be further from my intention (have been accused of that before ..)

that said for my ocs specifically .. most are rather old and have just kinda evolved out of their awkward first iterations (shargons first iteration was a hauro-howl- copy that was really just some human covered in feathers .. another oc was once a hellboy copy but in green- havent drawn nor redeisgn them in ages lol), the biggest inspirations for them is a mix of animals, bonus if you dont see them often- im a big shark, whale and sea creatures in general nerd so i tend to take from them as a priority but always trying to be less directly animal and mostly just .. features that work together

Eadrya is one of the newer OCs- i started to write but then looked at my folders and oh they are from 2017 .., i even made a design timeline for them how much they, and my art, have changed back in 2020, so thats also way outdated now lol (they apparently started as a whale .. thing? its like a pokemon evolution lol)

this is them now (i like this sketch still, though shargons design is now also outdated lmao)

this ones from early 2023 so also outdated now but you get the point

for demons i try to be a bit more wild on shapes and colors while still adhering to the rules of how they work (humanoid form, demon form, animalistic, one element each and more or less made to fit that, 4 arms is very common, look to be bost scary and wild but also something that would make you stop in tracks and stare in awe and fear if you crossed paths)

often times designs just kinda .. happen, i have maybe the idea ok i wanna make something with a white and red pattern also moose or those big horned cows are cool and kinda scary so maybe sth akin to that (though this one is technically a redesign too- its also pretty much entirely different)

for non demons but still non human i go for a much more restrained design, mainly inspired directly by an animal and giving the color scheme a good spin, plus adding unconventional body shapes, like ki'ita is also a good example, her old idea was just orca anthro pirate and just by making the white green instead in her most recent redesign already adds that little spin to it

that can have its pitfalls though, as i often fall into the big arm small head small legs scheme over and over xD

alot of it is trial and error, deciding on the colors can take me hours bc im always searching for my little rule of having one contrast color that shows up in very few places to draw attention to it (like with Eadrya its those bright yellow eyes and thingy at their tail)

and that is all about myy own ocs, when its fandom stuff it works kinda similar though, either in the connections i wanna draw or just thinking it further- like how deities in destiny work also just kinda .. happened like an ever derailing train

like for demise i was at first really just im gonna give him horns bc horns are cool and he got those on the starting mural in the game- so how his hair work? well maybe it isnt hair actually and just unbound energy, im making him a deity too and fit hylias design to his so, yeah, then so how does it work, ok he gotta have a skeleton still, but what if his entire actual body is made up of pure magical energy with its core in the ribcage? with the core in the ribcage >:3c and the scales you see are just like cooled down lava as an armor bc his thing is fire and earth !! the normal blood? is a thin layer of skin imiated from mortals to keep the scales together and flexible so if he ACTUALLY gets hurt hed bleed magic that looks more like lava and any normal blood you see is just the armor- so why does he have a skeleton still instead of being just energy? maybe its gotta be bound to something OH and what if all of the deities started as mortals like a mirror to the trio later on and the gods cannot have direct influence to the worlds so they needed a right hand that is neither god nor mortal but both by killing a mortal by whatever their element will be (demise burned, hylia drowned etc) and their skeleton and spirit is kept but put into a body of magic- OH what if their spirit core is like almost piloting their bodies like a mech in a way bc if youd look close youd see that every strand of magic is actual a hand of their spirit so it makes it more weird and other bc hed be able to reach out with thousands of burning claws of all shapes and sizes like the beheaded forest god at the end of mononoke- SO if hed lose and arm or something all those strands would untangle and rearrange his bones back together-OH MY GOD the whole armor idea works so well for ghirahims dark armor so what if demise had two swords once and lost one and since has forged an armor similar to his own for ghirahim out fo fear of losing him t---

and that all is a process that happens over several weeks and months not rarely while i am drawing something mindlessly and suddendly *have a thought* and omg that makes so much sense-

so "what" inspires my designs? an ever derailing train of thought about making cool thick monsters that arent the evil thing to get rid of for once? cool color schemes? idk it just kinda happens??

[devotion-disorder]

HI HI HI HI!!!! I LOVE YOUR NEW HAIRDO!! CAN YOU PLEASE TELL ME IF THERE'S ANY REQUIREMENTS ON GETTING YOUR HAIR DONE? ALSO WOULD KUUYA EVER LET ANON CONTROL HIM IN ALMOST EVERY ASPECT? LIKE WHAT HE EATS, WEARS, AND DO??? BTW YOUR ART STYLE IS SO YUMMY!!!!!!!!

THANK U!!!! While I think it's possible to go to a point where Kuuya just...relents to every single thing you demand of him, its not like he's going to let go of all rationality so easily (ironic as it sounds). He's a pushover not only to his partner but to most of the other people in his life as well, so he's not going to let go of his commitments just like that. But I think it's definitely possible if you play your cards right.

and info about getting your hair done under the cut:

If you want to do it exactly like how I did, its actually a balayage instead of a full bleach! anyhow, I guess the biggest thing is that bleaching is definitely a commitment. Here's some stuff to note based on my experience:

It depends on your natural hair! my natural hair color is pretty dark, so I needed to bleach it twice to get any sort of bright color. my hairstylist also said apparently my hair is just kinda resistant to bleach, which is why it took literally 9 hours lol (and other complications because Ive gotten it bleached before)

I've always gotten it bleached at a salon and it can be a bit pricey ngl

You can't bleach your hair if it's been chemically treated (eg. straightened / permed)! and you can't do it afterwards either, because of how damaging bleaching is. So i have to style it myself if i want any sort of curl!

you might also need to invest in some decent hair care products + colored shampoo etc etc if you want your hair to not be the texture of straw lmao

More on that, you might want to be careful if your hair is already pretty dry/ brittle to begin with, because bleaching will really truly make it so dry lol

the color can fade pretty quickly, even if you keep up with the proper shampoos and stuff. I expect the pink color in that photo to be gone by at most a month LOL

so yeah...pretty hefty price to pay for funky hair color. That's why I didn't bleach it until ~2 years ago, because I was so hesitant. But!!! I can say that i regret absolutely nothing, because having pink hair rules LOL. I mean this is literally my third time bleaching it!!

[yoinkschief]

Me when I men

Dog Teeth AU Tom Character Reference Sheet

WARNING: Slight NSFW - Mild, Non-Explicit Nudity under the cut

My other husband I love him so much let me kiss you on the lips volatile ball of angst and anger

My poor boy was cursed with his father's hairline and sress he cannot carry,,, to be fair that last bit was his own doing

I sure hope he looks nautical enough,, I mean I want him to nautical INSPIRED, not a member of the marine court, y'know?

My lover said "very Garp of him" and I think that's that One Piece Marine DILF guy so that's a plus :)

I also wanted his outfit to be a direct contrast to Tord's - I mean red and blue are already contrasts on the color wheel but kinda so is green so I wanted a little more driving force: white against Tord's blacker color palette

While white is supposed to represent purity, I assure you, Tom is anything but

It's more a reflection of how the characters see themselves: Tord KNOWS he's a piece of shit and happily flaunts it because no one can do anything about, he holds it with pride even

But Tom doesn't believe he's being an ass, he thinks he's genuinely doing the right thing or at the very least the lesser of the two evils he was forced into, and than on it's own has some merit but this is just to say Tom isn't exactly the "savior" of the story despite what the white palette may suggest

It certainly is what he wants to portray to the public, however

Mmmmm mann

I'm apparently really into sharp contrasts or something cause I keep shading with very bright colors against very dark shadows,,,, it's really fun actually so whateva

Also that cape thing Tom wears ? Worst thing ever, it's like a texture issues but instead of the texture bothering him it's the uneven amount of weight, like he's painfully aware it's on his left shoulder and not his right and it irks him so badly but "it carries his rebellion's symbol so he has to wear it in public" or whatever

He's really only seen wearing it during important or public matters, when it counts

Otherwise that thing's in the bin

Back in his OG style but with the horrible hairline and salt in his hair

He got a day off

He snuck out of the lime light

"Ohh I drew him naked to show off his tattoos and to talk about them"

No I didn't

I'm a liar

I drew him naked cause I wanted to draw his tits so I did, simple

But I will talk about his tattoos some more :)

First of all: That scar on his left shoulder is from the house rubble, that cut we see on his arm at the end of The End pt. 2, yeah that's where that comes from

As for his tattoos,,

I know I've explained these somewhere but I'm explaining them again cause I dunno if I explained it someone's DMs or not lol

The Harpoon tattoos are pretty self explanatory, and I also just wanted to show off colored tattoos on darker skin complexions cause that's the stupidest argument I've ever heard and black/dark skinned people should be able to get colored tattoos

The rest are kind of important to Tom and the story line,,,ish?:

the Shark Teeth tattoo comes from the time he visited Hawaii to find out more about his father and his Father's side of the family and their customs, traditions, his heritage, etc. etc.

To make a long story short: there's a reason his father doesn't talk about his side of the family often, but it didn't ruin his experience while visiting some lesser hostile family members in Hawaii like his cousins, and he even got to surf with them - which was when they decided to convince him to get the Shark Teeth tattoo

On top of Tom just being really obsessed with sharks and having infinite knowledge on all things shark related, it's supposed to represent strength, guidance and protection which I think is very fitting for Tom

The "Wolf" tattoo kinda stands out because Tom's Irish, not Scottish or any sort of Norse. So why the Nordic rune?

Well :)

Back when Tom and Tord lived together, they weren't always at each other's throats

I think I mentioned this in my Strip Mafia AU reference sheet for Tord ignore how I forgot to flesh out Tom's,,, I have it I just haven't cleaned it up yet but I'm gonna rehash it here really quick:

Tord gave everyone in the house a tattoo he thought best represented them, including himself (which was the Ouroboros tattoo seen on his character sheet) and Tom's was the rune for "wolf" and I think there are very obvious reasons behind it

Tom stays around his friends a lot, he's got more bite than bark, very unfriendly to outsiders, the list goes on really

It's so odd seeing Tom in so much white if I'm being honest

I'm so used to him being in like angst blacks and greys and I don't think he's adjusting any better himself LOL

[beauty-in-the-brkdwn]

Contents: could be slightly ooc!Wednesday Addams, fem!gn reader for easy self placement, soft!Wednesday Addams, Wednesday has let someone else inside of her rib cage and she doesn’t know what to do, possessiveness in a way but it’s cute, Enid being Enid, Wednesday is in love (who volunteers to tell her??). I think that’s all I wanted to note. 🩶 I proofread the best I could lol.

Stain.

Well. It appears that Wednesday is in some sort of a predicament.

Y/n is always wearing a lipstick. Which wouldn’t matter. But they also have a habit of giving Wens face kisses, to which Wednesday can’t or doesn’t have time to scrub off the pigment that stains her face each time. So there she goes, walking around Nevermore Academy with a matte magenta kiss stain on the apple of her left cheek. And so on the next day, a glossy midnight blue on the right cheek. And the next day. Satin Nosferatu red on her chin dimple. Wednesday shudders when she notices. Shut up.

Can Wens stop this? Of course, obviously. She could take y/n down with one swoop. Not a fatal swoop — she does care deeply for y/n. Tell anyone that and you won’t live long enough to tell anyone anything else.

Anyway, it’s no shock to Wednesday when Enid inquires about why she allows this to happen. Wednesday sighs heavily from the Gorgon anatomy homework in front of her. “What could you possibly be talking about now, Enid?” She deadpans. Enid has been talking relentlessly for an hour. This is the only part of that that Wednesday caught. Enid shrugs and suppresses a bright, knowing grin.

“It’s just…y/n visibly litters you with kisses and you just…allow it. You wear y/n’s color of the day proudly. Do you own makeup wipes? Nay, a cleansing balm? Wait a minute—“

Suddenly feeling a slight lack of air in her brain and sensing Enid’s inevitable spiral into solving this “mystery”, Wednesday quickly squashes the she wolf’s inquisition.

“That’s quite enough, Enid, it’s dinner time now. Get out.” Wednesday closes her textbook and arises to open the door just as y/n lifts their fist to knock. Y/n has opted for an opaque black this evening. A raven black, specifically. It’s apparent that y/n is trying to kill Wednesday. She’ll have to commend y/n on that attempt later.

Wednesday blinks at her partner. “Hello, cara mia.” Y/n bounces slightly on their heels at the nickname and opts for giving the raven haired writer identical cheek kisses. “Mon cher.” Y/n purred. “Dinner?” Y/n hooked pinkies with the acutely pink-dusted Wednesday Addams — again, mention anything and die — and tugged her gently out of the room that she shares with Enid.

Enid stares at the now empty foyer as if she’s just hallucinated the entire thing.

Wednesday may…or may not…enjoy being marked so tenderly by the bubbly bat that leads her down the corridors of Nevermore. She might like it a lot, indeed.

…..Shut up.

[dadsbongos]

can you make a Itadori x reader where reader is gyaru please? :]

yuuji with a gyaru honey headcanons :) hehe

tried to keep as gender neutral as possible!! but reader is kinda feminine-coded, reader is implied to be like early 20s or laaate teens (18-19), didn’t place this anywhere in canon - just that at some point you two meet when he goes to tokyo

Knew of the subculture, obviously, but didn’t really know anybody who partook in it - especially since he grew up in a small town in the country where nobody was so bold (unlike in Tokyo, where you meet! omg)

Actually almost made you cry (dramatic) when you two first met because he referred to it as a trend 

Verbatim, his goofy ass said “Woah, I didn’t know people still followed that trend!” to your face

He likes how proud and confident you are though!! You don’t care if other people think it looks good because you think it looks good

The only reason you even cared what Yuuji had to say was because he implied your fashion was just another fad

He also likes how passionate you are, often pointing out your idols and collecting old magazines from the gyaru boom when you were little just to keep that early 2000s-ness thriving

“How do you have no idea who this is, Yuu?! That’s Na-chan!” and he thinks you’re so cute when you’re all flustered, giving him lil history lessons, “Helloooo? Suzuki, Nana! She was in Popteen!”

Whenever he has the extra cash, Yuuji also finds it fun to buy you accessories or clothes that fit your specific aesthetic of the gyaru umbrella

Even though he totally turns into a little mess when you end up loving what he gets and are grateful (which was the end goal btw lol, he just can’t handle it)

People who don’t know you two kinda assume that you made Yuuji dye his hair pink and just garner negative opinions about you corrupting some nice young man

Not that you care, and Yuuji knows that, but he still gets upset when people have poor impressions of his hottie partner

And you never tell Yuuji this, but you also assumed that he dabbled in a bit of hair bleaching when you both met - so you ask one day if he can help you with yours and he looks at you all “ :o ?”

“Me?” 🤨👈

As if bro doesn’t have bright pink hair

He does try to help if you decide to wear colored contacts though!! And by help I mean… he wants to be emotional support 

“You’re stronger than me, babe, I would’ve puked getting my finger that close to my eye.”

Hey he tries!!!!

He also likes sitting with you to do your makeup, he finds the process very hypnotizing

Like his own personal grwm video 🙂 wow

He can just blabber on and on and on about whatever while you hum and put your face on

Sometimes for no reason at all, he’ll go from staring at you to staring at the mirror and then back at you

Like if you asked he would actually have no answer as to WHY this mf does that, he just… does

Starts carrying special metal straws around for you so you don’t have to worry about ruining your lipstick if you get a drink in public that doesn’t have a straw (all WASHED and CLEAN and kept SECURELY, don’t worry babe✋ HE’S got you)

And just in case this dude’s green flags couldn’t be more apparent - he’s the type where if you wear thigh high, or generally long, socks/leg warmers then he makes sure they’re in place all day

He gets on a knee and fixes them up so you don’t have to sit or bend down <3

[ell-arts]

Hello ! Time for some Speculative Biology because my mind can't rest !

Ey... have you noticed that each and every Pac-baby looks the same ? Check this out: same roundness, same eyebrows, same noses, same colors. They all start out from somewhere with a base color (pink, orange-ish and blue-ish. Primary colors, that's smart)

I know it might just be lazy copy-pasting of characters but lets take it the other way:

Pacster as a baby looked exactly the same, except he was just as yellow as his parents.

Apparently, as they grow older, they get more defined facial, physical features and colors to match their personality (and probably gender too).

Everyone looks so much more different from each other as grown-ups, either it be in size, color or shape.

Although have you noticed that Pacster himself,, didn't change that much as he grew ? That he doesn't even look like his parents at his age ?

Following that logic, it means that in their universe: Pacster has a baby face. He's just a big baby-faced boy and everyone has to see it.

Words cannot express how much my brain can't deal with this theory

Fam, you've tickled my brain at 1AM in the morning and now I can't go back to sleep-

YES.

YES I LOVE THIS.

I actually never thought of it that way before!

Baby Pac really is the only individualistic baby we've ever seen, and any other babies do look like copy-pasted alternatives of him (which most likely is because they needed to be used for extra stock characters, as you've mentioned). We've seen very few characters as babies, except for a select few. One of them is little Cyli, but she was a child rather than a baby at that stage. Because of so few canon sources, we can speculate a lot on Pacworlder biology and try to fill in the gaps. What fun 👀

I also really love the idea of babies being born as a light/pastel version of the colour they will grow into as an adult. We see most baby Pacworlder as those light shades of colours you mentioned, so I think it could be plausible. Yes ofc baby Pac was the exact same tone as he is now, but let's chalk it up to him being a Yellow One lol.

In fact, yellow IS one of the primary colours...

Maybe the reason he was full-on yellow as a baby is that Pacworlders with pure red, yellow, and blue lineages are always born as bright tones rather than lighter tones, and thus they stay that colour tone throughout their lives instead of going from light to vivid. Just some extra theory-food to chew on 👀

As a bonus, if we compare a baby Pacworlder to a child Pacworlder, it's clear that the eyes and eyebrows are more-or-less the same shape, being that the period between babyhood and childhood is brief and so changes will start becoming apparent, but not always obvious. By the time a Pacworlder reaches the 5-10 age range, their hair, nose shape, and similar features start coming in, whereas certain facial features still look baby-like.

And if we use these two as examples of Pacworlders gaining their distinct features as they grow...

Yup. It's settled.

Pac has Baby Face Syndrome. And I love it.

Now I wanna squish his face even more.

[wizardofrozz]

Bestie! 🥰 I come bearing a first kiss prompt request! If it’s not too much trouble!

"sorry, that was my first kiss." "i could tell." "...." "i'm kidding!"

With Sawbones? Because this feels so on brand lol.

For Tonight

OC Sawbones x gn!reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: mention of war, alcohol, suggestive themes

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt, my wonderful friend ❤️ I had a lot of fun writing younger Sawbones and exploring what he was like close to the beginning of the war. Also, thank you @a-single-tulip and @hetalianskywalker for beta reading 🖤

Coruscant seemed to never sleep. Hundreds of species from across the galaxy mingling in one place, regardless of the galaxy-wide war that had just started. But you couldn’t judge, you were out and about, spending another girls’ night drinking and blowing off steam. Your group had already lost a few members by the time you reached 79s. 

You weren’t against one-night stands, hell you’d had your handful, but finding someone worth your time was exhausting sometimes. You settled at the bar with one of your friends, ordering something non-alcoholic, and giving yourself a break. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that your friend had already caught someone’s attention. Not that you minded, you were silently rooting for them. 

The clink of glass on the bar had you glancing up at the bartender, flashing them a smile as you handed over a few extra credits. They offered you a small, exhausted smile in return before hurrying off to the next customer. You absently swirled your drink, watching the bright colors swirl together as the music picked up around you. 

The dance floor filled in more and you glanced around; less than a year into the war, you were already starting to recognize battalion colors. Red, blue, green, but as you scanned the busy bar, another color caught your eye. Gray was new.

Two clones sat at a table near the bar and you couldn’t help but stare out of curiosity. The gray paint looked newish, barely scuffed, leading you to think they just got back from their first deployment with that color. You didn’t recognize their haircuts or any of the scars you could see; it would be hard not to recognize a long face scar. But there was something about them that screamed higher rank. Suddenly, the man with the face scar stood, arching a brow at his companion, his lips moving slightly before he walked off. Your eyes drifted to the clone sitting by himself. 

He was slouched in his chair, legs spread as he mindlessly swirled his drink, staring off into space with a hard look on his face. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand when he lifted it to scratch his cheek. It was clear the beard was still growing in but you found you didn’t mind it; it seemed to...fit him in a way. Your stomach clenched when his head turned, eyes immediately locking onto you. You froze, your face warming as he tilted his head slightly, his expression never changing. Then he just watched you. It felt impossible to look away but a part of you didn’t want to, not really. 

He jerked his head to the side and it took you a second to realize he was motioning to the now-empty chair across from him. Were you really going to do this? Apparently, the answer was yes when you stood. You could feel his eyes on you the entire way but you didn’t look up to meet them until you carefully settled into the chair opposite him.

“Uh, hi,” you said, trying not to squirm when he just blinked at you. 

“You were staring,” he replied, his voice a bit lower than you expected. Your brows pinched together and you rested your arms on the table top. 

“And so were you,” you countered, arching a brow. It was such a small change in his expression, the ghost of a smile, and you couldn’t help but feel a little triumphant. He shifted down a bit more in his chair, dark eyes trailing over what he could see of your body until his eyes landed on your face again.

“I was,” he stated simply, sipping his drink without breaking eye contact.

“Why?” If the question caught him off guard, it didn’t show on his face. Instead of answering right away, he sipped his drink, rolling his top lip into his mouth before setting the cup down again. 

“Aren’t even gonna ask my name first?” The realization made you flinch, shifting in your seat; you offered your name as an offering first, watching a faint smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

“Ni - Sawbones, but you can call me Bones.” You caught the slip, squinting at him briefly but didn’t ask.

“Well, Bones, I asked you a question,” you teased, moving to take another sip of your drink. You almost wished you had picked something alcoholic because the longer he just stared at you, the more self-conscious you grew. Sawbones’ jaw worked, the grinding of his teeth lost to the chaos of the bar but you could see the small movement in his cheek. 

“Pretty,” he finally admitted, although his eyes never left your face. 

“What?” Your lashes fluttered, still a little unsure if you heard him right. His eyes shifted away for the first time but it was brief, the weight of his stare back almost immediately. 

“You. You’re...pretty,” he forced out. The sour look on his face almost made you laugh; it looked like it pained him to say it. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Sawbones immediately rolled his eyes but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. 

Over the next hour or so, you inched your chair closer to him as the crowd got wilder. Sawbones didn’t say much unprompted, answering your questions, but he seemed more content to listen. He told you about his squad, the Wolfpack, and you found out he was a medic but he didn’t elaborate much, leaving out his rank specifically. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem in much of a rush either, although, you almost didn’t notice when his hand dropped under the table, resting it on your knee when you were close enough. 

The only reason you did notice his hand was because it tightened briefly before it disappeared when another body knocked into your chair. He sat up a little straighter, twisting in his chair, and his hand shot out, yanking another clone back toward him. You couldn’t hear what he said but you did notice the way the other clone’s throat bobbed. Sawbones released him, shoving him back a little hard than necessary. Your brows pinched together when he turned back to you. 

“What was that for?” you yelled over the music. Sawbones’ expression pinched and he leaned closer, turning his head slightly. “I said-” 

The thrum of the crowd suddenly picked up when a new song started, cutting off the rest of your sentence. Sawbones’ nostrils flared, his top lip twitching in irritation and then he was standing, grabbing your wrist in the process. You couldn’t even ask what he was doing before you were being pulled through the crowd. You hurried to keep up, nearly knocking into his back a few times until he tugged you into one of the quieter hallways leading to the back of the bar.

“Okay,” he huffed, still not releasing your wrist. The combination of how ridiculous it was that he dragged you all the way here just to hear what you had to say and the sudden nervous swirling in your stomach, forced a laugh past your lips. Sawbones’ brows knitted together but he didn’t say anything.

“I - I was just asking why you stopped that trooper,” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. 

“He ran into your chair.” It took your brain a second to process, a smile slowly spreading across your face. The gesture only seemed to confuse him more, the crease between his brows deepening. You took a step closer, quickly realizing he still holding onto your wrist. As soon as you brought attention to it, he let go, clearing his throat. Sawbones shifted his weight when you rested a hand on his chest, eyes darting down to look at it before finding your face again. 

“Thank you, that was sweet of you to stand up for me,” you murmured, inching a bit closer. His only response was a stiff nod, calculating eyes watching as you inched closer. It gave you a surge of confidence when one of his hands came to rest lightly on your hip. Sawbones was unbearably tense but the second your lips touched his, he exhaled through his nose, his stance losing some of its rigidity. It wasn’t glaringly obvious but there was a hint of hesitations in the way his lips moved against yours. His eyes stayed shut for a moment when you pulled away, his chest expanding with a long deep breath. 

Sawbones blinked slowly, eyes half-lidded when they met yours and although he didn’t quite smile, there was a pleased look on his face. When he spoke again, his voice was softer and he didn’t break eye contact.

“Sorry,” he huffed, lightly rubbing your side, “that, uh, was my first kiss.” It was endearing to get a glimpse behind his grumpy, stoic mask; it brought a small smile to your face as you brushed your thumb over the edge of his beard.

“I could tell,” was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The silence was suffocating and Sawbones’ brows pinched together but you couldn’t quite tell if it was anger or embarrassment. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Sawbones arched a brow, not looking very amused, although, he didn’t necessarily look angry either. You were starting to wonder if he just wasn’t very expressive. 

His hand continued to mindlessly trace the curve of your waist and he didn’t pull away from your touch; it felt like a good sign. But he also didn’t say anything or really do anything other than blink. 

“I really was joking,” you murmured, letting your hand slide down to the side of his neck. 

“I know,” he replied, his jaw clenching slightly. You blinked at him and almost laughed; it made you wonder if maybe he was just nervous. 

“How about I make it up to you?” you offered, you corner of your mouth lifting. He hummed with interest, tilting his head slightly as his eyes shifted around your face before he nodded. You gently pushed him toward the wall until his back knocked into and pecked his lips one last time before lowering yourself to your knees. 

Sawbones’ eyes widened, his hand hanging in the air where you were just standing as he blinked down at you. “What’re you doin’?”

“Just wait and see,” you chuckled, winking at him. One eyebrow jumped and he swayed with a silent laugh, a small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. 

Sawbones’ head thumped against the wall when his codpiece hit the floor.

Ragu list:

@wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

[starsstuddedsky]

Chapter 2 - What Happens in the Closet...

reader x jihoon

Chapter 1 | masterlist | Chapter 3

summary: when you're caught in a simple lie, the best solution? dig in and stick to your guns until everything inevitably goes wrong and everyone gets hurt

or, a serial dater and a pessimist fake a relationship in the vain hope that nothing will go wrong

genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, lawyer au, coworkers to lovers??? friends to lovers???? fake dating!!!!!

warnings: cursing???? i think that's it???

wc: 5.2k

a/n: tysm for reading!!!! school is kicking my butt this week lol so there's a solid chance there's typos, i'm sorry :(

taglist: open! send an ask or comment!

Jihoon has always trusted his gut. It’s never led him wrong; the schools he chose, the law firms he declined, the clients he advised, they’ve all been good choices. He knows better than to ignore the little feeling deep down in his stomach that doesn’t sit right, warning him that something is wrong. 

Unfortunately, this morning he convinces himself it’s just because he hasn’t had his coffee yet. 

He multitasks, typing a furious reply to Mark from accounting (who has apparently lost the ability to read, since the information he is asking for is in the first e-mail that Jihoon sent) while also heading toward the pretty wall of expensive coffee makers that played a significant role in his decision to accept the job offer here. That’s why he doesn’t notice you until you practically bounce off his chest. 

“My bad, I—” You freeze when you meet his eyes. 

I’m sorry, Jihoon tries to say, except the words don’t come out, and now he’s stuck looking at you with the same wide-eyed stare you are giving him. It’s not often that Jihoon finds himself speechless, but there’s so much he needs to say, to explain. Too much. He hasn’t had the chance to even think about telling you the absolutely idiotic things he said on Saturday night, even after he spent all day Sunday staring at his ceiling and imagining how to explain. The only proof it wasn’t all a nightmare is the texts blowing up his phone this morning from Seungcheol and Joshua who managed to find your Instagram (apparently they approved, though it was tricky to explain why he wasn’t following you). 

“We need to talk,” Jihoon finally says. 

“I really am sorry,” you respond. You lean back against the counter and Jihoon catches a glance of a cup of coffee behind you, a mug decorated in bright letters that spell out your name (Fact #5: you like colors?). 

“Not about that,” Jihoon says. “Well, I guess about that, but not really, it’s complicated, and—” 

“Morning,” a familiar deep voice says. Jihoon turns around to find Wonwoo behind him. His eyebrows are raised well over his round glasses, forming shapely arches. He slings his arm over Jihoon’s shoulder, glancing between Jihoon and you. 

A sudden thought crosses Jihoon’s mind. Even though Wonwoo was shipped off on a last minute “emergency” work trip over the weekend, there is no way that news as inconceivable as Jihoon finally losing his lifelong title of ‘bitchless’ wasn’t the first thing Wonwoo saw the second he turned his phone off airplane mode. Meaning that the side eye he is giving him now is because he’s about to call Jihoon out on the worst lie he’s ever told and turn him into the biggest laughing stock the world has ever seen. 

He really should have listened to his gut. 

“So,” Wonwoo says, “How long has this been going on?” His grip on Jihoon’s shoulder tightens. 

You frown. “What are you talking about?” 

“You and him,” Wonwoo says, gesturing between you and Jihoon. 

Jihoon elbows Wonwoo, pushing the taller man off. “Not here,” he mutters. 

Before he can say anything else, you gasp. “It’s not what you think!” 

Jihoon grabs your hand before you can say anything else, pulling you past a bewildered Wonwoo. He ignores the stares of the paralegals and lawyers in the halls as he pulls you past the peering eyes, into the nearest open door, which, unfortunately, is the janitor’s closet. There goes any chance at subtlety. 

“Jihoon?” You ask as he fumbles along the wall trying to find the light switch. He’s still holding your hand, which he only realizes when you lightly tug it out of his grasp. 

He finally finds the switch, flipping it on to find that it connects to a solitary lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that flickers and is definitely a safety hazard. You’re standing directly under the light. Because the light is tinted yellow, Jihoon gets the faint impression that you’re glowing. 

You glance between Jihoon and the door behind him, which he realizes he is accidentally blocking. He steps to the side, not wanting you to think that he’s trapping you in here, though he doesn’t have a contingency plan if you run away now. Not that he has any actual plan right now; none of his Sunday-morning-imaginary-conversations took place in a room that smells like bleach and has lighting that hasn’t been touched since the ‘80s. 

“I swear, I have no idea how Wonwoo found out,” you say quickly. “No one knows other than my friends, and I told them we’d both get fired if anyone at work found out, so I really don’t know how he found out, but I swear, I’ll tell him it was just a rumor and it isn’t true at all. I’m really sorry, I know you said you wanted nothing to do with me, so, whatever I can do, I’ll do it, just please don’t report me to HR.” 

Jihoon felt bad before, but now if guilt could build a time machine, he’d go all the way back to elementary school and beg his mother to take him with her when she left. Maybe then you wouldn’t be looking at him with actual tears threatening to fall. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s made someone cry, but somehow it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s the one at fault.  

“So the thing is,” Jihoon says. “I think it might have been me.” Thankfully your frown doesn’t send the tears tumbling down, but your confusion means that he must, unfortunately, continue to explain. “I sort of told a few of my friends that I was dating someone from work.” He can’t bring himself to say it all, not with his own words echoing in his ears berating you for doing something so foolish. “It’s a very long story, but they believe that I am dating you, and I let them believe it.” 

“You let them believe…” you repeat softly, as though you still aren’t understanding. Jihoon can’t blame you; he hardly believes it himself. 

“Well, believe isn’t really the right word, because they didn’t see any evidence.” Jihoon had also spent a lot of time on Sunday trying to explain why he didn’t have any photos of you, let alone with you. “So I may have told them that you are coming to my friend’s thing on Saturday. As my date.” 

You stare at him. If you keep looking at him with a frown that deep you’re going to get wrinkles, but he figures now is not the time to mention that. There’s nothing he can do now but wait, (most of) the truth now out in the open. He holds his breath as you open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. 

“Are you asking me to fake date you?” You finally ask. 

“Yes?” Jihoon says. 

Fact #6: You have a ridiculous laugh.

He discovers this as you burst into laughter, smile finally breaking the frown as you gasp for breath, clutching your sides. It sounds like something between a machine gun and a dying deer, not that he’s heard either of those sounds in real life before. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, because it seriously doesn’t look like you can breathe, and he’s starting to worry that he’s actually broken you. 

“You told them you’re fake dating me?” You manage between gasps. 

Jihoon sighs. “Yes. Look, I know an apology is overdue—”

“Way overdue.” 

“Way overdue,” Jihoon says because you’re mad enough at him already and he can survive appeasing you at least a little. “So I do apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and threatened HR, and I should have talked to you before I did anything as dumb as telling my friends that we are dating.” 

“Obviously,” you say.

“Are you okay?” Jihoon asks now that you’ve mostly stopped laughing, wiping a few tears from your eyes. 

“I don’t really know how to answer that,” you say. 

Jihoon nods. “I don’t blame you for being mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” you say quickly. “Shocked and stunned and a lot of other words, but mad isn’t one of them. Mostly, it’s funny.” 

“Funny.” 

“Funny!” 

Jihoon frowns as you burst into giggles again, though you stifle them quickly at his glare. 

“Seriously, I mean, who goes off on their coworker and then not even a day later does the same exact thing,” you say. “I’ve always known you were a little… But that’s beside the point, because you are, in fact, asking me to fake date you?” 

“Wait, a little what?” Jihoon asks. 

You shake your head, leaning against a metal pole, then immediately straightening when you almost knock over a shelf of toilet paper. “I don’t think I’m obligated to answer that.” He opens his mouth but you raise your eyebrows. “If you ask again I’m going to answer something that you won’t like.” 

“Is it the truth?” 

You shrug. “Do you want me to come to the thing on Saturday and pretend to be ridiculously in love with you or not?” 

“You don’t have to be ridiculous,” Jihoon mumbles. He takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that this is still a good idea somehow (eventually he settles for the conclusion that it’s much too far to turn back now). “Yes, I would like you to please be my date on Saturday.” 

“Can you say that again so I can record it?” You ask a little too innocently. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please.” 

“You’ve barely heard me say five words,” Jihoon says. “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” 

“With the exception of literally three days ago when you yelled at me. And the presentation you gave in eighth grade on the importance of fish in the ecosystem of the creek by the school and you were so excited because you brought your fish except it died on the way to school and you were so upset you locked yourself in the bathroom and they had to call your dad to pick you up.” You look a little too smug. 

“If you tell anyone about that, I’m telling them about the time you wrote an entire essay on symbolism in the Harry Potter series over the summer, and then it wasn’t even accepted because they said extra credit was unethical.” 

“You remember that?” You frown at him. “Look, I was a different person back then. J.K. Rowling was a different person back then.” 

“Pretty sure a TERF is always a TERF,” Jihoon says. It’s easy to fall into banter with you. He finds himself wondering why he’s never spoken to you like this before, until he remembers Fundamental Fact #3: you are an idiot in love. 

More than anything, he wants to leave this closet. Run away and lock himself in his room and dive into his work (and tell Mark that he’s an idiot who can’t read) and forget all of this. But you still haven’t said yes. 

“I will do whatever you want,” he says, quickly adding, “within reason,” because your eyes light up a little too brightly. “You can tell your friends that we’re fake dating. We can actually fake date. I can write a contract and everything, just, please, come with me?” 

Jihoon has always thought that your kindness made you weaker, but he’s grateful for it now because you smile at him and say, “Yes.” 

He hopes his sigh of relief isn’t too obvious. He thinks you might say something else (“You have to pretend to be my date to my friends in return,” or “I was just kidding, you’re insane and I won’t do it,” or “Don’t fall in love with me”) but before you can open your mouth, there’s a knock at the door. 

“Hey,” Wonwoo says, voice muffled. “I hate to interrupt, but yn, we have a meeting in like two minutes.” 

You glance at the time on your phone and curse, pushing past Jihoon and practically bursting out of the closet. He loses sight of you sprinting toward your office as the door swings shut. Jihoon seriously considers staying here for the rest of the day (possibly the rest of his life), but the door creaks open again to reveal Wonwoo, pinstripe suit and all. He folds his arms and leans against the door. 

“We need to talk.” 

Jihoon has never been scared of any of his friends, but fear is the only word he can use to describe how he feels now. The final beats to Jihoon’s life sounds a lot like Wonwoo’s footsteps as they echo while he follows the tall man to his own office. This is it. The jig is up before he even shows you to his friends. Well, it was an idiotic plan in the first place and at least he didn’t embarrass you alongside everyone else. 

Wonwoo has the decency to wait for the door to shut behind him. 

“I can’t believe you,” Wonwoo says, shaking his head. “I leave for one weekend, and you tell everyone that you’re dating yn?” 

“I know, I—” 

“I mean, seriously, we’ve been friends for how long now?” Wonwoo pauses to count on his fingers. “Eight years? Nine? We work together! I know yn better than any of them, and I had to hear from Mingyu that you two are dating?” 

Jihoon frowns. Did Wonwoo actually believe him? 

“Honestly, I’m offended,” Wonwoo says. “Seriously, how am I not the first person you think of? I’ve been saying for years that you and yn would be perfect together.” 

“I didn’t mean to tell them,” Jihoon says. “They were just being annoying about it, so it slipped out.” 

Wonwoo shakes his head. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Right under my nose and I didn’t see it.” 

“Well, you are like a point away from being legally blind,” Jihoon says. 

Wonwoo glares at him. “You owe me details.” 

“Don’t you have a meeting?” Jihoon says. 

Wonwoo’s phone rings. He answers in a hushed tone, shooting Jihoon a look that clearly says this isn’t over. Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief as Wonwoo exits, resting his head on his desk. What just happened? 

A small part of him had hoped that Wonwoo was going to call him out and this entire mess would be over. But he believed him? Jihoon, who had only ever scoffed at you, despite Wonwoo constantly talking about how well you would work together. Well, he’s clearly having the last laugh now. 

Jihoon takes a deep breath and sits up. He still has a job to do. Though his life is clearly falling apart, he should at least make sure Mark from accounting doesn’t mess up his paycheck (again). And he has a contract to write. 

.

.

Objectively, Jihoon has to admit you look good. It has nothing to do with opinion; it’s a fact (fact #8: you look good in formalwear, though he makes a mental note for an addendum that says that’s the whole point of formalwear). Jihoon spends a normal amount of time looking at you (counting to five seconds before looking away), then ushers you into the backseat of the limo because for some reason you aren’t moving. 

“Do I get to know why we’re in a limo or why I had to buy new clothes?” You ask, taking care to make sure none of the flowy garment got stuck in the door. 

“I told you I’d cover that,” Jihoon says. 

“No, it was kind of bad that I didn’t have anything this nice, and now I have something to wear to the end of the year gala,” you say. “Way to dodge the question though.” 

Jihoon grimaces. It’s difficult to judge how people react to finding out about his friends (given that he has “little-to-no” experience introducing anyone to them), and he isn’t entirely certain that you won’t jump out of the car when he tells you the truth. But apparently you can’t sit in silence for long. 

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell me, then I’m going to guess,” you say. “Are we going to a wedding?” 

“No.” 

“A funeral?” 

“Why would I wear a tux to a funeral?” 

“Hey, I don’t judge,” you say with a shrug. “It looks very good on you, by the way.” Jihoon glances at you but you’re twisting your face into a strange frown as you think, so you don’t notice the way his ears tinge pink at the comment. “Prom?” 

“We’re grown adults.” 

“Prom needs chaperones,” you say. “Besides, you never went to prom.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t catch my date making out with someone else either, so, it wasn’t that bad of a night for me.” 

“Ouch,” you say. “That was low.” 

Jihoon remembers that you are technically doing him a favor today (if saving his life counts as a favor), so he says, “Well, there’s no way you could know I was in my pajamas watching anime all day, so, it wasn’t fair. Sorry.” Maybe around you he’ll get used to apologizing. He can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. 

Luckily, you accept his peace offering, flashing a smile that is quickly becoming familiar. Your face twists into that strange frown again, and Jihoon determines Fact #9: you are unwaveringly stubborn. 

“Oh!” You gasp. “Are you secretly rich?” 

Jihoon snorts. “What makes you think that?” 

“Well, you picked me up in a limo wearing a tux, after telling me to dress in fancy, expensive clothes,” you say. “Plus you are super secretive about your personal life, and, I don’t know, you give off rich guy vibes. Unless I’m totally wrong?” 

“I’m not rich,” Jihoon says. “I mean, I guess I have a decent amount of money saved since I mostly just work and go to the gym and the only thing I really buy is groceries.” Jihoon realizes just how boring he sounds. “I mean, I do go out. Just not often, and I buy… things, anyways, I’m not rich.” 

“Sure,” you say. You turn to look out the window, but Jihoon doesn’t miss the laugh poorly disguised as a cough. 

Luckily (because Jihoon is absolutely positive you would have continued interrogating him), the limo stops and you don’t have to guess anymore. 

“You’re joking,” you say, whipping around in your seat to stare at him. 

Jihoon can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy seeing you speechless. You look back and forth between him and the chaos on the street. 

“You said you weren’t secretly rich!” You say. “How did you get tickets for a literal red carpet event?” Your face is centimeters away from pressing against the glass, breath quickly making it too foggy to see. “This is the Eternals sequel!” 

“You like Marvel?” 

“No, actually I think the franchise has a lot of issues.” 

Jihoon gasps, but you’re already climbing out of the limo, turning back to face him with a smile. It’s so bright Jihoon forgets why he was mad. 

“Come on,” you say. You hold out your hand, and after a moment, Jihoon takes it. He doesn’t let go when he gets out of the car, tightening his fingers around yours, anchoring you to his side. 

It’s chaotic, but not nearly as chaotic as he knows it will be soon. Half the press haven’t even arrived yet, and the theater is mostly surrounded by the scatter of crew members and invited guests that aren’t celebrities. Jihoon spots Mingyu first, his tall head standing out in the crowd. 

“You ready?” Jihoon asks, turning to look at you. You’re still staring at everything, unable to hide your grin. Maybe he should have warned you, but it’s kind of fun to see you like this. Bright. 

Mingyu literally shouts when he sees Jihoon. He watches as Mingyu’s eyes practically lock on to you, and he starts pushing his way towards you, Wonwoo and Seungcheol in tow. 

“The tall, overly excited one is Mingyu,” Jihoon whispers. “You know Wonwoo, and—” 

“Seungcheol, right?” You glance at Jihoon. 

He frowns. “How did you know that?” 

“We did go to the same college, you know.” Right. Because this wasn’t complicated enough. Jihoon starts to think that all of this is a mistake, but it’s hardly the first time today, and as Mingyu approaches, all he can do is tighten his hand around yours and commit. 

“Jihoon!” Mingyu says as soon as he’s close. His voice carries, more than a few people casting a glance at him. He takes another step, but his foot gets caught on something (knowing Mingyu, it’s nothing), and he’s sent tumbling to the ground. Neither Seungcheol nor Wonwoo attempt to catch him, letting the tall man collapse on the ground. 

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You ask over Seungcheol’s giggling. Wonwoo helps Mingyu up, but he’s laughing as well, and even Jihoon’s nerves aren’t enough to stop him from breaking a smile. 

“I’m used to it,” Mingyu says, walking much slower. His hair took the worst of the fall, now a disheveled mess. Jihoon wonders how long it’ll take for him to notice. 

“Mingyu, Seungcheol, this is yn,” Jihoon says. “My real, living, breathing, human date.” 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Mingyu says, shaking your free hand. “We’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Really?” 

“No, this is Jihoon we're talking about, we were lucky to get your name.” 

“That sounds more like the man I know,” you say, turning to flash a smile at him before facing Mingyu again. Mingyu glances at your other hand, fingers still intertwined with his, and Jihoon thinks he might actually believe it. 

“We’ve met before,” Seungcheol says. “Though there was a lot of alcohol, and I don’t really remember it all that well.” 

“Georgia’s Bar, right?” You say. It takes all of Jihoon’s self control not to react. Surely he would have remembered seeing you at the only bar his friends could drag him to during college? 

“Probably,” Seungcheol says. “I was getting my MBA, and there were a lot of bars. Very few that we could get Jihoon to go to, though.” He raises his eyebrow. “That’s why we're all a little surprised that someone actually managed to get him out of his apartment and away from his work.” 

Jihoon glances between you and Seungcheol as you think about the answer to what is obviously a test. “I don’t think I really got him away from his work.” You turn to Jihoon with what can only be described as a warm, loving smile. You’re really good at this. “But I’m pretty much married to my job too, so it works.” 

Seungcheol nods but Jihoon can tell he doesn’t believe fully, at least not yet. “We should go inside before everyone else gets here and this turns into a mess.” He turns to head into the cinema, leaving everyone else to follow. Mingyu and Wonwoo start chatting about Mingyu’s (alleged) drama at work that has something to do with a secretary, the CEO of the company, and his famous but estranged brother. Jihoon doesn’t bother to listen, turning to look at you. 

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “He doesn’t believe us.” 

“Not yet,” Jihoon whispers. “Give him time, he’s just particular.” He pauses, then says, “The detail about Georgia’s was good.” 

You nod. “It was true.” 

“How many times have you met him?” 

“Just once,” you say. “You were there too.” 

Before Jihoon can ask anything else, Wonwoo calls, “Hey, lovers, are you coming or what?” They’re already inside the cinema, waving for you to catch up or get left behind. You flash Jihoon a determined smile and squeeze his hand, jogging to catch up to the rest of the guys. 

Jihoon can’t help but wonder how long your lives have been like this, the roots of two trees that brush against each other but never tangle. Until now. 

“Do we have an ETA on the kid?” Wonwoo asks as you settle into the theater seats. You’re doing a good job of acting natural, or at the very least, not gawking at every other detail of the (admittedly stunning) theater. 

“You’re not calling him that now, too,” Jihoon says. “He’s a grown adult. Also, he should be here soon.”

“How’s the kid?” Seungcheol asks, folding his arms. Jihoon rolls his eyes with the emphasis on kid. “No nervous breakdowns?” 

“He was fine when I called him earlier,” Mingyu says. “As soon as the cameras are on him, he’ll put a smile on.” 

Seungcheol grunts but still looks worried. Jihoon would tell him that he cares too much, but he knows Seungcheol will just say that it’s to make up for Jihoon not caring at all, so he doesn’t quite see the point. Besides, it’s Seungkwan; Jihoon is pretty sure all his friends have a soft spot for the younger man, Seungcheol especially. 

“He must be here,” Mingyu says when screams erupt from outside. He checks his watch. “A little early, isn’t he? Doesn’t he normally make a grand entrance?” 

Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you frown at him, clearly aware that you’re missing something very important. He studies the lights and pretends not to notice your glare. 

Most of the commotion is at the entrance, though the bulk of the press aren’t allowed into the theater. Jihoon hears more than he can see, but he knows it’s Seungkwan and the rest of the star-studded cast that are used to being the center of attention. He doesn’t miss you craning your neck to catch a glimpse of why everyone is staring. 

Seungkwan’s blonde head appears from the crowd, but he makes the rounds first, checking in with every staff member, shaking hands and taking pictures. Ever the perfect celebrity. 

Still, he doesn’t miss how Seungkwan locks in on you, grabbing a tall skinny man and whispering a few words before striding across the theater to where the entire group sat. 

“That’s Boo Seungkwan,” you whisper. “And he’s walking over here.” 

“I didn’t tell you we’re friends?” Jihoon says. 

If looks could kill, Jihoon would be dead, but it’s worth it because even with murder on your mind you (objectively) look good. Maybe it comes from being a divorce lawyer—Jihoon wonders if this is the glare you use when the to-be-divorced couples bicker, then wonders if he’s thinking a little too much about your glare. 

The rest of his friends greet Seungkwan as if this is normal, which, technically, it is. Except this is a blockbuster movie premiere and Jihoon is using it to soft launch his (fake) relationship to his world famous best friend. To your credit, you manage to shake his hand and greet him normally. 

If Jihoon is being honest with himself, Seungkwan is the only one he really feels guilty lying to. It doesn’t sit right, even though Seungkwan is partially to blame for thinking Jihoon’s happiness is reflected directly onto his love life. It doesn’t help that Seungkwan knows exactly how to guilt him, smiling and greeting you as if this is normal. Jihoon knows him too well, seeing the suspicion behind his friend’s eyes. As if convincing Seungcheol isn’t hard enough. 

“So are all of Jihoon’s rich and famous?” You ask after he introduces himself. 

“Hey! We have the same student loans,” Wonwoo says. 

“I’m not rich,” Seungcheol says. 

“Yeah, but your family is, so basically the same thing,” Mingyu says. 

“Not the same thing,” Seungcheol says, glaring at Mingyu, who, honestly, should have known better than to bring that up. But because it’s Mingyu, he laughs it off, and soon enough Seungcheol is smiling too. 

“Joshua’s pretty broke too,” Minghao says. “He doesn’t make a million dollars for crying in front of a green screen.” 

“I told you, my character has grown since then,” Seungkwan says. 

“You cry on an actual different planet?” Seungcheol asks. 

“I’m convinced none of you actually pay attention to the movies,” Seungkwan says with an overdramatic sigh. “We were on Earth for the entire movie.” 

“Wasn’t there a bit where Gemma Chan yelled at someone in space?” Jihoon asks. 

“Nerd,” he’s pretty sure he heard you whisper through a fake cough. 

“I don’t know if that counts, she wasn’t actually there.” Seungkwan rounds on you. “I don’t suppose you remember?” 

“Weren’t you technically in space right at the start?” 

Seungkwan cocks his head, thinking back. “Huh, oh yeah. I forgot that.” 

Jihoon has about a million questions that he wants to ask you, mostly related to Marvel movies and the fact that you’ve seen them all, even though you clearly don’t like the franchise. He curbs them because he knows you’ll call him a nerd, plus Seungkwan almost looks like he approves. 

“Do I have a lot to look forward to today?” You ask. “Someone didn’t tell me where we're going, so I couldn’t look up any critic reviews.” 

Seungkwan winces. “I don’t like looking at those.” 

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I saw at least three headlines talking about the prodigy dropping another masterful work of acting, or whatever they say about people like you.” 

“Not a prodigy,” Seungkwan mutters. 

“Either way, whatever Seungkwan is in, it’s good,” Seungcheol says, patting Seungkwan on the back. “And he gets paid.” 

“That’s the most important part,” Wonwoo says. 

Seungkwan looks like he wants to say more, but the director of the film waves him down and he’s forced to say a hasty goodbye, promising to meet with them later. 

Jihoon feels your hand squeeze his tight enough to cut off his circulation. He turns to face you in the dim lighting, finding you with a disarmingly sweet smile. 

“When were you going to tell me?” You ask, voice so sweet he almost believes you aren’t upset. 

“I thought it would be fun if it was a surprise?” Jihoon says. 

You lean in close to him, your breath mixing with his, smelling faintly like clementines and something else citrusy. For some godforsaken reason, Jihoon thinks you are about to kiss him. “You’re going to regret this.” 

He opens his eyes and you are gone, laughing at some joke Mingyu made about PDA. Jihoon is vaguely aware it’s at his expense, something to do with how red his ears are, but he’s too busy trying to get his heart to at least pretend like it isn’t about to explode out of his chest. Why the hell did he think you were going to kiss him? Why is he disappointed that you didn’t? Jihoon wonders for the thousandth time if it’s not too late to call the whole thing off, but the lights in the theater are dimming and a spotlight is put on the director, who gives an unnecessarily long speech about what a labor of love this movie was to make, and then the movie is starting, and it’s too late to run away.

[meowmansion]

My Newly Proposed Pro-ship Flag!

PS: Sorry if the image ID is bad. I don't write them much... /lh

This flag is called the "deviate flag," or "deviant [proship] flag."

A new emoji code I have made to fit this flag is 🌤️🦋.

More below the cut ^^ (Warning: long post!)

I made these flags because, to be honest, I don't connect with any other proship flags. I do like quite a lot of the flags, but I could never find one with a message I connected to the point I'd use the flag.

The meanings of the colours on the flag are as follows:

Dark green = Maturity & responsibility

Green = Creativity

Light green = Anti-abuse

Cream = The proship community as whole

Light brown = Respect for trauma survivors and those who use dark tropes in fiction to cope

Brown = Respect for artists in minorites

Dark brown = Respect for fandom history

I also chose natural colours because I thought it was a nice change of pace from all the cutesy-coloured flags! (Nothing wrong with cute, bright, colorful flags, though! I just don't personally prefer them.)

The emoji code (🌤️🦋) itself doesn't have a real meaning, I just thought it was cute.

However, over time, I've started to interpret it as this:

The sun and cloud (🌤️) represents how something so important could be hidden by something, but still exist. This is relevant because it's become apparent that modern fandom has been forgetting about early fandom culture and rules, even though these things haven't died in any way.

The butterfly (🦋) represents how one could start off as something sometimes seen as "weird" (referencing the caterpillar) only to turn into something seen as beautiful. This is relevant because I personally like to see it as how, in a lot of stories I've heard, many proshippers felt much happier and safer when they joined proship spaces (and left antiship spaces, if applicable).

The reason I chose to call it the "deviant (proship) flag" is because when I think of someone who is proship, I think of someone who is "deviant" (positive connotations) in what content they consume and create. I also think of someone who is responsible in the actions they take to share their art and interests, and has a maturity that is earned through being this sort of "deviant."

However, this flag recognizes not every proship person consumes "taboo" or "dark" content.

I have no real rules regarding this flag, just use it like you would a normal flag. Edits of this flag are allowed, and credit is appreciated but not necessary.

Feedback from fellow "proshippers" is encouraged ^^

[Image ID: A rectangular box with vibrant pink and purple colours with flower and paw print patterns in the background. White text at the top reads: "Anyone can use our terms, recoining is not necessary." White text at the bottom reads: "Flags may not be used by radqueers, sysmeds, T.R.A.S.H., or anyone whose beliefs go against the flag's general purpose." End ID]

(Edit Oct 29, 2023: Added the box thingie bc I forgot it!! Lol)