#and it’s always over shit that doesn’t matter and that doesn’t make me actually stupid

[loaksky]

I don't know if you've done this yet but can we have mean ellie is FWB with the reader but she's jealous when the reader is into someone else 👀

i have not + you know what anon i could kiss your brain rn ! i definitely view this pairing as separate from this fwb!ellie x reader, but this could also technically fit in their early timeline since nothing else has really been established about them...

content warnings: language, ellie being an asshole (very on brand for me to write ig lmao), reader actually sticks up for herself in this one, but eventually folds (i would too for ellie ngl) 18+ content that includes; brief mentions of strap-on sex, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving).

author’s note: i’ve been so unmotivated to write, but this request awoke something in me idk...also, if you’ve sent in a tlou request (yes even from june), i’m still cooking i promise! (and not in the way that ellie keeps promises in this fic lmfaoo).

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

You didn’t want to say anything at first, couldn’t be too sure under the lowlights of the party with bass-y music that makes both the house and your chest throb with every beat, but you see it clear as day on the drive home and a passing streetpost illuminates the purpling flesh on Ellie’s carotid.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when your fingertips brush over the blooming bruise, obviously fresh and warm to the touch.

“What the fuck?” she huffs, pulling the drawstrings on her hoodie to scrunch to fabric around her neck.

“Who gave you that?” you ask softly, expression on your face enough to devastate, but Ellie’s always been different, an anomaly of sorts when it came to the matters of her stony heart.

“Why does it matter?” she scoffs.

“Ellie,” you sigh. “You know why it matters.”

She’s swinging a right at the intersection, nearing the residential you live in.

“It doesn’t,” she grunts. “Because at the end of the night, it’s you I’m fucking, isn’t it?”

And you don’t know why the way she puts it stings so much this time around when she frequently reminds you both directly and indirectly that while you may be her most recurrent hookup, you’re definitely not her only one, but it does. Does so much that you’re turning your face towards the window to hide the tears that are pooling.

Because all you wanted was Ellie. Wanted her in ways she wasn’t willing to give you. Wanted to learn and grow with her, but she wasn’t budging and lately, you’ve been feeling stupid.

When she turns into your neighborhood, you speak.

“Just drop me off, please.”

Ellie’s slowing down, palm finding purchase on your thigh.

“Babe, c’mon,” she practically whines, kneading the skin there. “Don’t be like that.”

You shift away from her, gather your purse from your feet as she continues through the different apartment buildings.

“Babe,” she calls again when you barely wait for her to stop and you’re pushing the car door open.

And maybe it’s childish, but you’re wounded and quite frankly done with the back and forth.

“She’s probably waiting for you,” you add petulantly.

“Babe, seriously. You’re being annoying,” she warns.

“And you’re being a dick,” you bite back. “First, you drag me out to a shitty party where I don’t know a single soul even though you promised we could just chill and smoke while watching that stupid fucking space exploration documentary, then when we get there, you’re leaving me with a bunch of sleazy assholes while you do god knows what with the same girl you’ve been telling me not to worry about for the last five weeks.”

And of things Ellie’s looks horrified at, it’s the fact that you’d been observant enough to recognize the girl she’d thought she whisked away before your prying eyes could catch on.

“I’m not fucking stupid, Ellie,” you say with resignation. “I tried to turn the other cheek because I really fucking like you, but you treat me like shit and I deserve better than that.”

Of course you don’t know it, but those fucking words bite. They’re an automatic trigger because unbeknownst to you, both of your friend groups think the same thing. Aren’t afraid to let her know otherwise. And she’s obviously well aware that, Christ, yes, you absolutely deserve better. Is actually really insecure on the low because she doesn’t know why you stick around with a piece of shit like her when you could have so much better.

So she does what she does best when she feels like a kicked puppy and lashes out.

“Of course Little Miss Princess deserves better,” she mocks. “What fucking ever. I don’t know why I flaked on a ten for such a stuck up bitch.”

And you see right through her, know that she’s all bark and no bite, but it hurts regardless, when you step off to the side and she’s leaning over the center console to shut the passenger side door herself.

She’s revving off without another word, and to add insult to injury, your phone’s pinging obnoxiously once you get out of your well-needed shower.

els <3 sent a video.

It’s the blonde from the party. Of course those dumb LEDs pulse red in the background, making Ellie and her flavor of the night look a thousand times more seductive. Ellie’s kissing her sloppily, whispering things against her mouth that you can’t quite pick out.

els <3 sent a video.

The next video’s grainy, but you can hear the tell-tale squelch, the girl’s shaky moans and Ellie egging her on. Your cheeks are on fire and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

els <3 sent a photo.

You wonder if the girl knows, that Ellie’s sending you the most compromising footage of her. If she knows how grimy the green-eyed girl truly is, sending someone else pictures of her stuffed hilt-deep with the same strap Ellie’d used on you.

els <3: still think u deserve better ?

You delete the thread and her phone number.

Ellie expects you to crack first, you always do. Because even if she isn’t shit, she’s your biggest weakness and she knows it. Can say so with confidence, because maybe the same can be said about her.

She hasn’t fucked you in nearly two weeks and not a single body she touches can elicit the same feeling that you do. And in the back of her brain, she knows why, but Ellie’s prideful. Won’t dare admit it out loud.

So she cracks first. Texts you between classes.

me: i have a few joints + a coupon to tino’s if you’ll let me come over… :(

my #1 girl: Who’s this?

Ellie throws her head back and groans.

me: cmon baby, dont b like that. im srry i was mean, ill make it up to u

my #1 girl: I think you have the wrong number…

me: babe stopppp

Her text bubbles turn green after that message.

You forget that Ellie has a copy of your key because she’s never used it in the five months that the two of you have been in this precarious situation, and your heart falls square to your ass when you emerge from the shower to find her setting up a box of pizza on your coffee table.

“Ellie, what in the fuck?”

She feigns nonchalance, pulls a few joints from her jacket pocket. But the aroma of weed or the grease of the pizza isn’t what makes you wrinkle your nose.

It’s the smell of flowers that waft from a pretty vase sitting on the cut away of the kitchen counter.

Your gaze fixes on the girl who settles on your couch.

“You need to leave,” you say stonily.

“But I just got here,” Ellie says. “And I brought you pizza…and flowers.”

“I’m sorry, did you think that a five dollar pizza and a bouquet of flowers from Saver’s was going to fix the fact that you’ve been so fucking awful to me for the past half year?”

Ellie shrinks.

“Well, no…but—”

“You practically sent me a homemade porno of you and some other girl you fucked to get back at me for setting a boundary, Ellie,” you say sharply. “What, did it not work out? Did you—”

“I’m trying to be the bigger person here,” Ellie sighs. “I am sorry. I just—”

“You what?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay?” Ellie snips. “God, you’re talking down to me like you’re a fucking therapist or my fucking mom and—”

You’re shaking your head, crossing the room and picking up the pizza from the coffee table to shove in her arms.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter. “Kenzie’s going to be here any minute now—”

“Who the fuck is Kenzie?” Ellie balks, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Ellie, don’t,” you warn.

“Don’t what?” she practically seethes. “You think I’m just gonna be okay that you’re spending time with some other stupid bitch? Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re mine.”

And she shouldn’t have glanced down at your cleavage as you cross your arms over your chest, but Ellie’s weak and you look too fucking pretty for your own good.

“Yours?” you ask incredulously. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes, mine,” Ellie affirms. “All fucking mine and no one else’s.”

“God, you’re so full of shit, Ellie,” you scoff. “I’m supposed to be loyal to you and be okay with you having a roster, but I can’t go on a date with someone I genuinely like because it fucks with your brain to have a legitimate interest in somebody?”

“You like her?” Ellie asks in disbelief. “Like, like her, like her?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation.

And that makes Ellie’s jaw set, makes her narrow her eyes at you.

“You like her more than me?” she taunts.

And maybe she has you there, but you refuse to give her the upper hand.

“I could learn to,” you answer honestly. “Because Kenzie is kind to me. She doesn’t treat me like an option, doesn’t act like she’s God’s gift to the fucking world and that I should kiss her feet for giving me the time of day. And I get it, you don’t like me the way I like you—”

“You think I don’t like you?” Ellie asks like the thought is unfathomable.

“I don’t think, Ellie, I know. We went into this without any strings attached, we established that it’d just be fucking, but I was honest in telling you that I caught feelings and you used that to your advantage. You lied to me on multiple occasions, you make me look stupid, like I’m fucking crazy.”

And you wish you’d gotten through your spiel without choking up, but Ellie’s the first girl you’d liked in a while even if she was bad news. And when you thought that maybe you could shake her, she’d come barreling back.

“Baby,” she murmurs, face softening as she’s crossing the space between you two to cup your face in her hands.

“Don’t call me that,” you hiccup, trying to push her touch away.

“Babe, stop,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. You think I don’t like you?”

“Well, you don’t fucking act like it,” you mutter. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways because whatever this was is done. You’re free to do what you want, who you want, whether you like me or not.”

God, do you unwittingly light a fire under Ellie’s ass when she thinks of what this Kenzie girl could do to you if she lets you walk out the door. Absolutely loathes the thought of anyone else knowing what you look like in any state of indecency, that you fucking cry watching children’s movies, that you snore like a freight train if you’re tired enough and have a weird ass penchant for pickle chips when you’re high.

“You’re not going on that fucking date,” Ellie says with finality, palms sliding from your shoulders to skim down the length of your arms and situate over the swell of your hips.

“Who says?”

“Me,” she huffs. “Because I’m going to make it up to you and we’re going to smoke these blunts and eat this fucking pizza and I’m going to make you cum so fucking hard, you won’t even remember that you were thinking of leaving me for someone else.”

“You’re not my girlfriend, Ellie,” you reiterate. “You can’t just–”

“Maybe not then, and maybe not in this moment, but I will be,” she says, and the words catch you completely off guard.

She’s catching your bottom lip between hers to further disorient you, kissing you like this could very well be her last.

“Just give me some time,” she whispers, walking you back towards your bedroom. “I’ll get my shit together for you. Promise.”

And you know deep down that you shouldn’t believe her. She’s just feeling territorial and grasping at straws to keep you leashed, but Ellie’s always been such a good kisser and she’s devouring you like she really is sorry.

She’s tossing your against your unmade bed, caging you between lithe limbs as she leans back on her haunches to take you in. Your blouse rides up to reveal the flimsy bands of your lacy little thong and Ellie’s lacking decency as she flips your skirt up to reveal a growing patch of wetness.

“Were you planning on getting fucked or do you always go out like this?” Ellie ponders, fingers rough as she pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs and nearly salivates when a string of your arousal leaves with it.

Your lips part to answer, but her thumb’s dipping between your folds, pad collecting some of your slick from your drooling slit to smear over your achey little bud.

“I asked you a question,” Ellie says gently. “You just gotta be honest with me, baby.”

“S’hot out,” you whimper, fingers closing around her wrist when your body jerks against a particularly delicious stroke of her thumb.

“Yeah?” she clarifies. “You wouldn’t let any else touch you, would you? Not when I take good care of you like this?”

Her other hand comes to toy with your entrance, doesn’t give you any warning before her middle and ring finger are sinking inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine.

“You’re my girl, you hear me?” Ellie murmurs, leaning down to catch your clit between her lips. “You’ll be my number one, always.”

She’s teasing at first, tongue languid against your fluttering pussy, but you’re quiet, back of your wrist caught between your teeth to muffle your moans.

One of her hands reach up to yank it away.

“Say it,” she barks, pulling away from your needy heat.

“Ellie,” you whimper.

“Say it,” she repeats firmly.

“M’your girl,” you moan shakily, thighs quivering as she smoothes her palms over the underside of your thighs to push them up to your chest.

“Yeah, you are,” she whispers, spitting harshly on your heat. “My favorite fucking pussy.”

She’s eating you out like she’s missed you, like she’ll only be satisfied when you finally cum. And maybe it’s true.

Maybe not.

Especially when she draws nearly three orgasms from you and practically knocks you out.

You don’t know how long you doze off for, but when you finally wake up, the sun has almost completely set, bathing your room in a burnt orange glow that leaves your dewy skin warm and sticky. And perhaps it’s wishful thinking when you call Ellie’s name, met only with the echo of your raspy voice. After all, you’re tucked on the wrong side of bed, elusive girl nowhere to be found.

As you dress and search for your phone, you can’t even find it in yourself to be surprised.

neng ©️2023

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Female reader and Leona Kingscholar, heat and breed please!

Warnings: Leona in a rut, oral (f! receiving), biting, breeding kink, unprotected sex, big dick lion ig?, always have your partner’s consent just like Leona has yours, creampie

Leona Kingscholar

When this man goes into his rut, he is an insatiable beast. It’s not even that he actually wants kids, but the thought of filling you up made him so hard that he couldn’t help himself but keep you full of his cum.

It was a mistake, really, walking into his room because you were so worried about him. Actually, a lot of Savanaclaw was on lockdown, and you were worried about your boyfriend. A few of the students who were still out and about warned you about going into the dormitory, let alone Leona’s room, but that made you even more concerned.

Once you opened the door, you heard the lion in question groaning. You called out his name, worried that he might be in some sort of pain. 

“Y/N, I need you to leave… now,” he growled.

“What’s wrong, Leona? Your dorm is on lockdown-”

You were cut off by him, because you blinked and suddenly you were pinned to the now-closed door.

“I said that you need to leave.” You expected him to be angry, but instead he had a look of desperation. He was pleading with you. You could feel the intense heat with how close he was. His hair was more disheveled than usual, a telltale sign that something was wrong.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on!” You insisted. He bore his teeth, his canines showing. You were starting to get a bit scared before he pushed off of you. “Leona?”

“Some of the beastmen in the dorm are going into their ruts. Did you walk all the way over here? In the midst of all this?! Where all these guys can smell you?!!!” His mind was racing a million miles a minute. How could you be this stupid? How could you come here, to a place with a bunch of guys going through this??

“You weren’t responding to my texts or calls, and I was getting worried!” This guy must have purchased his audacity because any girlfriend would be understandably worried when their boyfriend wasn’t responding.

He went quiet for a few moments. He was looking away from you, and you were worried that something was truly wrong. But, in the light, you saw a sheen of sweat on his face and you saw that his face was tinged with red. He was panting. You also noticed the not-very-subtle bulge in his pants.

Oh. Oh shit.

Now is when you process his words. The entire dorm was on lockdown because they are in their rutting seasons…

A certain familiar wetness made itself known between your legs, and Leona’s pupils dilated at smelling your arousal. What have you gotten yourself into? And why were you excited to find out?

In a matter of seconds, you could feel passionate kisses trailing up and down your neck, and you were powerless against it. The lion that you had called your boyfriend up to this point was nowhere to be found, and he had gone quite feral. However, he was still a gentleman.

“Y/N, this is your last chance to leave. If you stay, I won’t be able to control myself.” Leona managed to pull away for a few seconds to utter those words right next to your ear, and you felt your stomach flutter.

“Good, because I don’t want you to control yourself.” Was all you said, and you were hoisted up into the air, pinned to the door once again. You wrapped your legs around his torso to make sure you didn’t slip as you both began to make out. 

The beastman pulled away first, making sure to bite your bottom lip. However, the space wasn’t open for very long. It was just enough time to take you from the door to his bed. If he was going to make you his mat, he wanted to do it properly. Wait… mating? When did that come into play??

Doesn’t matter because he places his hands on the inside of your thighs a bit to separate them so he could slide your shorts and panties off easier. The smell emanating from the heat between your legs was heavenly.

Leona found himself quickly climbing off so that he could unbuckle his belt and take off his pants and boxers, revealing a length you weren’t sure you could handle. He saw your eyes widened, and so he crawled between your legs and started licking at your exposed folds.

His tongue had a bit of a rougher texture, not quite like a cat, but not quite like a human. It was something in-between, and it worked for your benefit. The sensation had you writhing and squirming in pleasure… that was, until he wrapped his arms around your thighs and put your legs on his shoulders.

“You’re not going anywhere, herbivore,” he mumbled straight into your pussy before going back to eating you out. 

Even though this was supposed to be to prepare you for his cock, this was also for his pleasure. Being surrounded by your smell and getting to taste your juices was all he could ever ask for. He left hickies and bite marks on your thighs as well. His canines drew blood on one of the marks, and he licked it up which made you whimper.

When he deemed you wet enough, he climbed up and lined his tip up with your entrance.

“It’s going to hurt, and you can tell me to stop whenever you want. If I don’t, slap me or some shit. I don’t want to do anything without your consent,” you nodded at his words, but he shook his head. “I need words, Y/n.”

“Please, Leona! I want you in me!” You moaned, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. That’s when the last shred of sanity was barely hanging on.

He slowly entered you, giving you time to adjust to his size. You winced in pain, and once he was fully inside, he stopped. Your walls were squeezing the life out of him, and a groan made its way from out of his mouth. It was taking all of his willpower not to just rail you into oblivion.

After a few moments, he started slowly pulling back out, and the feeling was unlike anything else. He thrust his cock back in, and your eyes rolled back. Leona took this as an okay to start moving quicker. Your pussy squeezed him so hard, every time he pulled out it was like a magnet, calling for him to go back in. 

The coil in your belly unraveled not too far into your session with him. You soaked his cock in your juices, and he let out a deep, sexy growl before speeding up even more. Your overstimulated cunt was weeping and begging for more, and she got what she asked for. 

“Where do you want my cum, herbivore?” He was nearing his own release, and he looked into your eyes.

“Inside… Inside, please!” You mewled. You locked your legs around him, locking him in place.

Not too long after, you felt an explosion of warmth inside of you, and Leona leaned into your neck, biting into it and drawing even more blood. His tongue gently ran over it to clean it up, and he placed kisses along it as well.

He tried to pull back and admire his work, wanting to see you in your entirety. However, your legs were not letting go. Where you both remained connected, your juices were mixing with another, and some were getting on the sheets as well. Not that the Housewarden minded; it would remind him of the day he got to claim you as his own.

Your walls began squeezing him again, also not wanting to let go of him. Even though it hasn’t even been a full 5 minutes since you both came, he was hard again and you were aroused again.

“If we go again, herbivore, I might knock you up. Shit, I might have already. Do you want that?” He leaned more towards your ear, whispering. “Do you want to be filled with my cubs?”

And with that, you both fucked in every. possible. position. for the entire week he was in rut. You barely caught a break, and you were often on the verge of passing out from exhaustion.

[mcondance]

listen…hear me out…i’m imagining stu falling for a real sweet girl but this girl is like yuck i know your reputation playboy and since he’s obsessed with the chase he’s really gunning for it maybe even calling her as ghostface, getting her scared just so stu can swoop in and be like awh poor baby here i’ll keep you safe <3 big mean ghostface can’t get ya when im around

we should form a collaboration. (this got so long anon. i blame you. 17+) this idea has my brain turning like it gets him going so bad to scare you and then be able to come back and be your savior. it appeases the side of him that likes the chase, and the side of him that likes being in control. i think they’re both linked to his need for dominance and his sadistic nature so this is a win win for him.

you know him through sidney’s boyfriend billy, but you’ve never said more than a couple of words to each other outside of the friend group. aware of his reputation, your answer to his question is easy.

you tell him no, that you wouldn’t touch him with a 3-and-a-half foot pole. (he responds in typical stu fashion. he slaps a hand over his chest, expressing how hurt he is by your rejection, a knowing smile etching across his face.)

and so begins the chase. you turn him down over and over again, inviting sidney to the dates he asks you on, saying that the movie he wants to see with you just isn’t your taste— even if he knows he heard you talking to sid about how you wanted to see it just the week before, stupid little excuses to avoid everything he asks you.

he doesn’t mind. your rejections of his advances let him feel the way he does when he’s shrouded in that fearful black cloak, coming up with more and more ways to get you.

he keeps his distance— ghostface, that is. stu doesn’t want to scare you yet. with occasional phone calls that he directs to more people than just you, he lets you off easy, makes it seem like it’s just random.

but he’s getting a little anxious, and he’s always been impatient. he wants you.

billy and sidney are out of town for the weekend. and you’re terrified, more and more people close to you have been turning up dead. you resort to asking stu to stay with you for the weekend.

if he gets you to fuck him while he’s “protecting” you from ghostface? god he’d feel so good. he never forgets his alter ego, the slasher that terrifies your sleepy little town, but playing as your loving, caring little “friend” is fun too. he thinks you’re kinda stupid, to let him stay over at your house under the guise of keeping you safe.

you’d changed into your house clothes when you both got to your house, telling him not to touch anything while you were gone. when you came out he was in a t shirt and shorts, and he looked awfully good.

you’d let him have some of your snacks, throwing a bag of hot chips at him and perching on the other end of the living room sofa. you’d turned on some long ass video essay, and he actually found it sort of interesting, quizzing you on what certain stuff meant before you got tired and wanted to sleep.

he thinks, maybe you do have a thing for him. why else would you let a freak like him stay over? whatever the case may be, he’s here. in your pretty pink and white bedroom, he almost scoffs at the softness of it all.

“‘s cute.”

“yeah. i put blankets and shit on the couch. you sleep there.”

his lanky body barely fits on the small chair, but he knows he won’t be there too long, so he doesn’t complain.

the blanket you gave him smells like you, and he basks in it. your room is silent, for a while. in the darkness, your mind gets to you and you’re so scared even with stu right there.

“stu,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“can you come sleep over here? i’m scared.”

there it is.

“yeah, ‘f course.” he feigns genuine sympathy, though you’re smarter than that and no matter how hard he tries, there’s always a sliver of depravity peeking through his words.

you scoot from the middle of your bed to the one side, lifting the covers up to let stu take the other side. too terrified to even get smart with him, you welcome him into your bed.

what a terrible mistake you’ve made.

in the light streaming through your windows, he looks gorgeous, blue eyes gazing softly at your worried expression.

“hey,” he starts, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. you don’t shrink away. you’re frozen. “i got you. promise i’ll keep you safe.”

he’s full of shit. but it works.

“can you just. . just hold me. don’t make it weird.” you scoot closer to him.

“i won’t. come ‘ere.”

shifting, you move until your back is pressed to his front. he wraps his arms around you, cradling you and your fragile psyche in the palm of his hand.

“d’you think he’ll try and come for me?” you ask him.

“i dunno. but i promise i’ll do everything i can t’keep you safe.”

god, he impresses himself sometimes.

“thank you.” you whisper, the words stuck in your throat.

“no problem.” you can feel him looking at you, can see him out of the corner of your eye.

with his arms wrapped around you, all the feelings you’ve gained for him over the past weeks come to a head. he’s warm behind you, and he’s holding you just tight enough.

you twist around to where you can see him, and if you were standing your knees would have buckled from his gaze.

“if i let you kiss me, would you promise not to make it weird?”

“promise.”

“okay,” you breathe. and you kiss him.

what a terrible, terrible mistake you��ve made.

it all goes so fast from there. one kiss turns into many and you’re turning around so you can face him all the way.

he’s got you on your back and his hand down your shorts before you know it. his lithe fingers toy with you, his mouth swallows every single one of your sounds, his body provides you comfort, a distraction from the murderer desecrating your safe town.

you come for him. you make a mess on his fingers, the ones he knows are soaked with blood. he could almost shout from how elated he is to have you wrapped around his fingers.

over you he moves, pulled by his collar on top of you and to your lips again. he wants to be smug about it, to note the lack of 3-and-a-half feet between you two, but he doesn’t.

instead, he kisses you like a normal boy would kiss a girl he liked. instead, he professes his protection when you make him promise again.

instead, he kisses you through the stretch of him entering you. “‘s okay, you got it. doin’ so good.” he could blow his load now, at the sight of you in pain and pleasure, at the sound of your hisses and deep breathes.

he slides home. inches deep inside you and even farther in your mind, he fucks both. he’s done this before, fucked a girl in a show of devotion that she’ll fawn over, a false bridge of vulnerability that he inwardly laughs at. it brings him satisfaction he can only get one other way.

you feel safe. safe as he pushes his hips against yours, his cock kissing and sliding against every electric spot inside you. his hand is warm on your cheek, cupping your face and the other is firm on your hip. you whine with each rock into you, body tingling, ears prickling as he groans in your ear. sounds he’s only ever heard on the other end of the phone.

with slow, calculated moves he makes you come again, and god it feels good. in the back of your mind you’re embarrassed, cause all it took was being afraid for your life and stu got you where you know he wanted you.

but stu’s been in this situation enough times to know what comes next, and how to prevent it. it’s easy, kissing you before you have the chance to keep thinking and fucking you to another orgasm.

it happens again the next night. battered and paranoid, you’re being played into his arms and you don’t even know it. you’re embarrassed about it, but in your clouded mind it feels genuine. it feels like stu really cares. at first it didn’t, but now that he’s still coming around even after he got you in bed, maybe he does care.

sidney comes home and stu goes back to his and billy's place. you think you can calm down with sidney back and stu and billy coming over occasionally. you let stu stay the night in your room sometimes, and he gets what he wants from you again.

your neighbor's killed. what the fuck, when will this end? this time, stu comes over, and he stays. you can't sleep a night without him. you think you're being targeted. the only time you feel peace is when stu's fucking your mind away. you’re reliant on him. in his absence all you feel is fear.

the phone calls continue, and stu’s there to answer them, telling whoever’s on the other end to go fuck themself. again, he plays you into his arms. “don’t think about him. think about me.” he tells you, guiding your face from the phone beside your bed to his, and he lets you close the gap. he likes letting you make the first move. it fills him with pride at his psychotic deception, the way he’s turned you into exactly what you said you’d never be.

he thinks about sneaking out to don the cloak, showing up at your doorstep just to see the horror in your eyes. he resigns to dialing your number when you’re out, calling you and listening to your voice as you realize who’s on the other line. he follows you out sometimes and watches your paranoid moves, blood coursing hot through his body every time you look over your shoulder.

at your house, he comforts you when you crumple into his arms, suggests that maybe, you shouldn’t go anywhere without him. you accept.

god, what have you become. if you’re not full of stu then you’re full of terror, and he takes pleasure being the bearer of both of these things. you belong to him, your thoughts, your body, your feelings, it all belongs to him.

he loves to hear your go over his and billy’s crimes over and over again, lives for the disgust and fear in your voice when you recount the murders. he could probably get off to it, to your sad little words. and at night, he revels in being the only one that can make you feel okay.

you’ve become the perfect victim, and he didn’t even have to flash his knife. maybe he’ll keep you around.

[notjustjavierpena]

Eat

A/N: Pussy? Eaten. Stomach? Butterflies. Hotel? Trivago.  Think this takes place short after Gush.

Summary: You tell Joel that you cannot come from getting eaten out, but he isn’t convinced. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni), dad’s best friend joel miller, daddy kink, soft soft soft and patient joel, nipple play, pussy eating, dirty talk, intense orgasm, pet names , bit of praise kink and body worship

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49669783

Eat

Joel has you completely naked and pinned to his bed. It’s a Saturday afternoon, sun is pining in through the curtains and heating up the room that’s already warm from your bodies being entwined. You have yet to get out of bed despite needing a shower, perhaps some food for your growling stomach, and maybe a glass of ice water from how sweaty your body is when you are in the older man’s proximity. He makes your heart pound.

He hovers over you whilst on his knees between your legs, hands on your wrists and gaze hungry as he contemplates what he wants to do with you. Your stomach drops as he asks, “Will you lemme have it? Lemme eat your pussy, princess?”

It’s not that you don’t think this is sexy. It is just that. Though, despite how many times Joel has made you come during the summer, he actually hasn’t gone down on you yet. 

He has tried a million times though, but you have always playfully pushed his head away every time he has tried to descend on your body, distracted him with a blowjob, or made him finger your cunt instead. At this point, you still haven’t told him that the reason is that you simply don’t like it. 

“Joel,” you avoid his gaze, turn your head away, “I—“

Joel hasn’t heard hesitation from you before, only the jokes that he hasn’t taken to heart. He lets go of one of your wrists, takes hold of your chin, and guides your head back so you face him again. He furrows his brow at the uncertainty in your eyes that meet his, “What’s a’ matter?”

“Nothing,” you play dumb, avoiding his curious look once more but he snaps his fingers in front of you to regain your attention. You groan at how well it works, “Why would anything be wrong? It’s just… I don’t really like it. I can’t come from it.”

Joel narrows his eyes slightly, not convinced, “Why’d you think you can’t come from it?”

“This guy I was with,” you begin and it’s Joel’s turn to look uncertain. You want to roll your eyes; doesn’t he know that he has ruined everyone else for you by now? 

“Years ago,” you add, “He told me I took too long, so maybe I just, you know, couldn’t. I didn’t want to try again.” 

Joel doesn’t get pissed at the guy or start a rant like you expect him to do (something about that boy taking this sort of experience from you and turning it into something negative). Instead, he starts laughing to the point where he needs to rest his forehead against your shoulder to calm himself because the pout you give him just makes him laugh harder. 

“What?” You push at his head in annoyance. He cannot even hold onto your other wrist anymore. 

“Took too long. Jesus,” his laughter is interrupted by a cough. You can feel his chest vibrating against your own, “He was bullshittin’ you, baby girl. What a lazy piece of shit, and what range of stupid lil’ fuckers you’ve allowed to have what’s mine.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I hate it,” you squirm underneath him at his choice of words, reaching for his hair with your hands to pull at it gently, “Stop laughing. It’s not funny.”

“It is kinda funny,” he looks up at you through his lashes. There’s something sweet to his voice whilst his eyes darken, “Hey now. It’s just… ya said ya didn’t squirt either, and then fuckin’ wet the bed.”

You go beet red, “Joel. God.”

“I’m merely a man just tryna prove a point,” he jokes, earning a glare. Something shifts a little in the air and then he isn’t playing anymore, “Will ya lemme try? Just f’me? We can stop anytime you want.”

“I don’t know,” you sound unsure. 

“We’ll go reeeal slow,” he pushes.

“O-okay,” you say. What’s the harm in letting him try? It’s not like it is uncomfortable for you, but rather just slightly boring and awkward. 

“Okay’s not a yes, princess,” Joel crawls up to try to kiss your uncertainty away. He pecks your lips over and over again, switching not long after to pepper your face with more gentle kisses instead. They’re scattered across your cheeks, lips, nose, above your eyebrows, soft eyelids, and chin. He doesn’t let up until you giggle sweetly. 

“Yes!” You squeak and mess up his hair, “Eat some damn pussy, if it means that much to you.”

“Try to relax for me,” he instructs and pushes himself to sit up again. His eyes have darkened further, “How do you want ya legs?”

You bend your legs, planting your feet firmly on the bed and spreading yourself open enough for Joel’s broad shoulders to fit between your thighs. He doesn’t go down yet though, keeping his promise of taking things slow in case you want to stop before it gets too intense. 

His lips connect to where your neck meets your shoulder, pressing his nose firmly into you to inhale your scent. It must be nothing but sleep and sweat by now. He opens his mouth against your skin, sucks across your collarbone until he reaches your jugular notch. He dips his tongue into the dent, and licks off the sweat before murmuring, “I can feel you not relaxin’.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a pounding heart and you mean it, curl your toes, but he shushes you immediately. 

“No, no. This ain’t on you, baby. Tell me what I can do to make ya relax,” he pulls back to look at your face. He looks so gorgeous with the sun hitting his body like this. 

“Talk to me,” you whisper without knowing why. 

“My baby wants to hear how gorgeous she is?” He asks as he goes back to putting his mouth on your throat. You tip your head back, and he hums against you, “How perfect ‘n beautiful ‘n sexy? Perhaps a little spoiled too?”

“Mhm, yes,” you rest your hand on the back of his neck when he starts to descend. His lips trail down between your breasts, and his huge palm covers one of them whilst he sucks on the other. He is eager, cheeky enough to tug your nipple into his mouth with his teeth. You moan softly.

“Fuckin’ love your tits, Jesus, look at you,” he mumbles absentmindedly to himself before going back in. He dares to suck a light purple mark onto your skin just close enough to your nipple so that you can cover it up and keep it a secret between the two of you even if going to the lake with friends and wearing your skimpy bikini.

You groan and arch your back when he switches to the other one of your tits, cupping it still whilst lapping at your nipple. He flicks his tongue across it just when you think he might pull away, causing you to let out a long drawn-out whine. 

“You fuckin’ love that, don’t ya?” He kisses the swell of your breast, tugs a little with his hand. You close your eyes, bolts of arousal shooting up your spine again when he suckles once more. 

Slowly, you find that much of the nervousness is seeping out of your body with every kiss, lick and suck of your salty skin. It may be the time to admit that Joel knows just which buttons to push to turn you into putty. It may also be the time to admit that you are starting to get excited about what is going to happen. Nervous but excited.

“You’re so soft… like damn silk,” he admires whilst he goes lower. His nose brushes along the length of your stomach, tickling a little to the point where you shiver and let out a soft sigh. He relishes in it, “Damn, baby. Listen to that sound.”

You rake your nails across his scalp when he nips at your skin. Heat is pooling in your belly and you can feel slick drip onto the sheets, running down the cleft of your ass, “Touch my pussy, Daddy.”

Joel tenses visibly at the nickname. He grips your hip, and somehow becomes a little rougher in everything he does, “Gotta wait. Maybe your disaster college boyfriend didn’t get ya worked up enough. I definitely ain’t gonna make that mistake.”

He crawls further down, kisses open-mouthed and hot right below your belly button several times. Even places the flat of his tongue against the skin there to lick long languid stripes, “Won’t start until you beg me to kiss your little twitchin’ clit.”

“But I’m so wet,” you pout, flexing the muscles in your stomach. When you try lifting your hips to find some kind of friction, he pushes you right back down into the mattress. 

“Stop,” he warns sternly. The hand on your hip runs across your belly, teases over your mound and ghosts over your clit until you cry feebly for him, “Do you want me to just touch ya between your pretty legs?” 

“I told you I don’t like the other thing,” you reply to spite him and egg him on. He smacks one of your thighs, wiggling the flesh after. 

“Liar,” he breaks eye contact to look right down at your cunt. You are sure that he can see how you clench around nothing, clit so hard that it is exposed from underneath the hood. You are so ready for him to follow through, no matter the nervousness in your body, “The anticipation wouldn’t have you this excited if yadidn’t care. You’ll fuckin’ let Daddy live between your thighs after he’s done eating.” 

“Fine,” you huff, spreading your legs further to punctuate your sentence, “Put your mouth on my pussy. Prove it.”

Joel groans at the sight of you giving in to him. He gets comfortable on the bed, legs hanging out over the edge. One arm scoops underneath you to curl around your right thigh and the other rests on top of your left. He splays his hand across your sternum, and almost automatically, you reach for it and tug at two of his fingers as if needing something to hold onto for dear life. 

“Now we talkin’,” he smirks. 

“Hold on,” you interrupt, heart almost beating out of your chest with how horny you feel. That, and the fact that what Joel is about to do to you seems to be the most intimate thing you can think of. It feels dangerous, exciting, and scary.

You put another pillow behind your back and head, so you can watch him over the top of your tits and his hand. He grumbles but waits. 

“Go,” you say with an apologetic smile, “Just wanted to see you.”

“Ain’t you adorable?” Joel gazes up at you to follow through on your wish, “Ready?”

“Just wanna come now,” you promise, “‘m just nervous. Makes me fidget.”

“Oh, I know,” he replies, breath ghosting over your pussy as he lowers himself down slowly, “Makes ya toes curl too.” 

You cannot quite believe that you have Joel Miller’s face between your legs right now, and even less so believe the hungriest smile in history that he is sporting. It is enough to make you blush, letting go of Joel’s hand and reaching up to cup your face when the anticipation becomes overwhelming. You rest your pinkies in front of your mouth, palms burning from being clasped around your cheeks but it feels like you might lose it if you let go.

The simple brush of his tongue that he chooses as a starting point has you squirming on the bed. His tongue is warm and flat against you, licking how he had done it against the sensitive skin of your stomach. 

Your stomach muscles twitch. It feels… good. Better than the first time you did it. 

“Okay?” He asks in a hum, looking up at you through his lashes with genuine eyes. You nod slowly, and he lowers again to press a soft kiss to your sensitive clit. 

And then another.

And another. 

You make a noise best described as a soft sigh. 

Then he goes lower, the kisses becoming more sloppy and wet. He stops when he reaches your quivering cunt, lets out his tongue to scoop up some of the slick that has gathered and is spilling down between your cheeks. He then licks a long stripe all the way up to your clit, and laps at it like he is eating a damn ice cream cone. 

“Mhmm, tastes so fuckin’ good, baby, like heaven,” he continues with his small licks, the hand on your chest finding your left nipple. Tugs like he knows you like. 

You moan for the first time, not sure if you have repressed the urge to do so. He takes it as a sign to keep going, stiffening his tongue to run it between your folds repeatedly and eventually settling on your clit again. He flicks the tensed-up muscle against the nub, setting up a pace that suddenly causes you to whine.

“Ohh,” you swallow thickly, part your lips and breathe heavily. A muscle in the thigh that Joel is holding flexes involuntarily, and you can feel him smirk against you when he moves back to open-mouthed kisses. 

“No, go back,” you demand, “Please.”

“Yeah?” Joel pulls back instead to tease you. He removes his hand from your thigh to suck his thumb into his mouth. He makes you tremble at the sight, but even more when he circles your clit with the pad of the finger after, “You like Daddy’s tongue on your pussy, baby?”

You hesitate for a moment.

“Say it,” he still draws lazy circles.

“Feels so good,” you admit finally with a groan, “You’re always right.”

“Know I am,” he kisses your inner thigh. The hand on your breast moves to rub soothingly up and down your belly, “‘bout time you realized.”

“I want you to keep going,” you say with a shy smile, blinking down at him, “Please, Daddy?”

His hands still on you, but then he reaches to place both hands on your inner thighs to spread you out a little further. You fall back into the pillow, and he sinks into you again, “Whatever baby wants, baby gets.”

You have never actually thought about how big his mouth is before. In fact, it is huge in comparison to everything about you. He is able to stretch his lips over every inch of your cunt, and he gladly does.

Your breath hitches before you let out a drawn-out moan. Joel eats you out enthusiastically; he licks, sucks, and even dips his tongue inside of you for a moment too. You can feel the world closing in on you, shrinking to nothing but the pressure that builds. 

“It’s—“ you want to say something that makes sense, because whatever you had done in the dim light of your college dormitory a few years prior was definitely not this, but there are no words that describe how overwhelming his slick tongue is, “It’s— oh God.”

You squeal pathetically as your cunt teeters on the edge of an orgasm. You try to press your thighs inwards to make the intensity go away, but Joel is so much stronger than you.

It hits you then. Fuck, it’s going to happen; you’re going to come with his mouth between your legs, and he is never going to let you live this down. This is not what you had planned. There is a little part of you that knows you would have relished in being right for once, but there’s a much bigger part that thanks the Gods that you aren’t going to live forever without coming like this. 

You close your eyes as you groan, but it makes Joel slow down, “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart, look at me.”

He sucks again, and your hands fly to his hair, but it only goes on for a second, “Ya doing so well. Does it feel good, princess?”

“You’re being mean,” you whimper, tugging at the strands of hair that you have between your fingers, “Make me come.”

Joel follows through then. He buries his nose in your mound and sucks your clit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks with how much effort he puts into it. When you start thrashing on the bed, he wraps his arms around your legs and holds you tightly in place until you fall apart right below his mouth. 

You shriek as your cunt spasms. If not for Joel’s strength, you are sure that you would have accidentally kneed him in the face, because your legs lose control of themselves as if the orgasm has severed any connection to them. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” you break the swearing rule as your orgasm peaks, pushing and pulling his head away because you don’t have a clue whether you want more or less. Your back arches as Joel keeps licking through your drenched folds, you think you might have started to cry too. 

Shaking breaths echo through Joel’s bedroom as you come down. Joel has removed your hands from his head, and you have slumped into the mattress with a whimper. Nothing has ever felt more dirty. 

“Are you okay?” He asks after crawling up the bed to lay beside you. He rubs your stomach with his broad hand, and even that makes you let out a feeble sigh. 

You laugh with exhaustion, but don’t reply. 

“I do good?” He asks with a lopsided grin, rubbing the back of his hand over his soaked mouth and chin. 

You turn your head to look at him but then start giggling, pointing to your own nose, “You got a little… you know.”

He doesn’t get it when he wipes his hand over his nose the first time. You laugh harder due to the dopamine flowing through your system, and he grumbles, “Well help me then, kiddo.” 

When you beckon him closer, he moves without hesitation, and as you run your index finger down his nose to catch your own shiny arousal, you try to push down the feeling of butterflies that erupt in your stomach.

It’s a feeling that needs to go away. You can’t possibly love Joel Miller and survive.

.

.

.

TAGLIST WILL NOT CONTINUE FROM NEXT MONTH (September 1st, 2023). FOLLOW @notjustjavierpena-fics AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS 💖❤️💖❤️

@elissaaa @queerponcho @casa-boiardi @gracieispunk @hiddenbabynyc @hopelessromantic727 @livingdeadmaria @its-nebuleuse @milly-louise @cool-iguana @pawnshopbluess222 @joeldjarin @queenbrownie18 @scarletsloveletter @ladyburberry @swiftsgirlfriend @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sunnywithachanceofjavi @strang3lov3 @hellishjoel @littlevenicebitch69 @pedropascal-whore @alltheseperfectimperfections

[kingkatsuki]

Anyway, while I was gone I was thinking of this stupid idea with Bakugou (as usual)

Imagine your eighteenth birthday is when you find out who you’re bonded to, and this bond is created via telepathy. A connection opens between two souls, and you’re able to communicate with each other no matter where in the world you are. A connection that only becomes stronger as your relationship with your soulmate grows.

But of course, connections can be broken. The same way those dreamlike fantasies of meeting your perfect soulmate don’t always work— especially when your soulmate is Bakugou Katsuki.

The first time you try to communicate with him, he brushes you off. Telling you to “piss off”, that he doesn’t “need a fuckin’ soulmate”. It’s a time in his life that arguably he needs that connection with someone more than ever. But the feelings of inadequacy and inferiority he holds inside are at an all time high as he pushes everyone away, including you. Shutting the door on any hope you had of ever having a connection with him, of finding your soulmate.

You try again a few times after, watching all your friends develop their love and even meet their soulmates. Hating the green-eyed monster that appears when you realise how bitter you actually are— to be paired with someone that has no interest in you. Cursed to be one of the ones without a soulmate, to try and find a love with another broken person like you.

The conversations are always the same— his irritation for your very existence no match for the conversations you try to start. Making it abundantly clear to you that you’re a distraction, that he doesn’t have time for a soulmate. And yet amongst his complaining that you’ve opened the link at a bad moment, or that he doesn’t need you— he always answers.

So over time you find yourself starting to give up, wondering why you’ve wasted so much time on a man that clearly doesn’t want you. The connection going quiet as neither of you try to open the link.

Radio silence.

And what makes it worse, is your friends who have perfect connections pity you. One of the lost souls without a soulmate— which is why you’re prepared to join a special program. A program that can realign your connection— to tie your soul to another.

It’s unorthodox, an extreme measure that has an endless list of side-effects. You could end up with the more undesirable members of society, who’s connections have been severed before, or the ones that abuse the system for their own benefit— and if the second connection doesn’t work out you’re unable to claim a third. But craving that special bond with someone, picturing the perfect smiles and pickett fences it’s more than worth the risks. So you plan to do it— to sever your connection with your soulmate, and find a new one.

Someone who will actually love you.

But it isn’t until one night that you hear something at the back of your mind, barely a murmur as you shoot up in bed. Squinting as you try desperately to focus on the sound— another whimper. But you can’t seem to make out much else, as you realise that it’s the same connection that you thought was completely shattered all those years ago.

“Hello?” You feel almost stupid calling out, wondering if he even realised that you could hear him again— that you were there.

“Long time no talk, hah sweetheart?” He scoffs, a choked cough spills from his lips after as he winces in pain.

“You sound like shit— is that why you reconnected our bond at four am?”

“Must’ve called the wrong number, sweetheart.” He sneers, but you can almost hear the humour in his tone.

“Well luckily for you I’m going to break our bond.” You bite back as you’re met with silence on the other end, “So you won’t have to make the same mistake again.”

“You can do that?” He whispers.

“Yeah, they can reconnect me with someone else.” You murmur.

“They won’t be as good as me.” He manages to get out before another cough wracks through his body.

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” You scrunch your nose in irritation, “But at least they’ll want me.”

“Who said I don’t want you?”

It’s not until a month later that you find out the real reason he reconnected the bond that night. That it was the night that his heart stopped beating as he almost lost his life, his body shutting down as the only thing he could think to do was to call out for you.

[ohimsummer]

RANDOM HORROR GAMER! SATORU HCS

— one(1) suggestive under the cut so minors dni, gamer! gojo x reader, established rs, explicit language, some gamer! reader, pet names (sweetums, baby, (my) love), the link has body horror!!, horror-loving gojo in general <3

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ gojo playing outlast and resident evil and silent hill and fnaf and and

horror gamer! satoru who always likes you around whenever he starts playing. doesn’t matter if you’re cooking, showering, or out for the day—and prefers you in his lap while in his comfy gaming chair, but if you’re even just on the bed nearby then that’s totally okay, too.

horror gamer! satoru who finds it so cute when the jumpscares actually startle you. laughs when you let out a yelp or a scream, giggling a ‘relax, baby’ as if his heart didn’t stop for a second at the same scare.

horror gamer! satoru who asks your opinions and recommendations on what games to play, even if you know nothing about them. if he’s stuck between two games, he’ll let you be the tiebreaker, shoving the two options in your face for you to choose from even if your reasons are inane. ‘you like the art on this one better? the title sounds cooler? okay, come check it out with me!’

horror gamer! satoru who finds it comforting whenever you’re cuddled under him while he plays. your scent and the warmth of your body soothes him, makes the scares a little less frightening and he calms down way quicker when he gets to hug you so tight. (refers to you as his emotional support y/n)

horror gamer! satoru who’s just about always eating his words about how terrified the game is making him. talks so much shit going ‘oh this dumbass monster isn’t even that scary’ and you just like to humor him even though you can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

horror gamer! satoru who enjoys when you also talk a little trash with him. ‘i could totally take that monster on, right, baby?’ ‘hell yeah, it looks weak as shit, you could destroy that thing.’

horror gamer! satoru and you both frantically talking over eachother when he gets to a fast-paced area of the game, parts that require swift puzzle-solving or thinking quickly on your feet. ‘fuckfuckfuck where do i go, where do i go ?!’ ‘that way, THAT WAY, no the other way, oh my god, run!!’

horror gamer! satoru who likes handing you the mouse/controller and watching you play. guides you through some parts when you get confused, and always returns your victorious grin when you’re able to get past the really scary or difficult areas by yourself.

‘look at my baby gettin’ through the little mini-boss after 26– ow, fine, 18 tries! so proud of you, sweetums, guess my super-awesome gaming skills are rubbin’ off on ya, huh?’

horror gamer! satoru who lets you get jumpscared even when he knows a scare is coming up. ‘didn’t wanna ruin the experience for ya, baby’ while he’s almost spitting out his water from trying to hold back laughter.

horror gamer! satoru who you have to gently drag away from his setup when he starts getting frustrated. he’s been stuck on this one part for hours now because of rng or the boss is just ‘stupid and rigged’ and insanely hard. you can see his jaw clench, his moves getting sloppier in his exasperation.

horror gamer! satoru let’s you pepper kisses up and down his neck, over his jaw and cheeks, on his forehead as you murmur suggestions to take a break in his ear. you hold your own drink up in an offer for him to take a sip, before slipping away to grab one of his favorite sweet treats to hopefully ease his frustrations. ‘give it a rest and come cuddle with me for a bit, my love, you can always try again later.’

horror gamer! satoru who buys another controller (in your favorite color) so he can play co-op horror games with you. he loves watching you improve, proud when he doesn’t have to carry you as hard anymore. and it feels so much more fun because it’s like you’re experiencing the scares together, not the same as when you’re just watching him play.

horror gamer! satoru who goes horror game-hunting with you. he loves that your interest in them has grown so much, and you two can actually talk in detail about them since your ‘horror knowledge’ isn’t at base level anymore.

horror gamer! satoru likes that you’re not just watching him play and listening to him explain what’s going on anymore. you’re more heavily intrigued in the game lore and spotting tiny details or references in the games.

you’re playing a multiplayer horror game with satoru, exploring a different room of the house since you two have split up to cover more ground.

‘oh, wow! satoru, look at this little figure on the desk!’

his avatar makes its way over, and he’s a little excited to see the tiny evil within 2 reference on the piece of furniture.

‘it’s obscura, isn’t that so cool?’ ‘fuck yeah, wonder if there’s any more hidden around here somewhere?’ and you both keep an eye out for any other allusions to more horror game characters.

horror gamer! satoru who convinces you that playing in the dark is so much better. and it is, it makes the whole experience that much scarier, and you hate (love) it. you find yourself peeping into the dark shadows of the room, goosebumps raised on every inch of skin. and also wanting to punch satoru in the throat when he grazes a finger up the nape of your neck, laughing at your fright when you just about jump out of your skin.

horror gamer! satoru who buys little trinkets or figures of horror game characters. bought you a silent hill nurse figurine to go next to his of pyramid head. you both dressed up as said characters for a Halloween party once, and then ended up, um, undressing eachother in someone’s bathroom later that night…

horror gamer! satoru who knows all kinds of horror game trivia and he loves exchanging facts with you, even if you tell him stuff he already knows. again, he just loves that you share his favorite interest! tell him over and over about how [char.] is your favorite horror game villain or how [song] makes that scene so much creepier! he will eat it up again and again and again.

horror gamer! satoru who gets so excited whenever you present a new game to him, especially if it’s one he hasn’t seen before! ‘holy shit, baby is this a new release? fuck, we have to play this tonight!’

a casual (horror-themed) date night with horror gamer! satoru could be going out to see a new scary movie in theatres, or even just staying in to play your favorite horror games together. on nights like those, he likes to suggest cheesy, parody, or nostalgic horror games like slenderman or some .EXE game.

tagz: @anthoosies @staryukis @hellkaiserinphoenix @biscuitsngravie @elusivemoon @rxddxvotion @babytoshiii

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 1)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the graduate assistant for her Literature class.

+++

 It’s a gloomy autumn day, the sun nowhere to be found, the sky cloudy and gray. Y/n stands in front of Dr. Richmond’s door, nervously pulling back her hair and righting the state of her sweater.

The wind outside was not forgiving today, blowing harsh and cold and whipping her hair all over like she was caught in the middle of a god damn tornado. She tucks any stray pieces behind her ears and pats her wind-stung cheeks – oh gosh, she probably looks a mess.

She should’ve worn something more professional, she thinks to herself as she tugs her skirt down. Maybe trousers and a blazer– or at least a pair of jeans. Not this stupid little black skirt that keeps riding up, halfway hidden underneath her cream-colored knitted sweater. It keeps riding up, no matter how firmly she keeps tugging it down, and she’s got a horrible inkling that she might’ve accidentally flashed her bum at the workers in the street while she was walking to campus today. 

She looks down at her shoes, a pair of black mary janes, paired with some lacy white socks to decorate her ankles. They looked super cute when she put them on this morning – but now she’s worried that she looks like a kindergartener. Is she too old to be wearing frilly socks? They’re just so darn cute… but she doubts the sixty-something year old professor that’s on the other side of the door would think the same thing. 

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. She lifts her hand up to the door, and nervously brings her knuckles down to knock. 

It took all of her confidence to come to Dr. Richmond’s office today. She’s not a huge fan of talking to professors outside of class – drafting emails to them literally sends her into a spiral of stress, and she always feels like she’s gonna shit her pants when she goes to office hours– but she has no choice but to come and directly talk to Dr. Richmond today. She’d sent him two emails already (both of them had taken her over two hours to send because she actually despises writing emails and is always nervous that she’s gonna make a typo, or call the professor the wrong name, or accidentally attach her sex tape ((even though she doesn’t have a sex tape?)), but he hadn’t responded to either of those emails and she needs a response from him ASAP.

The door opens before her knuckles even make contact with wood, a short stout man walking out of the office with his briefcase in hand. He’s balding, with only a thin circle of gray hair lining the back perimeter of his head, and a pair of classes sit on his large, oily nose. Y/n stumbles, her eyes widening as she embarrassingly lowers her knuckles from the door and takes a startled step backwards. 

“Oh– um, Dr. Richmond?” she stammers nervously, her voice at a much higher pitch than usual. She’d love to stick a pore strip on his nose and unclog all those blackheads.

“That’s me,” he grumbles, sighing heavily, not even looking at her. He’s the head of the English Language and Literature department, a busy man surely. Students probably pester him every hour of every day. Still, she wishes that maybe she could’ve gotten a more… enthusiastic response from him. 

“Hi, sir,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I-I was having some issues with enrolling in your English 270 lecture and– um,” she’s starting to lose confidence as Dr. Richmond blatantly ignores her, rummaging through his briefcase for his keys. “I was… wondering if you had a second to, um, discuss it?” Her voice quietly fades towards the end, not sure if Dr. Richmond was even listening at that point– as he’d taken out his phone and started replying to a text while she had still been talking. 

He takes a solid five seconds to type out and send his text before responding to y/n. “Take it up with Harry,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “M’done for the day.”

“Harry?” she repeats, her voice confused and eyebrows pinching together. But Dr. Richmond’s already walking away from her, halfway down the hall. “Oh,” she mumbles to herself sadly, lips pouting. All that, for nothing. He literally just walked away from her. 

She sighs heavily, ready to turn on her heel and walk back to her apartment from this failed mission – but then a voice sounds from inside the office. "In here!" it calls out.

She peaks her head inside timidly. 

Behind the desk sits a boy, with chocolate brown curls swirled atop his head. “Hello,” he hums, putting the essay he’d been reading down on the desk and looking at her with all his attention. There’s a soft smile on his pretty pink lips, twisted to the side with a dimple poking at his cheek. His eyes are green and glimmer kindly, framed by a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses.  “How can I help you?”

This man is much more attractive than grumpy old (and oily) Dr. Richmond. 

Y/n struggles to find her voice. “Are you… um, are you Harry?” Her eyes flicker all over this attractive young man’s face, trying to figure out if this is a hallucination or if a boy that pretty actually exists in real life. 

“Indeed I am,” he chirps, his chair squeaking as he leans forward. She briefly remembers seeing the name “Harry E. Styles” listed as the graduate teaching assistant, underneath Dr. Richmond’s name on the course website, and is finally connecting the dots. He’s dressed in a white button up, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms and an anchor on his wrist. His fingers tap against the desk rhythmically, and she finds her eyes drawn to the glittery rings decorating them. Her mind goes blank. 

It’s clear that he’s a few years older than herself – but not in a bad way. He just looks taller and broader and… smarter than most of the boys her own age. He has just the slightest bit of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes just shine with wisdom and intellect.

“Did you have a question?” he asks, voice a little teasing as he jolts her out of her little trance. She tucks her hair behind her ear, embarrassed, and quickly averts her eyes from his hands.

“Yeah, um– Dr. Richmond said you’d be able to help me with my enrollment issues?” 

“Sure,” he crosses one leg over the other (y/n definitely notices the way his meaty thighs bulge) and leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his knee, “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to enroll in English 270, the Romantic Literature and Society lecture–” Harry nods attentively, “ –but the class is restricted to students in the Department of English Literature… which I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow hesitatingly, and she’s quick to defend herself. “I’ve taken all the prerequisites, though! I did well in all of them, and I emailed the department coordinator and they said that it’s fine for me to enroll in this class. It would just be a manual enrollment instead of the standard enrollment but they’ve done it for me for all the other literature classes I’ve taken that were also major restricted. All I need is a permission code and the professor's approval!” She pauses, taking a breath after her big ramble. “Or your approval, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought. 

He’s silent for a bit, sitting there with furrowed brows and pursed lips, just staring at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squirming under his intense gaze.

Finally he asks, “What do you study then? If not literature?”

“Um– I’m a psych major.”

“And… why would a psychology major need to take an upper division literature class?” he presses. Not trying to be rude, but just to understand. 

“Oh. I just… really enjoy books,” she says shyly. “It’s not for any credit toward my major. But I promise that I’ll stay on top of the work and participate and all that!”

He leans his forearms on the desk. His eyes are thoughtful, and he takes his time before speaking. “Your name was…?” he trails off.

“Y/n,” she fills in quickly. He nods.

“Miss y/n,” he sits up straighter, and looks her in the eye, “How many other units are you taking this semester?”

“Um…” she counts them off in her head.  “16?”

“So with this class you’d be at 20?” he confirms. 

She nods, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek. That is a lot of units. The last time she took 20 units she had a mental breakdown so intense that she spent an entire night just crying to her roommate (Iris), incapable of doing any work or studying because she was just so stressed out and overwhelmed. She had to skip classes just to catch up on the work that she’d fallen behind on for her other classes, and found her weekends swamped with essays and studying and missed assignments. She only just barely survived, and as soon as finals week was over, she literally collapsed with exhaustion, her body and brain so burnt out that she was sick for weeks. She’d promised herself that she’d never do it again… and yet here she is not even two semesters later.

She can already imagine how stressful this semester is going to be. 

“You understand, miss y/n, that this is not an easy class?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and somehow it’s attractive. “We have weekly readings and essays and discussions, and the final paper is not a matter to be taken lightly. You truly believe you can manage that on top of all your other classes?” 

She gulps nervously, but timidly nods. He can tell that he’s laid it all on a bit harshly. 

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says softly. “I’m just trying to be… realistic. You seem to be a highly motivated student – and I admire that you’re pursuing topics that truly interest you – but I’d hate to see you burn yourself out.” 

“I think I can handle it,” she says, quiet but confident. “It’s something I enjoy so it’s more like a hobby than a class. And I think it’ll be fun? I saw on the syllabus that we’d be analyzing Frankenstein, which is one of my favorites…” 

His lips twist in a soft, endeared smile. He also loves Frankenstein. 

“Very well then,” he murmurs, his eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “What was it you needed to get enrolled? A permission code? I think if you just give me your student ID number I can get that sorted out…”

+++

The weather today is better. 

It’s still cloudy and gray outside, but the wind is much more forgiving, just a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. Orange and red leaves fall to the ground, crunching underneath y/n’s feet as she walks to class. They match the red sweater that she’s wearing today, soft and knitted with hidden tones of orange and brown woven between the threads. The colors of autumn, her favorite season. 

A pair of wired headphones trail from her back pocket to her ears. She’s listening to her fall playlist, Lana Del Rey’s Season of the Witch setting the tempo of her walk to campus. In one hand she carries her book – The Secret History by Donna Tart – and in the other she carries her iced chai latte. Her fingers are freezing as she holds her iced drink, and a shiver crawls down her spine every time she takes a sip – but she doesn’t regret her drink order at all. She’ll have an iced chai in her hand no matter the weather. 

Wanting to make a good impression on the first day of classes, she got up extra early today to get a head start. She washed her face so that she’d look extra bright and awake, ate a proper breakfast at her dining table instead of her usual banana-on-the-walk-to-class, and put on an outfit that she thought gave… studious. Her autumn sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. She even chose her book to match the academic vibe she was going for today (she was between The Secret History and Happy Place, and Happy Place just felt too summery for such a gloomy day… plus The Secret History has been on her TBR for way too long.).

She arrives at the lecture hall approximately… 20 minutes too early. But it was on purpose! She’s only taken a few classes in the literature building (most of her classes are in the social science buildings) and wanted to have enough time to find the room before class started. How horrible would it be for her to be late on the first day, when she’s desperate to make such a good impression on Harry? And Dr. Richmond, of course– but mostly Harry. 

He was nice. And she wants him to like her. Ballad of a girl who craves academic validation.

The door to the lecture hall is locked, so y/n takes a seat on the floor right next to the door, and cracks her book open. She’s only 15 pages in, but she’s already enthralled. She can’t count how many times this novel has been recommended to her – always in those “best books to read in fall<3” tik toks, or the list of classics recommended by the New York Times – and she gets it. She zones in, her eyes flickering from one page to the next as her headphones softly play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. She’s not one to usually listen to music while she reads (she usually finds it to be too distracting), but she’s so engrossed in this world and these characters that she barely remembers that she’s still listening to music. The people walking past her in the hallway fade away, the fluorescent lights transform into the dark library her book characters are currently huddled in, and no sound passes through her wired headphones – not even the heeled boots clicking against the tile floors, getting closer and closer to her. 

She only realizes that she’s not alone when those brown boots stop right in front of her, shining brightly in contrast to her worn out sneakers. She looks up suddenly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. Harry towers over her, key in hand, which he sticks into the lock. A soft smirk twists at his lips, and his green eyes flicker to where she’s looking up at him from the floor. 

“Miss y/n,” he says with a pleasant nod, a hint of amusement in his voice, “You’re here early.”

She folds the corner of the page she’s on and stands up, gently shutting her book. “I didn’t want to be late,” she responds, fussing with her stubborn headphones, which refuse to tuck into her back pocket. “I don’t have many classes in this building… didn’t want to get lost or anything on the first day.” 

He opens the door and lets y/n in first, following in closely behind her. “Punctuality is good.” He props the door open. 

She looks around the lecture hall. It’s not nearly as big as the classrooms she usually sits in for her psychology classes – those classes are huge, usually filled with a bunch of freshmen from all sorts of majors trying to fulfill their lower division GE requirements and whatnot. Those lecture halls could fit up to 400 people. This one probably wouldn’t fit more than 60. 

Not a problem though, considering that this class only had about 40 students enrolled (she checked last night). 

She wonders where she should sit. Too far in the back and she’d make the wrong first impression… but too close to the front and she might be the annoying kid that asks too many questions. Third row is her best bet. 

There’s still about 15 minutes before the class is scheduled to start, and she’s still the only one in the lecture hall apart from Harry. She feels a bit awkward, being the person in the sea of seats, but Harry pays no mind to her, shuffling through papers and logging onto the computer at the front podium. Though her book sits opened on her lap, she can’t help but stare at him.

He’s wearing brown trousers, well fitted around his legs and cutting off perfectly at his ankles as if they were custom tailored for him. Cream colored socks adorn his ankles and those shiny, brown leather boots click against the floor with his every step. Very professional, but also casual with the way his white button up is rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the top. He’s missing those cute glasses today, though. 

She watches as he struggles to turn the projector on, his eyebrows furrowed as he presses all the buttons on the panel. The lights in the classroom turn on and off again, and the computer audio mutes and unmutes before he finally figures out how to get the screen to roll down and the projector to flicker on. Despite him being only a few years older, he looks like an old man toggling with the buttons and trying to get technology to work in his favor. She bites back a smile, and quickly looks down to her book when Harry’s eyes briefly flicker to hers. From her peripheral vision, she can see him laughing as well and shaking his head at himself. 

She traces her fingers over the pages of the book, clearly well loved and worn out. She got it from the library just last week, after having been on the waitlist for the book for the past month. She can see why it’s so popular though, already so engrossed by the plot. The pages are old and yellow, the edges folded and ripped with years of use, and it has that old book smell that she just adores. How old is this book? It was published in the 90’s, wasn’t it?

Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Reading something good?” 

She looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s managed to successfully display the course syllabus on the projector screen, and is now walking around the desk with a stack of papers in his hand. He stands in front of the very first row, leaning his weight onto one leg with a hand in his pocket. 

“Oh, um–” she falters, “I actually just started it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be really good.” She sits up straighter in her seat, “Have you heard of it? The Secret History?”

Harry purses his lips, “Sounds familiar… haven’t read it though. You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth reading, alright?”

She nods, smiling shyly. Call her delusional but… it feels like a bit of an honor for him to trust her with a book recommendation. That takes a lot of trust, doesn’t it? To trust that someone will recommend a good book to you? 

She’s totally making a big deal out of nothing. She does that sometimes. 

“How about you?” she asks, her voice embarrassingly quiet. She’s shy, and nervous, and she’s not that good at small talk, and Harry is looking at her with these intense, green eyes that make her feel like she’s saying the most important thing in the world. She clears her throat, forcing her voice to not come out scared and shaky, “Read anything good lately?”

He grins, and she can tell this is probably his favorite thing to talk about.  “M’reading, like, five books at once,” he admits sheepishly. “Kafka on the Shore, if you’ve heard of it… Notes from Underground, by Dostoevsky for one of m’own classes…” he purses his lips in thought, “Started re-reading Paradise Lost as well. We’re analyzing it in one of the other classes im TA-ing, n’ it’s one of my favorites to teach,” he says with a shrug. His eyes are so thoughtful as he lists off the books that he’s reading, flickering green and gold. He’s just… beautiful.

“I haven’t read any of them,” y/n says regretfully, wishing that she could impress him with some sort of intellectual talk about one of these books. “I’ve had Kafka on the Shore on my list for a while, though.” 

He smiles. “S’a good one.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek that pinches cutely, the glimmer in his eyes a sight to behold. His pretty pink lips purse thoughtfully, his heart shaped cupid's bow twitching as though he has more to say – but then another student walks in. 

Harry’s head whips around. His jawline is sharp, and he nods politely at the new student. “Good morning,” he murmurs to the girl – that same welcoming voice that had made y/n’s heart flutter that first day that she met him. 

He turns back to y/n, and hands her a paper from the stack in his hands. “The syllabus,” he says, his eyes kind and warm.

She swallows thickly as he walks away from her, enamored already. 

+++

“Classes will be Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dr. Richmond lectures from the front of the class. His voice is croaky and old, so he has a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt pocket to project his voice to the back of the class – despite the small size of the lecture hall. “Thursdays I’ll lead the class,” he drones on, “We’ll analyze the romantic era… how their literature was a reflection of their politics… how they set the foundation of modern day consumerism, capitalism, patriarchy, globalism, imperialism…” he waves his hand passively. “The works.”

 He takes a long sip of water, and his swallow echoes through the class, amplified by his shirt microphone. Y/n cringes at the wet mouth sounds as he smacks his lips together. 

“On Tuesday’s–” his voice booms through the microphone again, “you will come to a class discussion led by Harry. This means that you’ll have the entire weekend to do the readings…” 

Nearly all the eyes in the room flicker to Harry, who’s been standing quietly in the corner with his hands folded behind his back while Dr. Richmond continues to lecture. He gives a small, almost bashful wave to the class at the mention of his name, his eyes scanning the room of unfamiliar faces. Their eyes meet, and his lips twist into a smile. This is the third time she’s caught his eye during the lecture.

He stares at her for a second, eyes glinting as if the two of them have a secret that they’re not sharing with the rest of the class. It makes her heart race in her chest, smiling back at him secretly.

She breaks their eye contact when Dr. Richmond croaks out with the last of his voice, “Any questions?” 

He’s met with silence.

“No? Okay good, class dismissed. See you all on Thursday.” 

The class bustles with life, backpacks zipping and pull out desks squeaking as everyone slowly trickles out of the room. A line forms in front of Dr. Richmond’s podium, with students eagerly introducing themselves and asking questions about the syllabus, only to be redirected to the back of the new line forming in front of Harry’s corner. Harry smiles kindly at every question and speaks with eloquence, strikingly different to Dr. Richmond’s grumbling and groaning. 

It’s glaringly obvious that Harry is going to be a class favorite. 

In the middle of answering a redheaded boy’s question, his gaze wanders over to y/n, watching her as she packs up her things, eyes following her to the door. She tucks her book under her arm and plugs her headphones into her ear, throwing her bag over her shoulder. 

Her drink is finished, just a cup full of melting ice at this point, so she stops at the trash can right at the front of the door. As she throws it away, she manages one final glance back at Harry. He’s already looking at her. He grins when their eyes meet, and gives a small wave goodbye. 

She bites back a smile, then hurries out of the classroom before he gets the chance to see her giddy eyes and heating cheeks. 

+++

Y/n honestly doesn’t love going to office hours. 

It’s hard, because on one hand, she knows that she should go to them and form a relationship with her professors so that they can write her letters of rec in the future… but on the other, they’re so crowded and awkward! Every other student is there for the same reason as her, going into office hours to ask their silly questions and try to butter up the professor. There are usually at least a dozen college students in there, waiting for their one second interaction with the professor before they all get kicked out at the end of the hour. It’s annoying and a waste of her time. Plus, she doubts Dr. Richmond is all that into getting buttered up 

That’s why she chooses to go to TA office hours instead. Usually much more quiet and much more intimate. Not that many people like to go to TA office hours for some reason, which means she usually gets to have one-on-one help. And sometimes (if the TA is really cool) they’ll basically give her the answers to the homework – a good thing, right?

Well… not when the TA is this ridiculously attractive and charming boy with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes that she can’t help but have a teensy little crush on.

 Like… can you blame her? He’s smart and handsome, and so incredibly kind and sweet. His eyes glimmer when he talks about his favorite books and his lips are always curled into a smile that makes her heart bubble. Always so polite and respectful, doing gentlemanly things while his boyish dimples pinch his cheeks. His voice is slow and sultry like smooth honey – and you can just tell that his mind is a beautiful place just from the way he talks. 

He’s just… endearing. Straight out of some romance book– and y/n loves romance!!! She can’t help but have a little bit of a heart flutter when she sees him standing in the corner of the lecture hall, especially when their eyes meet and he smiles at her cutely. 

He’s just being nice – she knows that, and she is well aware that she’s very delusional and that nothing is going to happen… but still, the prospect of going to his office hours and potentially having a one-on-one conversation with him makes her giddy and nervous at the same time. 

She pulls herself together and shakes away all the silly thoughts clouding her brain. Hoisting her bag up her shoulder, she enters the small office, the gold plaque reading Styles, H. shining proudly as she walks through the door. 

Harry doesn’t hear her walk in, his brows furrowed behind his tortoise shell glasses. A red pen is in his hand, brutally attacking a freshman essay. He looks up, a tad bit startled, when she knocks on the door timidly. 

The furrow in his brow immediately softens and turns into that familiar, kind smile. “Miss y/n,” his eyes shine like the nighttime sky filled with stars, “My first student of the day.” 

“Oh,” she checks the time. “I thought office hours started like, thirty minutes ago. Was I wrong? Am I early?” She intentionally wanted to show up a little late, not wanting to seem too eager. 

“No, no – you were right,” he hums, putting his pen down. “Not many students tend to show up to our office hours, is all. Especially not during the first week.”

She bites on the inside of her lip and wonders if she should be embarrassed for being the only one to show up, but Harry is quick to continue,“I wish more people did come, though. Like– if nobody shows up, all I do is sit here and grade for an hour.” His lips purse out cutely, a thoughtful pout, “And I hate grading.” 

“Oh– I’ll probably be here a lot,” y/n says mindlessly. “I always have questions. And Dr. Richmond kinda scares me.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, and y/n’s cheeks heat up. Maybe that was inappropriate to say. But then Harry leans in and whispers, “He scares me too, sometimes.”

It’s these charming little moments that make him so endearing. She tries not to get too distracted by his dimples and how his fingers tap delicately against his thigh, hugged deliciously by another pair of well fitting trousers. 

“Um– if it’s not a bother, I was wondering if I could ask about the first assignment? I was kind of confused about what's expected from us for the free-write thing…”

“M’all yours,” Harry murmurs, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

+++

Y/n’s fatal flaw is thinking that she can beat a rainstorm.

She actively knew there was an 80% chance of rain today. She saw the rainy streets. She heard the weather forecast. But did she bring an umbrella with herself to campus? 

No.

Somehow she rationalized in her brain that she didn’t need it. It was barely sprinkling when she walked out of her apartment, and the walk to class was only like 15 minutes! She’d make it to campus and then she’d be indoors all day and by the time she needed to go home the rain would probably have died down, and everything would be fine.

Oh how wrong she was. Silly girl. 

The rain is pounding down on her right now. Big fat raindrops soaking through her hoodie and turning her light wash denim jeans into a completely new color. She has many regrets. What had started off as a cute little walk in the rain has turned into her running through a fucking monsoon or something. The slight, gentle drizzle had escalated to pouring rain in a matter of seconds. She had left her apartment with her earbuds playing Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, romanticizing her little stroll in the rain – but now her wire headphones are barely hanging on as half-speedwalks/ half-runs down the sidewalk with her head down. 

When she gets stuck at a crosswalk on a busy street, she glances frantically to her left and right, trying to find a tree or a building to take shelter under. But the sky is wide and open, no roof or canopy for her to hide under. She stands helplessly, the rain pouring down on her. The only thing she can do is pull her hood up and grip it tightly so that the rain doesn’t get in her face. 

The rain pierces through her clothes, and the wind feels extra cold against her wet jeans. Thank god she at least wore rainboots today, she thinks to herself as she stares down at the ground. This would suck even more if her socks were getting wet. She had thought far ahead enough to anticipate the possibility of puddles – and yet still didn’t imagine the need for an umbrella. The hems of her pants are soaked and feel horrible against her ankles, and she knows for a fact that she’s gonna have to let her hoodie air dry or something during Dr. Richmond’s lecture. Ugh. She hopes the lecture hall is warmer than it is out here.

She readjusts her headphones, pushing the earbuds further into her ear after they nearly fell out whilst she was running here. She likes this song, and it’s kind of romantic to be listening to it in the rain (it would be even more romantic if she wasn’t SOAKED TO THE CORE). If there’s anything y/n will do, it’s romanticize the shit out of any situation. 

Cars are driving past quickly, but she can’t hear them, her music loud enough to drown out their annoying engines. She stares at a nearby puddle, looking at how it ripples as each drop of rain splatters into it. She wonders if mother nature has a personal vendetta against her – if Earth had personally planned to make it rain super hard the minute that she stepped out of her apartment. Why does she always do this? This isn’t the first time she’s caught herself soaked because she was too lazy to bring an umbrella with herself – and it probably isn’t the last time either. She crosses her arms across her chest and hides her hands in her sleeves, hugging herself tightly as a feeble defense against the biting rain. Why won’t the stupid crosswalk turn on? Her slightly damp hair falls into her eyes as she looks back down at her boots, letting out an annoyed huff. 

The shadow of a new person tickles her peripheral vision. They brought an umbrella. She scolds herself once more. 

 It takes her a second to realize that, although she can still see the rain drizzling around her, splattering against the ground and splashing onto her boots… she actually doesn’t feel the gentle patter of raindrops against the top of her head anymore. She looks up. 

Somehow, she is now under the umbrella. And the person holding said umbrella… is Harry. 

He looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, black trousers, and some sleek black boots with gold buckles on them. Standing to her left, he holds his umbrella up between them in a way that shields both of them from the rain. He stares forward innocently, pretending like everything is normal – like he hadn't just snuck up next to her and shared his umbrella with her. She can see a slight smile tugging on his lips though, and when she stares at him long enough, he peeks over at her with a glint shimmering in his pupils. His pretty pink lips curl into that sideways smile, and he says nothing. 

Y/n can’t help but give a dumbstruck little laugh. Of course it would be Harry. 

He winks at her, ever so charming and mischievous, then turns back to face the road. The crosswalk switches from Stop to Go, and Harry takes a step forward. Y/n follows in his stride.

They say nothing, and walk to their lecture shoulder to shoulder.

+++

“So,” Harry says with a clap, his voice loud and strong, “I hope you all got the chance to do the first chapter of our reading.” Unlike Dr. Richmond, Harry doesn’t need a microphone to project his voice to the back of the class. All eyes are staring at him, ears listening intently. And all the girls are staring at his pretty pink lips, and how they curl over each word (y/n included). 

“I know life gets in the way, so if y’ever don’t get the chance to finish the assigned reading… tha’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “M’not gonna be mad. I just ask that you don’t let it turn into a habit, and y’don’t pretend like you read it. M’gonna know if you’re bullshitting me… so just don’t even try.” The entire class laughs, and Harry’s dimple pokes his cheek. 

“So– be honest– how many of you guys read the first chapter?” 

All the students raise their hands, and Harry nods approvingly, “Nice… very nice.” He’s a natural at the front of the classroom, entertaining and intellectual at the same time – confident and eloquent. His words are thoughtful and slow, but not one student seems to be bored by his slow drawl. No – instead everyone hangs onto his every word, dripping soft and thick like golden honey. He answers questions easily and plays off of student responses like a pro, and everyone seems keen on impressing him with fancy literature talk.

“You might have seen on our course page that I posted a series of discussion questions… I’ll try to have these up at least a week in advance so that you can have them in the back of your mind whilst you’re reading. I always find it to be particularly stimulating to be reading a novel with a question in mind… dunno, makes me feel sharper while I read. Does anyone else feel that way?” He talks to the class as if they’re all friends, mildly flirtatious in the natural, charming way that he is. 

The group of undergraduates nod back at him, enthralled by his smile and his wit and just everything about him. God, his smile is just so charming. “Okay... how about we get started with the first one? Wait– actually, before that… I’m just wondering, have any of you already read Frankenstein before?”

Two students out of the forty raise their hands – a boy wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and y/n. 

Harry’s eyes meet y/n’s for the first time since they entered the classroom together. They’d walked across campus together in comfortable silence, past the campus Starbucks and the Social Science buildings, and when they got to the Literature department building Harry had held the door open for her, while shaking off the rain droplets from his umbrella. They walked through the halls side by side as well, Harry’s shiny boots clicking in time with the squeak of y/n’s wet sneakers against the tile floors. All he had said to her during the entirety of their walk was “After you,” when he’d opened the door for her. 

Now he looks at her for the first time in what feels like ages, and gives her an approving nod. He already knew that, from that very first day when she’d come to his office, asking for permission codes and what not. She feels her heart fluttering excitedly, just from that single nod. 

“Interesting… so it’s a first read for most of you. Brilliant! We’ll have a good time reading it together, I promise,” he says, his green eyes gleaming. “I love this book – it’s sometimes called the first science fiction book, written at a time where technology was first being introduced, and it’s regarded as one of the most famous novels of the Romantic era. Mary Shelly, the author, was a prominent Romantic era writer who shared the common Romantic appreciation for the natural world and how art can evoke emotions, which we can clearly see in her novel. We’ll take a few different approaches while analyzing it. Most prominently through a Romantic lens – but we’ll also do a feminist reading and religious reading, as well as a biographical approach… which brings us to the first discussion question – ‘Frankenstein is ultimately a novel about creation– a new and terrifying exploration of bringing life into the world. Based on what you read in the introduction, how can we see Mary Shelly’s personal experiences with life, birth, and death in the themes explored in Frankenstein?’” He looks up from the sheet of paper that he just read the question aloud from with bright eyes, “Anyone want to start us off?” 

The class is silent, the crowd of students suddenly much quieter compared to when they’d been going back and forth with playful banter to Harry’s jokes. Everyone’s a little too nervous to be the first one to say anything, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing. Harry holds his breath, and searches for a hand to save them from this awkward bit of silence. This kind of shyness is normal for the first day of classes – in fact, he’d expected it – but it still doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward. His eyes flicker from one side of the class to the other, from the front row to the back.

He almost misses y/n’s hand, timidly raising from her set spot in the third row. Harry’s eyes light up. “Miss y/n,” he murmurs, “go ahead.”

“Well, in the introduction we learn that Mary Shelly had a few failed pregnancies before writing her novel, and that her own mother had passed during childbirth complications. Shelly goes on to depict the cycle of life as destructive… Frankenstein’s monster is this disfigured creature that the creator is running from, which we see right at the beginning. The introduction implies that this “horrifying” birth and the death of the creator at the hands of what it created, might be symbolic of her own experiences.” 

“Excellent. That’s exactly right,” his smiles meet his eyes, and they twinkle, impressed. “The reason we have this as the first discussion question,” Harry turns back to the rest of the class, “is because I want you guys to keep it in mind while reading. Look for the ways Shelly describes birth –  take note of the strained relationship she creates between the creator and his creation. Also, recall how Shelly herself proclaimed this book to be her “hideous progeny” – to use such intense language whilst also calling it her “progeny” holds a lot of implications of what Shelly’s view on Creation is – whether is biologically or creatively. This is something that we’ll discuss further in depth when we get farther into the novel, so I want you all to start thinking about it now.”

All the students in the room nod intently, writing down what Harry said word for word.

“Furthermore, has anyone noticed that we’ve already seen a lot of references to fire? Pretty obvious symbolism, right?” The class nods. “Does anyone know why she chose fire, specifically?”

It’s silent again. Y/n looks around herself to see if anyone else might have the answer, but everyone stares up at Harry blankly.

“Don’t be shy on me now, guys. Promise m’not mean,” Harry smiles, “Just wanna get the discussion flowing.”

Y/n shyly raises her hand again. “It’s a reference to Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods – she even alternatively calls her story The Modern Prometheus.” 

 His eyes glimmer, a shine behind his irises that doesn’t show up when he looks at his other students – just y/n. As hard as he tries not to pick favorites… he can’t help but harbor a little bit of favoritism towards her. “Very good, Miss y/n,” he praises with a soft smile.

Y/n’s cheeks turn hot and she ducks her head down, unable to stop the reciprocating smile from spreading on her face. 

+++

“Miss y/n,” Harry calls out to her as the students file out of the classroom. “A word, please.” 

Y/n hoists her bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the podium where he stands. He’s packing up his own things, his own beat up copy of Frankenstein being placed delicately in his bag, along with a stack of other papers and things that he has to grade. A few other students have approached him, asking questions that they were too shy to ask during class, but with a sly smile he tells them to ask their questions at his office hours (Thursdays at 5 – but y/n already knew that!). Her fingers twist nervously behind her back as she stands awkwardly by his side as the rest of the students ask their questions and trickle out. 

He waits until all the students have left, and it’s just him and y/n standing by the podium, before he says anything to her.

“You were making some excellent points today in class,” he looks up at her briefly with a smirk, “I appreciate your participation. Class is always more difficult to lead when students don’t participate.” 

“Oh,” she blinks. She’s never been thanked for participating in class. “Erm– yeah. I-I’m happy to participate.” She readjusts her bag, tugging it higher up her shoulders, “S’just kinda like a big book club if y’really think about it.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees with a quirk of his lips. He zips up his bag, and pulls it over his own shoulder, “How are you planning on getting home?”

A strange follow up question, she thinks to herself. But she responds, nonetheless, “Oh, I was just gonna walk.” Harry peers out of the window, then looks back at y/n, his eyebrows raised. She follows his gaze, and realizes that it is still raining like crazy outside. 

A heavy sigh escapes her lips without her permission. Of course. “I guess I’ll just wait it out,” she shrugs, walking towards the door alongside Harry. 

He locks the door behind them, with her lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?” 

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.” 

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting. 

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street. 

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs. 

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles. 

It’ll be their little secret. 

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 14) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 2) is already posted on patreon! : In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out

Prose Masterlist

[daemonmage]

A Stupid Batfam AU

Jason’s and Bruce’s rocky relationship is actually a pr move to make sure the rest of the batfam doesn’t get attacked by reporters and gcpd.

Essentially Red Hood, while liked by the Crime Alley citizens and other citizens as well, has a pretty bad reputation with a lot of the rest of the city. The GCPD hate him for his overt violence and the head incident. The Media hates him cause he’s what they all feared Batman would become and are constantly creating news stories on him. A lot of the other citizens are just scared of him cause sometimes his temper gets out of control. It’s not the best reputation.

Bruce and Jason have long since talked and settled their differences. Well, it’s more of a “I don’t approve of your methods but I will acknowledge you as a person who wants to help, but I will still dislike the guns. Also I missed you” from Bruce and “I’m not happy with a lot of your decisions but I also understand why you came to those decisions. I’m still mad but I now know that you missed me and I missed you too” from Jason. They’re better than they were originally and honestly that’s all they could hope for. Jason visits the manor more and is having fun being brothers to Dick and Tim.

Here’s the thing though… his reputation as Red Hood may have accidentally spread to the other Bats. A few team ups here and there (and the red bat on his chest) have made everyone assume that Batman is now working with Red Hood, a known crime lord. The media and GCPD were on them like flies on shit. Jim tries to calm down the gcpd with mixed results, but he can’t stop the media from blowing this out of proportion. It’s like the news channels from Dark Knight Returns, but worse.

Jason, who just got his family back, is fucking pissed. Jason is also dramatic as hell. Bruce was willing to just deal with this, but Tim is too new at this to be caught in the crossfire. Bruce was just gonna bench him out of fear until things calm down (he’s dealt with this before) but Jason brings up his plan to Bruce. Bruce isn’t as dramatic as Jason, however he is still absolutely dramatic. He agrees. So begins an epic fight between two ideals that ends two vigilantes at each other’s throats constantly.

Red Hood and Batman fight any time they are together, Red Hood is arrested by Batman on multiple occasions, and Red Hood always escapes leaving terrifying threats spray painted where the bat can see. (Jason and Bruce give each others shit for the pot shots they take and Bruce compliments Jason’s form when he gets a good hit in, Bruce gives Jason a heads up to the easier ways to get out of a police car and Jason ignores him going for the most dramatic ways, Bruce complains that the code Jason uses for his threats are obvious and he can just ask Alfred himself for cookies, why does Bruce have to be the middle man.)

The super hero community doesn’t really know this (cause they can be pretty bad actors at times, says Bruce) tis can cause problems. Superman and Green Arrow capturing Red Hood. Batman had to pull the “he’s Gotham’s problem give him to me,” which led to a hour of arguing to get Jason back. Tim’s friend have Red Hood on their hit list for what Hood did to Robin (Tim is over it but he does use this as a way to get back at his brother when he pisses him off) and Red Hood has to be on the Villain List to sell the act, so every hero ever knows the Red Hood is a villain. This leads to chaos.

There are still rough moments where Bruce and Jason still fight, but it’s better. Jason gets to hang out and play games with Tim. He plans overly dramatic fights with Dick (with full plot cause these two are so extra.) He helps Alfred in the kitchen again talking about books they’ve both read. He and Bruce talk again, they talk about their fears and what they’ve missed. It’s better, and that’s all that really matters.

[bakuslove]

IT’S IN THE LITTLE THINGS

﹒ॱ˖ 🖇️ FEATURING. pro hero!bakugo x feminine!reader

﹒ॱ˖ ☆ CONTENT. fluff, sfw, established relationship, pro hero!bakugo, no pronouns are used for the reader but they’re written to be feminine WC. 825

﹒ॱ˖ 💬 SYNOPSIS. Katsuki never needed words to tell you how much you mean to him.

Katsuki doesn’t say ‘I love you’ often.

In fact, those three little words never leave his mouth during the first few months, almost a year actually, that you’re together. No matter how much he wants to say them, he finds it impossible for them to slip off the tip of his tongue. 

He gets red in the face at the mere thought of how difficult it is to tell you the very thing you’ve said to him to months now and he’s convinced there’s something wrong with him. 

He’s been a pro hero for years now, facing some of the world’s most terrifying villains on the daily, but you... you still make his hands sweat like he’s some sort of stupid middle schooler too afraid to confess to his crush. Except now you’re his girlfriend. Of nearly a year. The hard part should be over now. Yet he’s stuck trying to say the words he wishes he could say from day one. 

But his inability to speak his mind around you doesn’t seem to bother you nearly as much, and that’s because you were able to witness the things he did for you and only you. 

Katsuki never needed to say ‘I love you’. Even if the moment called for it, even if the words scrapped against the inside of his ribs and clawed up his throat, even if they danced on the tip of his tongue when you looked at him like that, Katsuki never needed words to tell you how much you mean to him.

Every word he ever needed to tell you was in the little things. The little things he did for you without you needing to raise a finger or bat an eye or part your pretty lips to ask. 

From the very start, he found ways to work you into his schedule. From waking up just five minutes earlier than you so he could make your coffee just the way you like it to sorting your laundry by colors, whites, and delicates just like he does with his own. From making you an extra portion at dinner even if he wasn’t sure you were coming over to buying you your favorite fruits to keep as a snack at his place when you started visiting more often. 

It may have taken Katsuki almost a year of having you in his life for him to say those three little words, but you knew he loved you before they were spoken. You knew from the way his hand would find the small of your back in crowded spaces and from how he’d always make sure to pick up when you call no matter what he was in the middle of doing. 

Katsuki’s love for you was nestled in the corners and crooks of the littlest things he did for you. 

“Did you buy these?” you ask over your shoulder just loud enough to trump the sound of running water.

“Why the hell else would I have strawberry scented shit in my shower?” Katsuki mumbles, arms crossing over his chest as he leans against the doorway, watching as you undress for your shower. 

“Aw, don’t tell me you like me or something~” you tease, flashing him a smile before disappearing behind the shower curtain.

But it still isn't even the bottles of body wash or separate bar of soap -that you’re certain he bought for you but seems to be getting enough milage for you to suspect that he must be using it too- that proves his affection for you.

It happens after your shower when you’re getting ready for bed, applying that lotion that makes him crazy all while wearing that Dynamight t-shirt he gifted you for when you spend your nights with him. It happens when you let you a gentle sigh, leaning your head on his chest as his hands grip your thighs and pull them over his lap. His course palms are rough against the silky smooth plush of your thighs and your hair smells so, so heavenly, the words just slip from his mouth.

“I love you,” he breaths, eyes glued to where his other hand now caresses your own, the scarred pad of his thumb ghosting over your knuckles.

But you don’t squeal, you don’t laugh, you don’t cry, you don’t even get angry at him for taking so long. You don’t react in any of the ways he imagined you’d react in the hundreds of times he played out this scenario in his head before. Instead, you smile at him, soft and sweet like you always do, your pretty eyes shining in the dim lighting of his bedroom, and you press a lingering kiss to the stubble on his cheek

“I love you too, Katsuki.”

Even after he finally let himself say the words he’s been meaning to say for so long, he never stopped telling you just how much he loved you. Not only with words, but in all the little things he does for you each and every day. 

[cerise-on-top]

Hello!! How would tf141 react to a very sassy reader? Like sassing them out for no reason what so ever?

Hey! Like this, I think!

TF141 with a Sassy Reader

Price: He can appreciate some good sass, as long as it’s appropriate. God knows how often he’s been sassed by one of his soldiers, especially Gaz, so he doesn’t mind it, to some degree. You can sass him if you want, he’ll sass you back if he can think of a comeback that’s fitting. However, if you sass him for the sake of being mean to him instead of trying to get a good chuckle out of something, or maybe making a situation less dire, then he won’t be as appreciative of it. Don’t get me wrong, Price could shout at you if he really wanted to, but he’d much rather make you feel some guilt and remorse for inappropriate behavior. Although it’s fairly rare that happens, it will happen if you get on his nerves too much. Will then ask you if you think what you said was really appropriate in such a situation. You can then apologize still and all will be good as long as you keep your mouth shut. Once he’s calmed down, you can crack a joke at his expense again. Again, he’s used to such things as a captain, but keep it professional and stay polite, for the most part, and you won’t have a problem with him.

Gaz: He sasses you right back. He’s not particularly afraid of authority as long as they’re up for some good natured fun. So it really doesn’t matter if you’re above or below him rank wise. As soon as you open your mouth and some sass leaves it, he’ll immediately have thought of something to say in retaliation. I wouldn’t be surprised if you small sass battles could go on for a while. It’s a game to him, the first person that doesn’t know how to respond anymore simply loses, end of story. Will slightly mock you if you did lose, though. After all, you use such big words, and then you lose to him of all people? Surely, you can do better. It’s not impossible to out-sass Gaz, but he always has something stupid to say if he can, so it would take a while before you could properly beat him at his own game. He doesn’t give up easily either. Even as the conversation is about to be over, if he can think of something to say he’ll just say it. Sort of ends up looking forward to talking with you, sometimes he just needs to be a little shit who runs his mouth without any consequences. Sassing Price sometimes brings consequences with it, but not with you. With you he’ll be as lightheartedly mean as he can be.

Ghost: He’s been shit talked so much, he doesn’t really care anymore. He’s a scary and intimidating guy, so naturally people have something to say about him. However, most of them usually don’t have the courage to say anything like it to his face. So yeah, he would be a bit surprised if someone actually did sass him for a bit. Would go quiet for a moment, processing that someone just said something mean to him. When he wants to be, even Ghost can be a bit sassy himself, though in his case he usually just ends up sounding mean more so than anything else. Will “sass” you back when he can. It’s a bit intimidating from someone like him, especially since his sass borders on threatening, but you can be sure he won’t go through with it. He just really wants to see how far he can push this entire thing and what he needs to do in order for you to stop running your mouth and cower in fear as well. That never comes, however, so he ends up sassing/threatening you a bit as well. I could see you becoming buddies over this, it’s really rare for someone to talk to him like that. It makes him smile when you can think of an especially good comeback. Might sass someone alongside you, if they really deserve it.

Soap: He definitely has some fun with you. Although he can be quite sassy himself as well when he wants to be, he usually just hops on the jokes of other people. Sees you sassing him as some kind of challenge, so you can be certain he’ll challenge you right back. After all, if you can run your mouth then surely you can prove yourself as well, right? It’s all a competition in his eyes and he’s somewhat of a sore loser. Though, if you really are all talk and there’s nothing behind what you’re saying, then he’ll get Gaz involved as well, thinking that, because his buddy is very sassy himself, there will be some fun sassing going on. He’s usually right, but he still stands by what he said: You should be able to prove yourself after everything you have to say. Soap doesn’t take too kindly to being sassed for no reason whatsoever. He will take you up on what you said and will have you do it better than he does. If you are better than him, fine. You get to run your mouth as much as you want, he can’t really complain then. However, if you end up being worse at something than he is then he’s earned every right to sass you to hell and back instead. It’s all fair in his eyes. If you improve you get to sass him again, but good luck.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 4 Prompt: Questionable Holiday Movies

Like many, I chose Gremlins.

Tags: Post Season 4, Everyone Lives, Movie Nights At The Harrington's House, Established Relationship

wc: 1225 | Rating: T

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

When Eddie pulls up at the Harrington house he’s come to frequent in recent months, the driveway is full of bikes. Those damn little shits, Eddie thinks, shaking his head as he parks the van on the curb in front of Steve’s house. The curb where said bikes should be instead of taking up prime parking real-estate for actual cars. He’s going to get ahold of one of his damn sheep and scold them for their carelessness. It’s one thing to leave them littering the lawn, but the driveway? Have some decency!

Moseying his way to the front door, Eddie makes it all of a few steps onto the bike cluttered driveway before he hears familiar voices shouting at each other. All the blood drains from his body in an instant. Mind raising through a hundred and one ways that something might be wrong.

He was a pessimist before, but his brief stint with the Upside Down has really taken a toll.

Double-timing it, Eddie bursts through the front door and down the hallway into the Harrington’s open living room. Thankfully, he doesn’t find any signs of blood, floating bodies, or otherwise distressed children. Instead, his eyes land on Dustin and Steve who are glaring at each other by the television set.

“You’re uncultured!” Dustin shouts.

“Shut up, Henderson,” Steve snaps, hands on his hips. “I am not uncultured. You’re uncultured!”

Dustin gasps, more offended than he should be. He takes a step closer to Steve, puffing out his chest to make himself look bigger. “You take that back.”

“No.”

As the heated argument morphs into a silent stare-down, Eddie takes a moment to assess the rest of the room. Robin, Max, and El are on the sofa, leisurely enjoying a bowl of popcorn. The rest of his Sheep are scattered around, attention focused on the mountain of Family Video rental tapes on the coffee table.

“What the hell did I walk into?” Eddie asks when he realizes no one is going to fill him in.

“Dingus and Dingus Jr. are arguing,” Robin supplies.

“S’nothing new,” Max agrees.

“We are not arguing,” Steve grumbles.

“That I can agree on,” Dustin says, nodding his head. “I am having a discussion with Steve and his lack of taste in Christmas movies.”

“First of all, Henderson, taste is subjective or whatever,” Steve says, hand abandoning his hips for a moment to flounder through the air. “Secondly, it’s not a discussion if you spend the entire time yelling at me for something you’re wrong about.”

“I’m not wrong! Dammit!”

There’s a part of Eddie that wants to see how this plays out. He’s no stranger to the epic Steve vs Dustin arguments conversations. There’s still a stain on the carpet in his own bedroom after an innocent debate over the best ice cream float combinations turned ugly. On the other hand, Eddie’s had a long day of getting yelled at my stupid customers, he could use some quiet.

“Gentleman,” Eddie says, clapping his hands. He moves between the two scowling men — well, man and teenager. Though, maybe Steve doesn’t deserve to be called a man right now either considering he’s arguing with Dustin in the first place. Whatever. He’s standing between them is all that matters. “What seems to be the issue today?”

“Why do you make it sound like we always have issues?” Steve asks at the same time Dustin snatches a VHS tape from the floor and practically shouts, “Steve says Gremlins isn’t a Christmas movie.”

“Because it’s not!”

“It takes place on Christmas Eve!”

“That doesn’t make it a Christmas movie!”

“Are you even listening to yourself, Steve? Of course that makes it a Christmas movie!”

“No, it doesn’t! It has nothing to do with Christmas!”

Eddie’s sandwiched between the two of them now, ears ringing from the volume their voices have reached. No one else seems to be interested in refereeing this particular argument and Eddie can’t really blame them. Maybe he should have let them hash it out themselves. Too late now.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, nudging them both backward with his outstretched hands. “Valid points have been made on both sides.”

Eddie playing mediator does nothing to pull the scowls off Steve and Dustin’s faces. If anything, he thinks they might have deepened. He’s in too deep to stop now though, so he powers on.

“But unfortunately one of you is correct,” he says, clasping his hands together under his chin. He rocks on his feet, head swaying from side to side as he offers both Steve and Dustin apologetic gazes. “Stevie, sweetheart, I’m afraid Dustin is right on this one.”

“Ha!” Dustin shouts, throwing his hands up in victory. “I told you!”

Steve scoffs. “You’re a shithead, Henderson.”

“A shithead who is right!”

“You know what,” Steve says, trailing off.

Eddie catches the mischievous glint in his eyes. The same one he used to sport down the halls of Hawkins High with Carol and Tommy as they bitched about everything and anything. Eddie was never on the opposite end of Steve’s bitchy attitude, not important enough back then, but he certainly witnessed it more times than he can count.

Eddie’s willing to bet Steve gearing up for something that’s going to make Henderson retract his victory. Sure enough, he slinks up close to him and slings an arm around Eddie’s waist.

“Hey, baby,” Steve says, voice dripping in sweetness.

This isn’t going to be good for Eddie.

Steve's hand trails into Eddie’s back pocket and gives his boney ass a light tap before retreating.

“If you want more of this,” Steve says, slipping his hand into Eddie’s back pocket. He lets his hand hover there for a moment before he gives Eddie’s boney ass three lighthearted, teasing taps. “I suggest you join my side of this little discussion.”

A loud gasp escapes Eddie as Steve squeezes his ass cheek before withdrawing his hand completely. Glancing over, Eddie finds Steve staring at him with that same glint in his eyes and a cocky smirk on his face.

“No,” Dustin shouts, shaking his head. “No! That’s not fair. It’s illegal!”

“Sorry, Henderson,” Eddie says, genuinely apologetic in tone. He does think Gremlins is a Christmas movie, but the threat of not having Steve’s hands on him ever again? Well, that’s not worth defending Gizmo and the rest of those evil bastards. “I’ve had a change of thought. I don’t think it is a Christmas movie.”

“God dammit!” Dustin swears, stomping his foot. “See, this is why I didn’t want you two dating! You’re ruining my life!”

“Oh, quit being dramatic, Dustin,” Lucas says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s just pick something else.”

“Yeah! It’s just a movie, dude,” Mike chimes all.

“Screw all of you!”

As the room resumes its chaos in a different form — the boys arguing over what else they can watch seeing as Gremlins is out of the question. Eddie finds himself being ushered over to the recliner, where he’s promptly pulled into Steve’s lap.

“You know Henderson is right about that movie?” Eddie whispers, nuzzling into Steve’s chest.

Steve hums, closing his eyes for a moment as Eddie places a featherlight kiss to the two moles dotting his neck. “Don’t tell him, but I’ve actually never seen it.”

Eddie pulls away swiftly, nearly sending himself toppling off Steve’s lap. Thankfully, Steve’s reflexes are fast and he steadies Eddie with a firm around his torso. “You’re evil, Harrington,” he quietly chuckles, shaking his head.

“Gotta keep his ego in check somehow.”

[dreamauri]

┇𝗠𝗬 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘 - part seven, finale <3 ┇ ︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ┇arranged marriage does not always hold ┇the outcome you expect !! ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( max vertsappen  x  wife! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( fluff )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠song — ( link ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠word count — ( 1, 074 ) ╰  🌿 :: ⁠ content warning — ( X )

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous )

Max tapped his finger in the back of his other hand, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. The gentle breeze swept into the apartment, prompting the two bengal cats to jump up and cuddle into max’s body. The blond didn’t hesitate to pet the cats gently, scratching behind their ears and rubbing their belly.

It was too empty, He sighed. The whole place was too empty, the spot you’d occupy was now an empty piece of space. And Max couldn’t help but think, he’s his father’s son, isn’t he? Was your mother right? That he didn’t really like you and it was a stupid crush? 

No! It wasn’t a stupid crush. Max reminded himself. He loved you. He wanted to have kids with you and grow old with you. You were simply the smartest, most amazing, caring, kindest, and loveliest person he’s ever met. And he’d do anything to keep you happy. Even if it was letting you. He didn’t even have a say because he had brought you here without giving you a choice.

But what truly broke Max’s heart was, he truly thought you loved him as much as you do.

And he’ll hurt over it. 6 months until the divorce papers are fully processed and the rest of his life without you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was all dull for sure. People were starting to get suspicious of your absence, starting to make rumours about you or just plain out ridiculing you for not supporting your husband. Max believed the peak of such media bitting was here at the finale. 5 months and he’s never had to laugh off ‘where’s y/n?’ as much. He gave them the same answer. ‘She’s babysitting the cats. I don't want them scratching into our couch’.

Only Daniel actually knew where you were, and now that they were at the season finale filming the secret santa videos. Max wasn’t really optimistic about the gift receiving because what he wanted surely wasn’t going to fit in this little envelope or this little hand sized box. 

“I have no idea what this is.” He blew out a breath, shaking the box. It was light and small, rattling easy. Max opted for the box first since the envelope said open in private. Opening it, max frowned upon seeing a box of deck cards. With the words ‘you didn’t teach me how to play solitaire like you promised, yet’. 

“Ita deck of cards. With the words . . .” He took them out reading, furrowing his eyebrows to see. 

“Who on the grid doesn’t know- holy shit.” As soon as Max saw Daniel watching him from afar, he knew right away. “It’s from daniel.” the dutch laughed, looking down at your handwriting. You were the only person in his orbit who didn’t know how to play any sort of card games.

 “Do you know?” Daniel asked once he approached his former teammate. “You see the envelope yet?” “It says open-” “just turn around, i’ll make sure no one sees it.” And the blond did just that, facing away from the camera and pulling the envelope open. His eyes meet shreds of paper. “You’re crazy!” Max looked back back at Daniel with his jaw on the floor.

“It’s a private matter.” Daniel explained to the interviewer whilst the camera looking at daniel shocked and taken aback, disbelief but a neutral face still. “It’s not ripped all the way so you can do the rest if you want.” the woman behind the mic chuckled. Max got shredded paper and a deck of cards? How funny.

But to Max, these meant the world. Because he was literally having the most fun in his entire life continuing to rip apart the divorce papers in his hotel room that night.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The curtains were drawn and the windows were open. You’d been here. Max quickly entered the apartment looking around. Your canvases and painting equipment were out on the balcony and your clothes were back in the closet. Max had never been so happy to hug one of your hoodies. You weren’t here, the only thing reassuring max of your safety was the note you left on the fridge.

‘No eggs, brb’ He smiled to himself, taking it off the fridge. He can wait a few more minutes till you’re back– . . . or you could actually return right now, while he’s all sleep deprived in need of a shower and dishevelled . . . 

Max felt himself panic hearing the door click, a pang in his heart as he heard you push the door open and step in. With your carton of eggs, and a box on top. Once you caught his eye from across the room, you both froze. You stood in silence for a few moments before you finally cleared your throat and walked into the apartment.

You didn’t say a word. Setting the carton in the fridge and the box on the island. Max couldn’t help but look between you and the item curiously. “I—its an apology gift . . . It’s glass paint and brushes.” you pushed it towards him. “I’m . . . I’m For telling you through daniel . . . and for being so gullible.” Max welcomed you into his arms, hugging you back immediately. 

“I shouldn’t have let her get through my head like that. I should’ve listened to you.” Max didn’t want to say anything, he just wanted to listen to you. He owed you that. “I–i just want to be with you. Whether it's going to every race or staying here in Monaco. You really make me happy.”

Max felt his heart skip a beat at your words. He set his chin on top of your head, squeezing you in his arms. “Our story didn’t have a happy beginning, but I’d very much like for it to have a happy ending.” 

Max chuckled, smiling down at you. “You just quoted kung fu Panda?” You shrugged, giving him a tiny smile. “It's a good movie.” You said before cupping his cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss. A very long and much needed kiss because Max found his arms wrapped around you, unable to pull away. You guess your apology is accepted.

“You taste like car.” you giggled into the kiss. “You showered after the race?” Max shook his head. “I-i came to see you right away.” he said between kisses. “Let's go shower then.” You hummed as the two of you stumbled through the apartment, pulling each other's clothes off.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

maxerstappen1 posted on their story

liked by pieregasly charles_leclerc and 32.8k others

[adawngswife]

dating sean diaz hcs pt 2

- before esteban fixed up a car for sean, u guys would always take the public bus around seattle

- his favorite dates r the ones where u guys go into random small stores and thrift shops

- both of u guys cackle REALLY LOUD at tacky shirts with stupid sayings and get looks from people 😭

- ur fav thing is to go “i found something ud like” and watch sean look up from the racks in excitement to see an overly patriotic shirt that says “don’t touch my truck”

- his face drops into a frown and he picks out something 10x uglier and say it looks like something ud wear

- sean secretly buys what u say is cute but u cant afford bc thrifting is so expensive for no reason these days

- “guess what i got” and he slithers it out of his bag with an evil smile 😭 suddenly him dissing u for an hour straight doesnt even matter anymore

- once esteban texts sean for dinner u guys hop on the bus back home. he never asks sean to come home for dinner alone though! common courtesy to invite the gf

- sharing wired earbuds on the bus ride home always. sean plays little love songs bc he only listens to music that he relates to in that specific moment 😭 corny but cute. he def has songs in his head that he thinks are ur guys’ songs and plays them every chance he gets

- when u first started eating with the diaz family it was so painfully awkward

- though he kind of likes it now, he did not want his girlfriend to get to know esteban or daniel too well LMAO he didnt want to be embarrassed by anything they possibly could say

- still, even when he tried so hard to avoid it, daniel and esteban still found their ways

- estebans the kind of dad to bring up embarrassing stories about sean when he was a kid bc he KNOWS how much his son would hate it

- “y’know (y/n), im surprised seanie boy over here even managed to get a girlfriend in the first place”

- “why is that, mr. diaz?”

- “i remember he thought girls couldn’t poop until he was in middle school! i had to break the news for him—he was in denial for weeks. his voice was shaking when i told him and everything!” u can see sean pause mid-chew in the corner of his eye 😭 “and please, call me esteban”

- you just awkwardly nodded and tried to not bust out laughing. sean notices and kicks u under the table which makes u ACTUALLY bust out laughing

- esteban and daniel knew from there u were one to be trusted

- “i bet (y/n) doesn’t poop” daniel randomly said when u left that night. seans immediately swiveled his head around 😭

- just like with lyla, daniel seemed to have a crush on u as well. the only difference is that sean tries to shut it down REALLY quick.

- “she shits all the time. sometimes i wipe her ass for her bc she shits so much”

- daniel’s “eww…” is like music to his ears

- u always playfully punch him when he does this in front of u and ask why he makes u look bad in front of him

- sean never admits its bc hes jealous of a little kid 😭 he just changes the subject and kisses u bc he thinks hes sneaky

- over the summer he randomly got a buzz and didnt say anything to anybody

- he just opened his front door standing there bald as if nothing happened and ur eyes wld just kind of widen

- u wld eventually tell him it looks good tho bc it DOES he pulls it off so well

- that summer u wld always randomly start feeling his head because the texture is so interesting

- it got to the point where hed just sit on the floor in front of wherever u were so ud get to feel his freshly mowed head

- he always ends up dozing off bc its so comforting and u wld feel his head pressed on ur inner leg.

- u also get the privilege of cutting/buzzing his hair 😋

- sean doesnt trust himself so u guys sit for 40 mins watching a brad mondo video before u start going ape on his hair

- he gets kind of nervous when u get close to his face and does that thing where u switch between a persons right eye and left eye while smiling awkwardly 😭

- surprisingly it turns out good!

- i feel like ud be super nit-picky on ur work, thinking its total ass. he wld just say its perfect over and over again

- he always stares at any reflective surface and smiles like a dork in front of it. even if u did do a shit job, he probably wouldnt notice or care all that much bc he loves blindly ���️

im on winter break so i get to be cringe and free for endless hours thank u to like the 3 other people who also like sean diaz. u r all real ones

[moonflvver]

Starlight

character: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

warnings: angst (with fluff)

a/n: This is probably one of my favorite pieces about Bakugou that I've written. Also, I'm clearing out my drafts so expect an influx of posts over the next few days. And I'm getting back into mha so trust that there will be lots of Katsuki content in the future lol.

w/c: 1297

He was running his fingers through his hair as his jaw clenched. “What the fuck do you want from me then? What do you want? Because I just can’t figure it out. No matter what I do for you it’s never enough.”

You sighed, you were getting tired of having the same argument with him over and over again. And now of course he was turning this on you. Of course Bakugou Katsuki just couldn’t fucking admit that he was in the wrong for once. 

“What I want is for you to care about yourself Katsuki. I want you to stop overexerting yourself and coming home with an injury every other night. I want to trust that you’ll be safe when you’re out there.” You were trying your hardest not to let him hear your voice shake but it cracked mid-sentence nonetheless. 

It was just too much. God you loved him, of course you did. But he was too stubborn for his own good and he refused to stop pushing himself to the very edge of his limits. But that’s the thing about Bakugou, he’s a star. I mean it sounds silly to say but it’s true. 

He’s not just good at what he does, he’s great. But there’s something in him that refuses to let him enjoy what he has at any given moment and that’s the problem. They say that the stars that shine the brightest burn out the fastest and you know Katsuki better than anyone, so it’s clear to you that he’s just one mission away from crashing and burning. Which is why you can’t stop. If he won’t care for himself then you have to do it for him. 

“You don’t get it do you? I can’t just stop doing my job. People need me, people depend on me. I keep this city safe. I won’t drop it all just for you.” He shouted back. 

“Just for me, are you serious? Do I really mean that little to you, that you’d choose your own self destructive tendencies over me?” You’re crying now, tears are running down your face as you look at him. “I need you too, Katsuki.” You mumble, looking up at him.

Fuck. He looks exhausted and you’re sure that you don’t look any better, especially not after all of the crying you’ve been doing. But it’s clear that the long hours he’s been working have taken a serious toll on him and it makes you sob just a bit harder. 

His head is in his hands now as he says, “Shit y/n I didn’t mean that. I just-” But before he can finish you stop him. 

“I can’t watch you implode like this, I can’t stand by while you do this to yourself. I was so stupid to think that you’d actually change. But it doesn’t matter. You’re still that same impulsive, stubborn little kid that you were in highschool.” He knows you don’t mean it, he can tell by the fatigue that’s evident in your voice. You’re done. You’re clearly just grasping for straws at this point. There’s no fight left in you anymore and it’s all his fault. Fuck, of course he ended up pushing away the one person who’s remained consistently by his side.

The person who makes him lunch, who reminds him to take care of himself. Who always texts him on patrol asking him how he is no matter how late it is. He can’t let you leave, he just can’t. He wants to scream, he wants to fucking cry, he wants to let himself crash and burn and he doesn’t want you picking up the pieces. He just wants to be left alone but there’s a part of him that needs you more than the air that he breathes. And that part of him just can’t allow you to go. 

He’s taken you for granted, he knows that. He knew that his rise to the top would put a strain on your relationship but he had convinced himself that he would be able to figure it out. I mean of course he would, Bakugo Katsuki can do anything. Right? Anything except for preventing himself from getting completely and utterly blindsided by his own goals apparently. 

You’re grabbing your keys to walk out and take a breather but then he stands up, abruptly grabbing your arm.

You look up at him in mild shock. “Bakugou what are you-” 

“Don’t go.” He says, and it comes out as a quiet whisper. “Please don’t go, I’m sorry. Okay? I am so fucking sorry, just please don’t leave.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so desperate.

He looks down, lets your wrist drop. And now he’s just waiting for you to say anything, anything at all. You sigh, dropping your keys back down onto the table. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” He echoes back as his head comes up and you see that his eyes are full of tears. 

You step forward taking him into your arms and he buries himself into your chest as you stroke his back. You inhale that familiar caramel scent that always seems to linger around him, a scent that reminds you of home, a scent that never fails to make you melt into his arms. He makes you feel so at home whenever you’re near him, you just want to hold onto him forever. You open your mouth and just as you’re about to say something to him he pulls away, pausing for a moment.

“I know.” He says quietly. “I know that it’s been hard for you. It’s just that no matter what I do, no matter how much I achieve it’s just that. Fuck. It’s never enough.” There are tears falling from his eyes. His long lashes are coated in the salty drops of water that won’t stop cascading down his face as he continues, “I get into this insane mindset that I could just be doing everything better, that I could be stronger, that I need to try harder. And I end up pushing you away. I end up hurting you and it’s not fair to you and I’m just really tired.” His voice cracks as he finishes and all you want right now is to take away everything that’s weighing on him and put the burden on yourself. 

Really that’s all you’ve ever wanted, just to make him hurt a little less. Because seeing him like this makes your heart ache. How could he ever think that he was anything less than good enough? Katsuki Bakugou is a star. And sometimes his light is blinding and it overwhelms you. But he’s also capable of illuminating everyone and everything around him. And he needs to know how important he is. 

You close the distance between the two of you and you swipe your thumb under his eyes hoping to clear away his tears. Your hand lingers for a moment and then you cup his face. “You are good enough. I get that it’s hard, I know how much pressure you put on yourself. But I need you to know that I see it. Even if no one else does. I see how much of yourself you’re putting into your job, I see how deeply you care.”

 He’s staring at you, practically dumbfounded. But then his eyes soften, “Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.” It comes out almost as a sigh, like he’s finally able to let go of the air that his lungs have been holding in for the past half-hour. His shoulders relax and your hands find their way into his hair as you bring him into your chest once again, mumbling into his hair. “How could I not see you? You’re too bright to ignore.”

[fariesoiree]

Lately I've been thinking alot about lovestruck Hobie with an oblivious reader. I'm talking like, man's completely WHIPPED. Doing backflips on his eyelashes to get reader's attention and they just brush it off as 'he's probably like this with everyone'. Bro's furious, desperate even. If you're still in the getting to know each other stage, he acts like a complete idiot. I don't see him as a person to blush or stutter around their crush, but probably do his best to make you laugh or smile, even at the expense of his own dignity. To me, in the movie Hobie seemed like a very physical touch kind of guy. I assume it would be the same with reader, his arms always looking for excuses to end up around theirs waist or shoulders. You best believe he's always got you in the back of his mind (you make him question his beliefs around relationships at least once a week).

Pls give me your thoughts on the matter 🙏 obsessed with the idea.

~☄️ comet anon

ahhhh my first emoji non! this is so exciting 2 me c: okok so i haveeee a fic kinda like this — not really ( he kinda stalks reader to keep her out of harms way )— where hobie is OBSESSED but i like your take on it too

to me, hobie is the textbook definition of a lover boy and it takes him a while to make it look cool bc he’s inexperienced in the actual real world relationship stuff. like, he’s had flings, he’s had short-term relationships, if you can even call it that, in the past. he’s had crushes bc he’s human. he’s not locked down emotionally. if anything, he’s wayyy more open than your standard run of the mill person would be.

i think he wouldn’t be confused when he first saw you and got that little drop in his stomach bc he’s not an actual dumbass. he knows what having crushes is. he’s confused bc he can’t get his shit together and can’t seem to leave you alone. he’s liked plenty of other people before but he’s stuck on you and your pretty smile and your shiny curls, as if handcrafted by a higher power.

and everyone else is like “hobie wtf” when he does shit so blatantly out of character but you think it’s normal bc you just became friends with him. like he’s laughing at every little thing you say even if no one else is and you grin pridefully bc the positive reinforcement is nice. it’s encouragement and you feel like you’re being accepted by a very kind guy but in actuality, he’s dying to get you to look at him.

like he’ll get so desperate he’ll start googling stupid shit. “how to get a girl to like you back” “law of attraction for your crush” and he knows he looks so stupid rn but any opening he can get, he’s gonna take it. he, himself, is thinking “hobie wtf” when he’s walking down the street and swears he gets a whiff of your perfume. and when you’re standing close enough, he’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder in what you think is platonic, and use it an an excuse to inhale the scent of your hair products.

this man is completely and totally star struck and it’s not like him. i’m convinced he loves so hard. he has too w the way he acts canonically. and it’s not like he doesn’t believe in love, he just doesn’t fw the way society tries to force it down everyone’s throats. he sometimes catches himself imagining what it would look like if you two were actually together and if it’s something he’s willing to do, to actually work towards. ofc he is, btw. without a shadow of a doubt.

my hobie, the way i view him, is so unconventionally chivalrous. he’s not laying over a puddle so you don’t have to step around it but he is working behind the scenes, doing subtle things he knows you’d appreciate without asking and could possibly be overlooked. there’s not a single hobie variant that isnt absolutely star stuck all of the time around you. alllllll of the time.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

More ROTTMNT headcanons:

So it’s evident that Donnie doesn’t like to be touched unless he initiates it (with some exceptions like when Mikey and April hug him or when Leo leans on him) 

But when Donnie is sleep deprived he’s a clingy little shit 

God forbid you get within 5 feet of him because he will launch himself at you and latch on 

Now this isn’t a problem for Raph and Leo they’re both taller than him and can lift him with relative ease

Splinter, Mikey, and April on the other hand…. not so much

Don't get me wrong they’re all buff as fuck but their height kind of bites them in the ass

Do y’all remember that scene in Lilo and Stitch when Nani is putting her entire body weight on Lilo 

Think that but 10x’s worse because even though Donnie is built like cilantro his tech is heavy as hell

And he will force you to carry that weight by yourself 

It’s not uncommon for the boys to hear “if someone doesn’t get this twig bug off me in 5 seconds I’m gonna get my bat” coming from the living room

And because Leo is an amazing brother (and not touch starved at all) he will give Donnie piggyback rides around the house when he’s tired

Leo can stay awake without help for a stupid amount of time 

Like I’m talking actual days in a row

Donnie wants to be jealous but then he remembers that Leo tends to pass out around the house

One second he’s energetic and bouncing off the walls and the next he’s passed out on the floor

The first time this happened Splinter almost had a heart attack 

After that, they started putting mats and bean bags around the house 

And he’s usually able to make it…. Usually 

Donnie had a folder saved on his laptop and it’s just a compilation of Leo faceplanting

Leo and Donnie came up with all of the nicknames in the show

They were like 5 years old when they decided that saying everyone's full name was a pain in the ass 

So they spent like half an hour coming up with new and exciting nicknames 

But there are some nicknames that the others can’t use 

Nardo and Tello are theirs and theirs alone 

The singular time someone else tried to use those nicknames the twins looked at them funny for a solid minute

No one used them again after that

Leo used to call Donnie “Donbon” but once April showed up he stopped

He didn’t want to but Donnie used to get embarrassed when the nickname was used 

The only time he uses it is when he’s really tired or really sad 

Sometimes Donnie will get stuck in the zone and he won't come out of his lab for anything 

And when those times hit all Leo has to do is walk over to him and go “Donbon the guys are starting to get worried”

And Donnie will sigh and complain that Leo is interrupting his very important work but he’ll still leave the lab and socialize like a normal person 

When Mikey was really little he couldn't pronounce his brother's names so he called him “Lee” “Dee” and “Rrrrrrr” (he would just roll his r’s to call Raph over)

And he will still occasionally use those nicknames especially if he wants to make the group laugh 

He gave April her very own “Mikey approved nickname” 

“Aaaaa” he usually says it in a very quiet and monotone voice and it never fails to make April giggle

For a solid three years of their friendship, April thought Raphs name was Ralph and no one corrected her 

It wasn’t until Splinter got mad and called them all by their full names that April realized her mistake 

And she’s still embarrassed to this day

Sometimes Leo’s ADHD makes him very irritable 

The little things like his phone charger breaking and the tag on his pajamas being itchy will just stack up 

And next thing you know he’s in a really bad mood

Most of the time he tries to hide it but his siblings are always able to tell a difference 

And then they ask a million questions which just makes his mood worse 

And then he snaps and suddenly no one is happy

Leo feels guilty that he snapped at them and they feel guilty for overwhelming him

But no matter what the day always ends with them all in the living room in a big cuddle pile watching their favorite Jupiter Jim movies