#but the SECOND its even vaguely romantic

[lowellsgraveyard]

is it aromanticism/asexuality or gender dysphoria or body dysmorphia or deep-seated self hatred or anxiety or

[road2manjuumaster]

might make a little post for all my s/is cuz i don't think ive ever like. actually talked about em or introduced em ( unless you're in one of my friends servers and even then it's just winn )

[suashii]

— 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓌𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ pet names ( darlin’ + sweetheart :3 )

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it’s late—you know so because the sky has turned to a deep navy. you can hear the crickets chirping through the open window, feel the cool night breeze whisper against your skin. beyond those telling signs, your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. they’re screaming at you to close them but you know that if you do, you’ll fall asleep in a second. you can’t do that now, not when you’re on the phone giving your weekly update to your friend back home. 

“so,” her voice crackles over the line, “how are things in farmville?”

you snort at meg’s nickname for the little town you’ve come to know as a second home. as much as she pokes fun at the idea of having a ranch to run away to, she’s been supportive of your decision to retreat here for solace. she keeps you in the loop when it comes to the drama unfolding in the office and listens attentively when you tell her what you’re up to on the farm.

you have a feeling she might be offended that you didn’t tell her this bit sooner.

“fine.” you draw the word out, rolling onto your other side on the couch as if repositioning will give you enough time to stall. despite not being able to see her face, you imagine that the woman is wearing an expression that says something along the lines of i know you’re hiding something. even through the phone, she can see through you. “i might have gotten a concussion a few days ago.”

she gasps and you can hear her slap her hand over her mouth. you’re sure if she could, she’d reach through the phone and shake you by the shoulders before thinking better of it and rushing out a string of apologies. though, she can’t, so she settles on questioning you instead. “what happened? are you okay? why the hell are you just now telling me?”

you relay the series of events to her—how it happened, boothill finding you, your visit to the doctor, and boothill playing nurse since then. her worry seems to dissipate as you explain and by the time you’re done, she’s laughing.

“what are you giggling about?” you ask her, but a little part of you already knows. boothill’s name always seems to make its way into your conversations and since the start of these weekly calls, meg has held onto the belief that you’re harboring a crush on the farmhand. you brush her off every time she suggests that you like him but like a leech, the thought always latches on and lingers.

“probably hard to deny your feelings now, huh?” you can hear the smile in her voice. you pucker your lips in annoyance. you didn’t think telling her about the way boothill makes you feel would result in meg throwing it back in your face at any given moment. though, you suppose you can’t be surprised. she’s frustrated that you’ll admit those feelings to her and not him, that you won’t act on them. “he’s already taking care of you like you’re his girlfriend—how romantic!”

“it’s not romantic,” you tell her, shaking your head, “he’d do that for anyone.”

“even better!” meg squeals. the shrill sound makes you pull the phone away from your ear and you only return it to its former position when the woman lowers her voice. “if he’s like that with everyone, that means he isn’t trying to impress you. he’s just a compassionate, caring guy who happens to have a thing for you.”

you chew on your cheek as you contemplate her words. you’ve never doubted that he’s a good guy—you’ve seen too many instances of his big heart in action to think otherwise, though, the part about boothill having a “thing” for you is a bit harder to believe. sure, he’s called you pretty numerous times, unintentionally held your hands on a couple of occasions, but that means nothing, at least when it comes to whatever feelings he might have for you. you’ve convinced yourself that most of the things he does that make your heart flutter or your cheeks burn are simply to get a reaction out of you—a little embarrassment for the sake of his entertainment.

“ugh, when are you going to be brave and spill your guts to him?” meg’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“never! i’m not telling him anything.” you close your eyes and take a deep breath to ground yourself. “i don’t know how long i’ll be here and, more importantly, i have no idea if he even likes me.”

“and you’ll never find out if you keep running away.”

you’re about to tell her that you aren’t running away or avoiding anything but you press your lips together before the words can hit the air. because you have been—you can recall a number of times you have in the past and you’re even thinking about it now, leaving without coming to terms with your feelings or figuring out if boothill reciprocates them.

“i’m not—” not running away? not going to tell him? not ready to tell him? you huff out a sigh, one that’s a mixture of frustration and confusion. “not now, meg.”

“that’s fine,” she assures you, her voice soft. “i just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“i know.” you nod even though she can’t see you.

she’s right. you’ll regret it if you don’t say anything, if you go home without facing your feelings head-on. the what ifs and what could have beens will follow you there, mercilessly haunting your mind.

“it’s getting late,” you tell meg, “i think i’m going to go to bed.”

“sure,” she hums. there’s a brief pause like she wants to say more but she settles on, “good night.”

“g’night.” you pull your phone away to end the call and toss the device on the other end of the couch. you should go upstairs and get in bed like you planned to but all these thoughts so fresh in your head make you feel like falling asleep won’t come easy tonight. slumping against the arm on the couch, you let out a groan, one quiet enough to not wake your grandpa and boothill upstairs but loud enough to grant you the slightest bit of relief.

though, the sound is cut off by another. it comes from the kitchen and you sit up to peer over the back of the couch to see if you’re hearing things—you’d prefer it that way. your fantasy comes to an end when you see boothill standing at the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and closing the door once he’s finished.

he meets your gaze and shoots you a smile before uncapping the water and taking a few gulps. it’s strange seeing him at this hour; he usually sleeps early so he can wake up with the sun. you rarely ever see him wearing anything but his jeans and his top of choice but the look is traded in for pajamas now—if you can call nothing but a pair of boxers pajamas.

you gasp at the sight and turn around. he just wanders around the house half-naked? carelessly risks running into you while wearing nothing but his underwear? you might not have heard him but he certainly must have seen you stretched out on the couch or at the very least heard you talking to meg on the phone.

the call.

you quickly turn around to face him once more.

“how long have you been there?” the question comes out rushed but you’re frantic to know if he was around to hear you talking about him.

he shrugs and swallows, setting his bottle on the counter before leaning against it. “i don’t know. long enough to hear you’re having some boy troubles.”

the confession makes your heart jump into your throat. you choose not to expand on it, instead reprimanding him for eavesdropping. “it’s rude to listen in on conversations you aren’t part of.”

“my apologies.” he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t wanna interrupt.”

you stare him down in an attempt to read his expression and the look in his eyes. his perpetual smile is in place like usual but nothing else about his countenance seems knowing. he’s either very good at hiding it or he didn’t pick up on the fact that he was the one you’re talking about.

“want some advice?” boothill speaks up, tilting his head in a question of its own.

you look at him for a second before a laugh bubbles up from your chest, permeating the air. boothill’s smile slowly falls and that’s the last you see of him before turning your back to him. it seems a little more polite to laugh at him if it isn’t in his face.

he doesn’t stay at his place in the kitchen, feet carrying him to the back of the couch. you’re still laughing when he gets there. he’s never heard you laugh like this before—not at anything he’s said or done. as captivated as he is by the sound, he’s a touch more curious as to what brought it about. a cushion in between you, he leans over the back of the couch to ask, “what’s so funny?”

“i’m sorry.” you try to clear the humor from your voice but it lingers with your explanation. you turn your head to look boothill in the eye. “it’s just—what do you know about problems of the male variety?”

“hello?” he straightens up and gestures to himself and it’s only then that you remember how…undressed he is. that’s enough to sober you up from your humor. “you’re looking at a man, sweetheart.”

you don’t need him to tell you that—you’re more than aware of that. you just meant that he doesn’t seem like the type to help people out of romantic hardships, rather, he’s the one who causes them. strangely enough, though, you consider hearing his perspective. after all, he is the subject of your “boy troubles” as boothill called them.

“so, how about it?” he rounds the couch and plops down on it beside you, leaving a safe amount of space between the two of you. you hold his gaze, light gray irises glowing like stars in the darkness of the living room. “wanna hear my opinion?”

your heart rate quickens and you can’t tell why. because he’s this close to you and practically naked? because those gray eyes are boring into you, urging you to hear him out? because his advice could be the courage you need to admit your feelings or the very deterrent to keep you from doing so? 

maybe you aren’t quite brave enough to spill your guts yet but it’s time for you to stop being so scared of the what ifs. “okay, go for it.”

that seems to be the answer boothill was looking for, if his growing smile is any evidence. he doesn’t waste any time sharing his insight. “i say throw caution to the wind, tell him how you feel. and if he doesn’t feel the same way, well then, that’s his loss. because you, darlin’, are a catch. any man would be lucky to have you.”

you know boothill isn’t one to sugarcoat his words. every word he says, he means. is that the case here, too? any man would be lucky to have you—would he feel the same if that man was him?

“i’m headin’ to bed.” he groans as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head, mouth falling open in a yawn. you watch him silently, pondering his words. he doesn’t comment on your silence, doesn’t bother to tease you about your staring. all he does is offer you a wink before telling you, “sweet dreams.”

just as quietly as he appeared, he’s gone.

you let out a shaky breath that you didn’t know you were holding. instead of following boothill’s lead and going to sleep, you rest your head on the arm of the couch and turn your eyes up to the ceiling. your heart is still beating wildly against your rib cage but it’s not bad nerves this time around, it’s anticipation.

courage it is.

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[moonpascaltoo]

Fic Recs (steve harrington)

just some of my favorite one-shots or series i’ve read on ao3 and few from tumblr. all works ranging from 1.5k to 30k+ i believe. 18+ readers!

some have a tumblr that i tagged, but others i couldn’t find . i am doing this on mobile which is a bit difficult haha! i read these all (except 2) on ao3 so the links will be ao3. i know some are here on tumblr but i didn’t realize till after reading and making this! <3

steve harrington

come home by @stevie-petey <3💕

-"come home to me, okay?"

"always," steve promises

in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington.

(a stranger things rewrite).

dancing with our hands tied by @andvys

-You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

paint me red by eddiemunsons ao3

-You're one of Vickie's best friends. Her girlfriend, Robin, is in need of a distraction for her best friend, Steve Harrington, who you vaguely remember from school. Which is where you come in.

i’m your idiot by thebestandworstdayofjune ao3 @thebestandworstdayofjune

-Steve Harrington has a way of worming himself into your heart, and social situations you had done your best to exclude him from.

small hands, big heart by finalgirlharrington ao3 @sexybabystevie

-Steve Harrington has a massive crush on you, but his recent lack of luck in the romantic sense has him stuck on how to make a move. Plus, something about you makes him nervous in a way he's never been – in a way he likes. His simplest solution? Flirting via the old 'comparing hand sizes' method.

promise by Harley_Honey_Quinn ao3

-Reader learns about Steve's feelings thanks to some Russian truth serum.

kiss me by @corrodedseraphine

-Your friend is desperately trying to find a person who will give him something more. Wanting to feel what it's like to be loved again and after many failed dates he gets the idea that it's time to go back to King Steve's famous tactics. Telling him that it's not the best idea gets you involved in a deal where you have to help him get another girl. Will helping the boy you're in love with turn out to be a good idea? Probably not.

every rose has its thorn by @corrodedseraphine

-Christmas is coming to Hawkins. It is a time of joy and forgiveness. It turns out that your sister's best friend is looking for a new place to live, and you happen to have a spare room in the apartment. It wouldn't be a problem if that friend wasn't Steve Harrington. A man whom the more you try to avoid even more often comes back like a boomerang.

hearts on the telephone line by t_lostinworlds ao3 @t-lostinworlds

-You thought Steve was okay dealing with a long-distance relationship after you moved for an exciting internship in New York. But you were proven so wrong when your boyfriend finally poured his feelings over the phone. Because distance wasn't making his heart grow fonder, it was breaking it.

competitively stupid by t_lostinworlds ao3 @t-lostinworlds

-It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

perfect blend by Your_Writer ao3

-No one likes their summer job. Working at a coffee shop was sticky, exhausting, and overall boring. In fact, the highlight of your day was the charming, gentle eyed sailor scooping USS Butterscotch just across the way.

the things we don’t say by rdrickheffley ao3

-Steve Harrington once was the bane of Y/n's existence. He had always been an arrogant asshole and a terrible kisser. She never understood how others fell for the boy's eye-roll worthy charm. Now it seems like he will do anything to prove her wrong about anything.

next time? by rdrickheffley ao3

-Three instances where Steve and reader find themselves in intimate situations.

candyfloss and confessions by ACourtofSnakesandStars ao3

-You’ve been in love with Steve Harrington for years, like every cliche come to life. You’ve battled monsters, found friends within kids with superpowers, and you even managed to graduate. Yet the one thing you’ve never been able to do, is tell Steve how you feel. But maybe you don’t need to wait any longer.

a night to remember by RaeWrites94 ao3

-Steve has to attend his 10 year high school reunion and somehow manages to convince you to go as his date and his fake girlfriend. You've had feelings for him for a long time, but figure, why not? You could probably survive an evening of pretending he liked you back and come out unscathed. Right?

with bated breath by brianmay ao3

-Rumors fly after you attend Steve Harrington’s party one weekend in September. Thinking they were his doing, you do everything in your power to avoid him, which proves easier said than done.

cross my heart (and hope to die) by @talesofesther

-Every time Steve gets hurt, you're there to help pick up the pieces; you just weren't expecting him to fall for you in the process.

tales of a love between the lines by @talesofesther

-Sometimes the thing we want most is right in front of us, and Steve might be just that for you; all you have to do is see what he’s been showing you for a long time.

love is easy by seidenbros ao3

-The day you wrote I love you on a post-it note before you'd said the words out loud, and it's the best note Steve ever got.

everything means nothing if i can’t have you by iridescentpetrichor ao3

-Steve and Y/N go on a double date to impress the other one, but it's only so long until the tension between the two breaks.

you’re not by frostandflames ao3 @frostandflamesfanfic

-The year is 1985, you're on a school field trip to cheer on Hawkins High at the championship game before spring break. When the game doesn't pan out as expected, you're even more surprised to discover the one and only Steve Harrington in only his underwear at your hotel room after being locked out by his teammates. What happens when the two of you have a little heart to heart?

last christmas by frostandflames ao3 @frostandflamesfanfic

-You and Steve had always been childhood friends-and remained that way. As Steve ping-pongs around in his relationship status, you have a hard time keeping your feelings to himself as Nancy surrounds his entire world. What Steve doesn't know is his relationship to Nancy may end your own with Steve.

the scoundrel and the princess by @mrshipsmcgee

-after an awkward run in with Tommy Hagan, Steve Harrington is invited to an awful party where he meets a beautiful stranger.

also have a ton under the (steve harrington x reader) on my blog! credit to the maker of the gif from pinterest!

[junowritings]

Can I request headcanons for Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor with gn crush who can't genuinely can't tell if someone is being platonic or romantic to them?

Anon dear nothing but kisses thank you for the amazing request and requesting my fav Tiefs~

I'd wanted to leave the scenarios between each vague when I began this; I swear this started off small but it's now like 2am and ten pages long but here we are!

Also I've only just finished Act 2 so I may not have been too accurate with Haarlep and the others' act 3 moments but I do hope you enjoy~

=======

Haarlep 

♡ You’ve certainly put yourself in it this time. Managing to earn the affections of an incubus like Haarlep? You’ve either done something very right, or so very very amusing.

♡ At the House of hope the lines between affection and lust have all but blurred for Haarlep long before you showed up snooping around in places you weren’t supposed to be. You aren’t the first one to be lured in and, if the place’s owner had its way, you most certainly wouldn’t be the last; but that doesn’t mean you can’t provide some worthwhile entertainment for the incubus you stumble across in Raphael’s quarters.

♡ The second you’d poked your head into the boudoir to snoop you’d caught Haarlep’s attention, if only for the fact that you most certainly shouldn’t have been poking around so brazenly. They’ve heard your name plenty of times; heard how you’ve toed the fine line of keeping Rapael on his toes at every turn without making an enemy of him - yet. You should know better than to test the limits like this - but you don’t, and that makes the thought of killing you so wasteful to Haarlep when there’s far more amusing ways to make use of you.

♡Maybe it was merely for curiosity’s sake that they allowed you to walk in and out of the place with your life and soul intact; the potential of getting to do something - or someone - fun too tempting to pass up on after wiling the days away with the same old faces. For you to come voluntarily traipsing round the corridors of Raphael’s very ‘home’? Knowing the consequences and either too brave or too foolish to heed them? Now that piques the incubus’ interest, enough that they’re willing to let you leave after they’ve had their fun. After all, they know you won’t be able to stay away for long.

♡ You keep coming back - of course you do. You’re fun to toy with - the most amusement that they’ve had in quite a while. Even with an unwanted guest squirming around in your head and time being a precious commodity when your corner of the world is on the line, you always have a penchant for coming back for more. And they are more than content to give you those reasons to keep coming back; you’ll never stray for long now that they’ve got their claws into you, of that they’re certain.

♡ Oftentimes your visits aren’t with the promise of fulfilling desires - at least not the carnal ones. Instead you make a habit of sneaking into Raphael’s boudoir just to keep them company, flashing them that mischievous grin as you stretch out onto that luxurious bed and eagerly pat the space beside you. Haarlep feigns the role of a lover well - they’ve had enough centuries to hone their craft after all. So even they know when the line between a mere amusement and something more affectionate begin to blur together when it comes to you. It's gradual, of course - those simple hours listening to you rattle away about the latest scandalous adventure as they gently card clawed fingers through your hair; watching those little twinges of content pleasure on your face as you lean into their touch almost instinctively. 

♡ Haarlep is intimate by nature, always wanting to keep a hand on you at all times no matter the form that they take. Even in the most mundane circumstances you’ll find claws rubbing soft circles into your sides, a head perched upon the crook of your shoulder and warm breaths against your ear just close enough to get you to squirm or playfully push them away. If they’re feeling particularly greedy they’ll hide you away from the world within their wings, pulling your attention to focus purely on them as their tail curls loosely around your leg.

♡ The first night that you make the mistake of drifting off right there in the incubus’ arms is the day that Haarlep puts a face to the emotion that rattles awake within their chest. When was the last time they had felt such affection? Adored for merely existing? The concept of love is inherently foreign for someone like Haarlep, who has long released any such ties the moment they were contracted to be Raphael’s personal mirror in bed. And yet the feeling is relished nonetheless. 

♡ Be it blind trust or mounting exhaustion that leads you to this they care not; they’re far more focused on engraving every little contour of your face to their mind, running a finger down the curve of your jaw with a pleased hum. Such a hopeless one they’ve managed to fall for - if only you knew just how much you drew them in.

♡ Haarlep knows full well that you must be a little clueless to keep willingly coming back to the incubus without thought of the potential consequences. One would mistake you for a fool, or someone who values their life so little - but you’re neither (most of the time), and it doesn’t take much for Haarlep to clock onto why that is. You’re hopeless at differentiating between platonic and romantic advances; poor thing. A better person would take pity on you, perhaps assuage your inner turmoil with a few simple words. But when the alternative is being able to get you squirm with just enough hints to keep you on your proverbial toes? Well, who could fault them for keeping you guessing? 

♡ Out of all of them, Haarlep is more than happy to keep you spinning with this ‘will they won’t they’ game that they have circling around your head all of the time. Why waste a good thing with something so frivolous when they already have you right where they want you? Away from prying eyes, tucked away in their arms as they make your head spin with honeyed words and teasing remarks of your little conundrum. There’s no need to spoil the party by putting a name to the blatant feelings that lay thick in the air, is there?

♡That’s what they believe at least while they have you. But alas there’s always the inevitable departure - time is ticking on the surface world, your world. And you can’t spend all of your days in the House of Hope for them to seek out whenever they wish, though the idea becomes more and more appealing with each passing day. They're always reluctant to see you leave, hoping to tempt you back with teases and promises, all the while their hands are on your hips and his tail is back to curling around your ankle as though intent on convincing you to stay. 

♡ They allow you to slip from their claws if you insist, but don’t think you won’t have eyes on you until the very second that you disappear through that portal, contemplating pulling you right back for one selfish reason or another. They have teased and pulled at your heartstrings about missing you before - a comment once said in jest to rile you up - but this time Haarlep’s the one who feels the familiar tug as they slink back to their familiar stage. There’s the ripple of shifting bones and infernal magic rippling through them as they don your form, standing before the mirror within Raphael’s quarters as they bring a hand up to affectionately caress the flesh of their - your - cheek. An imitation of the real thing, but it serves its purpose as they anticipate your return.

♡ Perhaps, they decide as they map out every inch of this reflection of you, they will wrap this little game up sooner than they thought. Better for the cat to snatch you up before a fox does, hm?

Dammon

♡ Nothing’s been easy since long before Dammon and the other Tieflings took up the journey to Baldur’s gate, hoping for a better life than the ones that they’re leaving behind. He’s had to leave a lot of things behind in pursuit of that better life - his forge and his tools, anything he couldn’t carry or risk going back for. Hells, he was limited to the clothes on his back and the essentials he’d been fortunate enough to take with him; but that was all he had left of his old life, and Dammon knows the others are the same. It’s not just material possessions either - any plans he once had about his future went up in smoke months ago, instead clinging to the hope of forging some kind of livelihood in the city when they finally arrived. Anything other than that? Any dreams of love? A partner? A family? A dream is all they’re set to remain as.

♡ Dammon’s thankful that there’s plenty of things to keep him busy. Sure the forge and tools at the grove don’t hold a candle to his setup back at his old place but it’s an excellent way to keep himself occupied whenever he finds himself getting restless and itching for the outlet of familiarity. While things remain a stalemate between the Tieflings and the druids, he passes the time helping where he can, repairing armor and weapons with what limited materials he has to make sure that no one’s going out there completely unarmed. It’s good work for now, and lets him stave off the pining, leaving the humored thoughts of kindling anything romantic with anyone for the lonely nights at his forge or tucked away in his books.

♡ That all changed once you came along of course.

♡ Your mere presence is a whirlwind of a tale in itself. Armor bashed and dented from something much larger than goblins, weapon looking as though it’s one good swing away from snapping in two. Hells, it looks like you took a tumble from a damned cliff and walked it off - a thought he admits to a few days after your first meeting. He decides it’s probably best not to ask when you laugh, patting his back with a shake of your head as you chuckle that he doesn’t know the half of it. Wherever you came from you’ve taken a hell of a beating, and yet you still look ready to take on the world as you amble over to his forge to browse his wares and introduce yourself to the tiefling.

♡ You make yourself known about the Grove, making fast friends with some and tolerable allies in others. Dammon’s firmly in the former category, and really enjoys having you around. Even if you don’t know much about smithing you humor him whenever he talks about his craft, listening with an eager ear whenever he gets that bright glint in his eye that signals he’s going to go on a tangent. Don’t mention it though - it will fluster him to the hells and back to know that you notice that kind of stuff. Not to mention you respect his space while he’s working. Dammon’s focus when his working is honed in on defining details and making each piece perfect in his own way, so it's easy to lose track of what’s going on around him when he’s bent over his forge with his newest labor of love. 

♡ Maybe that’s why you’re able to catch him by surprise so often, startled out of his own reverie spotting you leaning against the beam of his makeshift workspace. You comment how amazing it is to see him so immersed in his craft - it’s inspiring, really - and that small appraisal alone has his face turning a lovely shade of copper. His work’s been praised before - it’s the highlight of his days seeing people genuinely appreciate the things he creates with his own hands. But being the one receiving such praise rather than the items he makes does something to his poor heart.

♡Dammon recognizes that he’s beginning to fall for you. It’s not something that hits him all at once, more like a gradual wave of affections that wash over him with each little greeting or rushed wave as you dart around the camp and back out again on the next adventure. It makes him feel…lighter, warmer. He’s tried to remain hopeful about what the future holds, to keep morale going in his own way; but he’s just as uncertain about it all as the others are. But having you around? Seeing the lengths that you go to - both from the issues at the Grove to the attack on the inn and the conflict at Moonrise? That kind of life that he had to push on the backburner feels feasible now - and you’re beginning to become an integral part of it at every turn.

♡ Dammon’s love language is acts of service, so you can expect him to go out of his way to do things for you to make your life easier. It starts off small; giving you discounts on anything you buy from him and little freebies he can spare whenever things aren’t so dire. Dammon always believes that you deserve more however, so eventually you can find him going out of his way to fashion whatever materials he can spare into things for you. 

♡ He’s no jewel smith, but he knows his own craft well, so he’ll gift you things that he knows you’ll find useful - weapons . He’ll refuse any kind of payment you try to give him, assuring you that you deserve far more after all you’ve done as he gently presses your gold back into your palm with a warm smile, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. 

♡And yet you still wonder why the party strong-arms you into being the designated buyer whenever you stop by his forge for repairs or supplies - your lack of awareness is going to give Gale more gray hairs at this rate.

♡ The only problem with Dammon’s acts of service, is that it’s very easy to mistake these gestures as him just being a good person - which he is! You’ve seen how easily he goes out of his way to help others in a pinch. You were there when he went through all of that effort to help Karlach curb her infernal engine enough to give her the chance for closeness that she’d been deprived of for years. (after all she’d almost cracked your ribs returning the hug you’d given her to test if Dammon’s upgrade had worked.) It’s easy for you to rationalize all of his gifts as something that’s just platonic - you couldn’t hope for more, right?

♡ Dammon wishes so badly that you would.

♡Is certainly the most upfront about his crush out of all of the tieflings once he realizes that you struggle to discern any romantic intentions. Though he does worry that he’s the one misreading the situation and that you may not actually reciprocate the feelings he has for you, in the end it doesn’t stop him. He needs to get his feelings out there before they burn over - especially with what could very well be the end of the world dangling over everybody’s heads by the time you all finally reach Baldur’s gate. If he doesn’t do it now, he worries you’ll never get the chance to figure it out for yourself. 

♡ He’ll call you away from your companions, asking for a moment of your time at the back of his shop. Tucked away in the far corner of his workplace, it reminds him of back at the Grove curled over his forge with you by his side watching him work with a quiet admiration. The memory gives him the confidence to reach for your hand, noting the way your eyes widen and your breath catches. You’ve fought gods and toppled cults, and yet you’re left speechless by his touch? As if the tiefling couldn’t fall for you any more. 

♡ If he had his way, Dammon would give you something far better than just spilling his feelings, something more profound than just words. But he knows better, that you’re on borrowed time and a small moment whisked away in the back of his forge is all he can give you right now - with promises for a proper date and confession when you come back alive.

♡ Expect Dammon to go overboard with the gift though, because of course he won’t just leave it at words. He keeps flipping between something classic like flowers and sweet treats (maybe even craft some metalwork flowers himself?); or perhaps you’d like something more practical like a weapon or armor with custom engraving (that he absolutely put his signature on in the hopes it will remind you of him when you’re on the road.) In the end he decides to go with a combination of both, carefully tucked away somewhere safe to give to you whatever your answer may be.

Rolan

♡ The idea of a crush was, at the beginning, a laughable notion to Rolan. Back at the Grove his priority was focused on two things and two things alone - one, getting to Baldur’s gate to begin the apprenticeship he’s dreamed of for months; and two, getting Cal and Lia there with him in one piece. Anything beyond that was unimportant, at least, that’s what he told himself at the time to make the idea of leaving the Grove without the rest of them more palatable. But then of course some newcomer just had to step in during one of the bi-daily spats about it and that whole idea went up in the air along with whatever patience he may have had.

♡ You’d convinced him to stay, convinced him not to pack up and leave in just one conversation and he’d bended to your interjection just like that. Rolan still doesn’t know why he conceded, watching with furrowed brows as Lia rounded on you excited to figure out how you did that and Cal sighing in relief that the whole argument was finally over with. It doesn’t matter - soon you’ll be right back out of those gates, just another soul passing through, and you’d be gone as though you never existed in the first place.

♡ If only it was that simple, but no, you just had to stick around instead of carrying on your way. Perhaps it would have saved his heart the trouble if you hadn’t.

♡ His feelings are misplaced, mistaken for frustration watching you traipse around fixing problems he hasn’t been able to. At first it’s jealousy - another ugly feeling he won’t admit. How do you make helping people look so easy? Breathing life into the cracks that have formed between the two groups and patching them up as simply as you breathe? 

♡ It doesn’t help that you stop by to see him every time, a habit that persists long after your time in the Grove. Rolan believes it’s out of pity and the wizard is ready to give you an earful about it. But the longer you stick around the more he has to come to terms with the fact that it’s nothing as malicious as that - you just enjoy coming to see him, for whatever reason. Rolan doesn’t know at what point your company becomes more than tolerable, even enjoyable - but the idea of it being anything more than that, with anyone much less you, is a far off notion.

♡ Of course he doesn’t expect to fall for someone, and he most certainly doesn’t expect it to be you. He’s a stubborn soul, who is just as reluctant to come to terms with his own feelings, much less the realization that these feelings aren’t the closely guarded secret he believed them to be. 

♡ All it takes Cal makes an offhand comment once about how Rolan’s ‘complaints’ about you these days sound more like praises - that if he didn’t know any better it sounds like he actually loves having you around. And just like that Rolan very nearly chokes on the drink he was unfortunate enough to be imbibing in at the time. 

♡ Him? Have feelings for YOU?! You, some wayward adventurer with a penchant for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t rightly belong out of some presumed sense of duty to this little wayward band of Tieflings? Who goes out of your way to seek out his company again and again no matter how harshly he comes off in return? Who humors his temper, grins at his sarcastic wit, and gives him that damned smile that sometimes makes the warmth in his chest feel like it’s shooting straight up to his throat threatening to spill-

♡ Oh.

♡ Oh no.

♡ The lightbulb pings simultaneously, and it's a good thing you’re not around to hear his siblings absolutely losing it over the knowledge that their brother is stuck pining over you. Not even a few weeks ago he was cussing you out over some perceived slight that was childish in hindsight, spurred on by his own feelings of helplessness. But now? You still made his blood boil, but gods if it didn’t feel like his blood burned for you now.

♡ Rolan’s way of flirting is by showing off to you. He believes that his greatest asset to impress you is his magic, and is fully prepared to use the arsenal of non-lethal spells at his disposal in an attempt to get you swooning. During the celebration at the Grove he remembers fondly the sound of your applause at his performance, your eyes alight with mirth as the sky right above your heads came alive with the results of his magic. The satisfaction of witnessing your face light up in the glow had been worth it; you’d rolled your eyes at his admittedly overdramatic bow but still grinned as your expression softened in embers of the campfire. It still has that warmth Rolan’s begun associating with you kindling in his chest, so he sets on impressing you every chance he gets, with the hope that just maybe it’ll be enough to kindle a warmth within you too.

♡ Rolan insists that he’s not outright confessing to you because surely you already know? Granted he hasn’t been the most…open, about his feelings, nor has he been very direct in his approach where others would have been bold…

♡ Oh who is he kidding - the thought of your rejection scared off any attempts to confess before this point. You’ve always been there - coming in every time there’s been mortal peril to save his life and the lives of his family again and again. It’s hard not to feel as though he’s got nothing to give every time you prove your resilience - would you even want him after you’ve seen him at his worst? He’d much rather live with the torment than know the answer to that question, even if it gnaws at him every night.

♡ Before you ask, yes there’s a betting pool on who’s going to confess first. What began as an inside joke spread like wildfire amongst the group the second Mol caught wind of the lucrative deal. Rolan doesn’t know what’s more mortifying - the fact that his affections are blatantly obvious enough to everyone around the pair of you, or that despite all of this you’re the only one who has no idea.

♡ Someone else is going to have to break the stalemate that’s going on here and convince him to confess. Not just for your sake or Rolan’s, but because your respective groups are getting fed up with the building tension with no-one saying anything. Gods you can’t both be this dense can you?

♡ Yes. Yes you can. And no one is having a good time right now.

♡ Fortunately for the both of you, the aftermath of Moonrise is when the dam finally breaks on all of the things that Rolan’s been holding back. Loose lips sink ships, and in Rolan’s case all of the drinks he’d imbibed earlier attempting to drown his sorrows at the last light inn have eased the filter that kept his feelings at bay. It’s made him far more prone to speaking his mind, not to mention that he’s still reeling from the rush of relief at seeing his siblings alive - yet another thing he has to thank you for - so much so that he’s seeking you out before he can think otherwise.

♡ He doesn’t have to go far; you and Rolan nearly butt heads as he goes to shoot up from his seat, and though you look worse for wear still bearing the bruises and battered gear of a battle well won he watches your expression light up. All it takes is seeing you’ve come back alive, that you’ve come straight to him before you’ve even thought to patch yourself up and his resolve crumbles. 

♡ Rolan’s out of his chair and in your arms before you can blink, one hand winding through your hair and the other pressed against your back to stop you from falling flat on your ass with how swift he moves as he holds you like you’ll slip right through his fingers. He swears he can hear your heart hammering against his chest, too focused to notice the twitch of his tail curled round your leg. By the time he catches himself, Rolan practically goes rigid and pulls back, enough to see your face. The tiefling takes in your wide eyes and slack jaw with a sudden jolt of clarity that fuck, you really weren’t aware of what you were to him this whole time; and now he’s gone and-

♡ He opens his mouth again - whether to take it back or blame it on the drink. But before he can there’s arms around him, and suddenly he’s back in his chair with your face pressed into the crook of his neck, and he swears he sees a flash of red on your face enough to rival his own skin. You hold him tight enough that he has to focus a little to breathe, but it’s a sacrifice he makes gladly as his ears pick up on your hurried murmurs of ‘having no idea’ and ‘can’t believe it’ as you practically corner him into his seat.

♡ The moment is broken by the swift screech of “Finally!” from somewhere in the inn, and suddenly the world’s spinning again. Rolan’s glare over your shoulder in a bid to suss out the offending party is half-hearted, lacking any real bite in lieu of having someone far more important to focus his attention on.

Zevlor

♡ Welcome to slow burn two: electric boogaloo, and in this essay I will-

♡ Zevlor has not lived an easy life, even before the fall of Elturel; you can tell he’s got more than his fair share of scars and war stories behind those deep yellow eyes, the testament of a man who fights daily to hold the pieces of his hope and faith close to his heart. He’s a weathered soul, who many have relied on and put their faith in even in spite of his own perceived shortcomings. The tieflings that he leads to safe pastures are no different; they’re all hoping to find a better life at Baldur’s gate, and all of them turn to Zevlor to lead them all there. 

♡ The relief is almost palpable when you arrive through those gates, dragging Aradin and his men in behind you. You’d made short work of the goblins fighting to tear their way inside, still plucking bits of arrow and guts from the battered shell of your armor as you’d wandered into the Grove alongside the rest of your party. 

♡ He has every reason to believe that you’ll simply go on your way, knowing that you’re more than capable enough to handle the threats out on the road to leave the Grove in your peripherals without a second thought. Yet you don’t; instead you’re right back into the fray, pushing between the spat between himself and Aradin without hesitation with a sharp reminder that there’s more here at stake than some squabbling about something that could have - but didn’t - happen.

♡ Zevlor isn’t proud to admit that he’d hoped you’d be useful in easing tensions in the grove between the Tieflings and the druids. You’re a neutral third party, so to speak, and though he’s sure that the druids are set on locking down the grove and kicking them out to the wilds he hopes that someone like you will be able to at least buy them all some time. When that inevitably didn’t work he’s surprised to learn you’ve set your sights on the next best thing - forget just the goblins at the gate, you’re gearing your party up to take on the source at the heart of that camp.

♡ He’d be lying if he said he didn’t admire you from the beginning, a feeling that only becomes more profound the longer you’re around. Zevlor watches you humor Mattis’ salesmanship, sees you taking the time to train the others to better defend themselves and diffusing any quarrels on the daily rounds that you insist on joining the Tiefling on. It has a visible impact on the camp’s morale, and Zevlor has to wonder if you were truly just a passing adventurer or something more divine sent to them in their hour of need when he catches you conversing with the other tieflings, bringing smiles to their faces after months of hardships.

♡Another firm member of the ‘won’t broach the blatant pining in the room’ club. Zevlor’s lived long enough to put a name to the emotions that he’s feeling, and has taken the time to process what exactly that means when it comes to his feelings for you specifically. What he feels for you runs deeper than respect, deeper than the mere admiration that he held for you at your first encounter beyond the gates. 

♡You consume his thoughts every second that you’re not close to his side. Worries himself into a panic each time you leave the safety of the grove wanting to follow but kept rooted with his own duties. You’re more than capable of defending yourself as you’ve demonstrated time and time again, but gods if he doesn’t lament not being there to protect you as ardently as you do to others. It would be selfish to want such a thing, but it doesn’t stop him from craving it in the least.

♡ Out of every single being on this list, there is none more reluctant to confess to you that he’s begun to fall for you than Zevlor. He knows this affection; wishes for nothing more than to allow himself this small act of greed keeping it close and savoring the warmth it provides. But unless you say something that is as far as he is willing to dare your relationship to progress. 

♡ What really stops Zevlor from confessing is himself. He firmly believes that he’s simply not worthy of you. He’s a man who has made too many mistakes, made too many choices that have led to lives lost and consequences on those around him. Surely you deserve someone unmarred by that kind of life? Who can give you love uninhibited by the guilt and ghosts of one's past that plague him on so many sleepless nights?

♡ But oh how easily you’ve got this man curled around your finger, and you don’t even know it. Now that you’ve so thoroughly poured your life into the cracks of his soul, after everything you’ve done, that selfish want kindles a fire in his heart. He’d drop to his knees and pledge you his life if it meant having you look at him with a sliver of the affection he holds for you.

♡ The closest that Zevlor’s ever gotten to confessing to you was during the after party in the Grove. It had been the first time in who knows how long that Zevlor could try to shelve his worries for the future, to allow his guard to relax for the single night of revelry that this celebration offered. A respite like this was far too welcome, and Zevlor was about as ready to fall asleep where he stood as he was to wile the hours away enjoying the revelry.

♡ And there you were, the one responsible for it all leaning up against his side, thoroughly exhausted from doing the rounds around the camp but beaming with pride. His eyes were on you the moment you pressed a hand to his shoulder, golden eyes glowing in the light of the campfire taking in your ruddy cheeks and tired grin as you sighed over how good it was to finally see him smile.

♡ Perhaps it was the longing of a sentimental old tiefling, or being half drunk on the atmosphere that seeped into every fiber of the party, but in response he’d brought a hand to cover your own. Zevlor had guided it away from his shoulder and you’d allowed him to with ease. You’d watched with curious eyes as he’d brought your hand up just enough to brush his lips across your knuckles, ghosting over bruises and scrapes with an unspoken reverence.

♡ You’d never had the chance to ask him what you’d really meant to him back then - Alfira had interjected to veer you back over to the party, eager to show you the beginnings of her next song dedicated to your feats. And by the time you’d spun around to look for him again Zevlor had all but slipped away, gone for the rest of the night.

♡ By the time you reach Baldur’s gate you’re still struggling to discern Zevlor’s feelings from that night. That’s it; no one else can wait for you to realize the obvious anymore.

♡ Someone else is going to have to step in to give you a nudge in the right direction, and not a gentle nudge either - if you’re truly struggling to see how hard Zevlor is crushing on you you’re going to need an intervention. Don’t be surprised if your traveling party is the one to bite the arrow and do it. You have no idea whether to be confused or offended when they drag you aside to break it to you and ease their suffering. Astarion is griping on about how this started off entertaining but now is downright painful to watch you two eyeballing each other and not doing anything about it. Wyll is trying to stem the migraine he gets in his attempt to really drive home that you’re not just imagining all of these romantic moments you’ve had with Zevlor. And Lae’zel is several minutes away from clocking the entire group round the heads with the hilt of her sword for wasting time.

♡ She shoulders past the other two with a biting comment about their lack of efficiency before turning her attention back onto you. Her tone is sharp but not unkind as she quips that you’re wasting breath on your own perceptions of the tiefling’s actions. What you should focus on is what you want and how to get it. Besides, even a fool would notice the way he starts at your beck and call - she’d like to believe that you’re as competent as she thinks to put the pieces together.

♡ Lae’zel’s words do the trick. They watch your brain shoot through every train of thought you’ve been battling with all at once, eyes comically large and hand clamped over your mouth in a poor attempt to mask your scream of realization as you do exactly what she says. And then the next moment you’re scrambling past your companions, a frantic command for them to meet you back at the camp before you all but trip over the pavement beneath you in your haste to seek out the former hellrider.

♡ Once you find him, Zevlor almost jumps out of his skin with how hard you barrel through the door and into his home. He’s half a mind to worry that there’s something seriously wrong, immediately rounding to close the distance between you and place his hands upon your shoulders to keep you from falling flat on your face. The questions of concern die on his tongue the moment your hand cups his face, guiding him to look at your face and thumb brushing over the ridges of his cheek in such a way his mouth runs dry.

♡ When you finally blurt out what you came here for, asking through hurried breaths if he loves you Zevlor all but freezes beneath your touch. His eyes are wide, wild with the fear that you’ve come to turn him down and fully prepared to assure you that he’ll never burden you with his feelings ever again. That is till you continue for him. All it will take is a little reassurance on your part that he has nothing to fear, that you care for him in turn, and you’ll have this poor man practically crumbling into your awaiting arms as though you’ve slipped the weight of the world from his shoulders. Give him time, hold him for a little longer, and Zevlor will gladly regale you with the feelings he’d intended to leave unsaid for the rest of his days - he’d do anything you’d ask, after all.

[adyophene]

lucifer x husk is something i never knew i needed and as a multishipper im screaming

literally. king of hell x some alcoholic furry guy

i love them i need to know how they wouldve met, fallen for each other and started dating. and how much thatd piss alastor off

Ooh I am so happy other people are enjoying this pair as much as I am! I've gotten a few asks about my headcanons for them, and I am happy to blab on and on. Fair warning. This is gunna be a long and rambling essay.

I'm gunna put it all under a readmore, just cause I want to insert the art I've done of them so far, since I've been half-heartedly trying to tell a visual story through the doodles.

Okay. On we go!

How they met;

We did see them technically meet in the show, where they shared their singular canon piece of dialogue, which was just Husk saying 'hey'. And then in the finale where we see a literal split second moment of Lucifer holding Husk's arm.

(also seeing the sweet looks huskerdust is giving each other here just makes me feel so delulu for writing this all, but crackships are silly by definition, so lets get back to the lucihusk) For me, what I imagined, is after the Hotel is finished its rebuilding, that is when Husk and Lucifer finally actually meet in a proper manner. I think Lucifer would be trying to make a good impression on all Charlie's friends at this point, endeared to all of them from their actions during the finale. Unfortunately, I think he is also the King of Bad First Impressions.

[Note. I think at this point Lucifer wouldn't even remember Husk's name quite yet. I think he would call him 'Keekee' ( by accident) or 'Dusk' (confidently incorrect) or just be like "Hey!.... Uh... You?" until Charlie or Vaggie finally corrected him. ]

Husk, on the other hand, I feel like maybe wouldn't gel with Lucifer right away. Wouldn't hate him, but also maybe not be enamored with him right away. Same as Lucifer, maybe he would have sweetened on him a bit through the hotel's rebuilding, but I think they'd start out at very neutral feelings. Maybe a vague sense of 'He's okay, but I don't know if we will really get along.'

Despite this, Lucifer is persistent, and he's going to be everyone's (except maybe Al, unless they start getting along by s2) buddy. He'd start hanging around the bar and participate in the redemption exercises.

Now, we know Lucifer struggles with depression, and I think he would be trying real hard to mask anything going on during this time. They defeated Adam! They rebuilt the Hotel! He believes in Charlie's dream, and he's more involved with her life and other people than he has been for years.

His only issue being Husk sees right through it, both because Husk is perceptive, but also because even the King of Hell can't help but have a lonely night or two at the bar where he ends up venting about his divorce and subsequent lingering loneliness.

[snapcube ref aside, )I really do think Husk would start to feel more positively toward Lucifer after Luci would drop the act somewhat. That they could bond over feeling both at their lowest of lows, while also being to admit that things seem to be getting better!

This would be about the point that I imagine Lucifer developing more romantic feelings! Husk would be a bit less prickly, and Luci would just absolutely eat up any and all positive interactions they'd have. I like to picture a lot of little shows of care at the this point, like Husk memorizing what Lucifer likes and even making up 'fun' drinks just to try and cheer the guy up. And Lucifer would fun a fun game in trying to get the grumpy cat to smile, and just, lighting up himself any time he was successful.

And that culminating into the two of them making each other laugh, with Alastor being an easy butt of the jokes, and a good way for Husk, himself, to finally get a chance to vent. I think Lucifer would be one of the only 'safe' options for Husk to do that with, in just so far as Al can't really threaten Lucifer, and Lucifer already sees Al as a bit of a manipulative bastard.

Falling for each other; At this point, Lucifer would start being a bit more caring toward Husk, though with that wonderful, oblivious flair of his. I don't think Lucifer himself would realize he'd have a crush up until he'd start feeling protective or jealous over Husk, and it would really throw him for a loop at first.

Because fake dating is one of my all-time favorite tropes, I have always had a idea for a fanfic (or comic) that I haven't gotten around to yet, based around Lilith coming back, and Lucifer panickily asking Husk to pretend to be his boyfriend, so he can appear well adjusted/completely over her. Of course the whole thing would backfire, as Lilith would see through it (as Lucifer wouldn't be as good of an actor as he'd think), and that Husk would end up kind of feeling hurt by the whole thing.

Husk, who'd go along with the plot with an eyeroll, would find himself seizing up through the whole fake date/encounter. Would find weird, sudden emotions bubbling up and absolutely hating it.

I don't think that man would think about the class difference between him and Lucifer up until someone would say something about it, maybe Lucifer himself trying to rationalize the (at this time still fake) relationship to Lilith. Now, Husk feels uneasy about the whole thing and ends up drinking heavily the whole night so he doesn't have to think about feelings. (Blitz and Stolas who? Ahaha. fuck.) Meanwhile, while the date would be fake, I think Lucifer would really rather like having Husk on his arm and feeling like he'd have a love-life again, while also not really getting why Husk's mood would be getting worse throughout the night. I think they'd still end up on good terms, but both of them would have their feelings in a jumble, and Husk would not like it. (he thinks he's lost the ability to love, after all)

I think somewhere at this point, as they are starting to develop feelings for one another, is when Lucifer finally starts really realizing how tied to Alastor Husk is, and he starts to make it everyone's problem. I do think Al and Lucifer would stay snarky at each other this whole time, but that it'd only get worse, as Al would poke back since he'd find Lu's over reactions funny.

I also think Al would be maybe the last person to realize anything romantic would be brewing between Lucifer and Husk, and he'd just think it'd be a purely platonic thing.

Beyond just bitching about Alastor, Lucifer would really be ramping up his attention towards Husk too. Fully in that 'puppylove/crush' stage, and trying his darndest to make Husk feel good and special. Husk would be resistant to it all, thinking it would just be Lucifer rebounding hard, and not wanting to get wrapped up in Morningstar family drama when he could happily (miserably) keep his head down and just keep drinking the days away.

But then Lucifer would find out about Husk's love of stage magic, and his history as a performer, and it'd be all over for the catman. It would become Luci's new pet project to rope Husk into some joyful self-expression, and after a song and dance number's worth of convincing, Husk would start to come around. I have to post all these images now cause- I drew them with the intention of mimicking a musical number! Husk starting off as a bit resistant before jumping in whole heartedly, and Lucifer overexcitedly dragging him along throughout the music number, hyping him up and just all around being smitten.

And this is where Husk would start really falling. Getting swept up in indulging his favorite, least destructive hobby, and having someone who absolutely loves it to bond with. Especially when it would be over. When they would just settle down and talk, and laugh, and bond over what they love about performing. The spectacle, the audience, the love of the craft. Its about the comradery!!!

@belladonazeppole wrote a wonderful series of fanfics based off these pictures, as well as the songs from 'The Greatest Showman' that really fit the ship! I would be remiss to not mention them here, because Bella and their fics are just wonderful!

How they started dating;

Now. Don't think just cause they both caught feelings for each other, that they'd immediately admit to it. No. I think both of them would drag their heels. I don't think Husk would admit to them at all, without some outside force effecting it. I think he'd stubbornly try to ignore the crush or drink it away, rather than let his heart become vulnerable to anymore damage.

Meanwhile, Lucifer would be struggling between his feelings for Husk and Lilith. (In the actual canon, I do think they might try to rekindle things, depending on what kind of person Lilith turns out to be, but I digress.) Part of him would be so swept up in a giddy kind of excitement, while the other would be set firmly in the camp of 'this is a bad idea, this won't work out, just look at what happened to your last relationship'. It wouldn't stop him from being outwardly more and more affectionate, but it would be weighing on him.

I do think Lucifer would end up being the one who would be thinking; "What am I doing. He'd never like me back." While Husk would be just sitting there (echoing what was said in the ask- sorry I went all wild and wrote this much about the ship dear god)- "I'm just some fucking furry alcoholic, what the fuck would the king of hell see in me??? Am I delusional? What the fuck is going on??" And I feel like this stage would go on for MONTHS and drive everyone else nuts. It would be clear to everyone (except Alastor, who again, would be just this meme

Though that wouldn't stop him from getting a little pissy about it) And then it would all come to a head during something benign, like a board game night. There would be flirting, there would be jealousy, there would be arguing, and then finally, loudly and with a lot of feeling, Lucifer would shout his way through asking Husk out on a date. A real Date. A capital 'D' date out on the town, dressed to the nines and a real good time. The board would be knocked over in the fray, game pieces raining down upon them while Husk would just stare blank faced, trying to process what just happened. An awkward half-minute would pass before he'd finally, trying to play it cool, shrug out a 'sure'.

How much it'd piss Alastor off;

In the aftermath, a radio static would just lowly grate everyone's ears as Alastor would be slowly coming to terms on how just annoying it would be to have his friend (/Unhealthy co-dependent pet friend possession??) romantically involved (ew) with the King of Hell (double ew)??? Then, either it would be something light hearted like 'he keeps trying to break them up but failing cause he hates interacting with romance' or a darker route where 'he keeps trying to manipulate them into breaking up by preying on all their worst insecurities in the relationship'.

And that, my friend, is all I have in mind so far for this delusional crackship au! There is more I could flesh out, of course, like Angel's role as a friend or potential third in the relationship, or what I imagine as Husk becoming like a stepdad to Charlie, but I've typed enough for the whole month. Hope any of that was coherent! I did not bother to edit or proof read it. Just pure stream of consciousness.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hugging Dethklok Hcs

depending on how im feeling after posting this i think i might make a second part including side characters (likely the second post will contain charles abigail and knubbler !! and maybe even some smaller characters that i feel deserve more love) anyways uhuhuh first official MTL post except it.. actually isnt, ive written for knubbler and the dethklok minute host before so yeah very nervous about this since im still trying to find my footing in how i wanna write the characters, so heads up that this might be VERY OOC and what better prompt to do than do one of my "i dont know what to write" ones written with reader as their partner vague mentions of like. sexual stuff but nothing explicit, i still wish to keep this blog as sfw as possible, really just implications of it than anything also some characters had bonus hcs of cuddling so uhuhuh

NATHAN:

built like a mattress, though that can mean anything since not all mattresses are made the same... hmm.. have you ever hugged/cuddled one of those tiny headed kingdom plushies? very firm but not comfortable, i think thats what nathan feels like, but perhaps just a smidge softer. but how would nathan feel? i mean hes very protective of you, and being able to hold you gives him a moment to keep you close. not very affectionate otherwise, but this is nice. definitely the type to do hugs from behind, especially if theres someone trying to flirt with you

PICKLES:

short so theres a good chance youre around his height if not taller and he may or may not feel things about that (both negative and positive but lets save that for another post as i fully intend on keeping this sfw), i always thought pickles of being physically affectionate so him having a hand on you is a common occurrence. probably takes the opportunity to whisper something in your ear, usually something dirty or something incoherent with him being drunk or otherwise under the influence. oh yeah i can easily see him being the type to swing his limbs over his partner while he sleeps and trapping them there

SKWISGAAR:

maybe im cooking something doodoo, but i feel like skwisgaar may or may not struggle with non-sexual stuff, like being purely romantic and innocent with no intent to get your pants off is foreign to him. i whole heartedly believe the reason hes so sexual is due to being in dethklok and being huge, but also because of his mother constantly bringing new people home. so in the beginning he might actually be tense in giving you affection, definitely going to need to take some time. very cold, skinny people tend to be colder ive noticed so totally you shouldnt take this as an excuse to hold him closer (winks)... i DO think he would also have a hand on you a lot of the time like pickles, whether or not those hands have other motives is up in the air

MURDERFACE:

make him take a shower first/j

okay jokes aside, this man is so starved for attention and affection, but he would never ever EVER say it. you guys could be 100% fully alone in bum fuck no where and he still wouldnt say it. but its definitely there in his actions and body language. i think hes warm, and his skin is a little... i mean he canonically has dry skin with eczema, and while i dont have eczema i know what having that dry scaly skin feels like... perhaps we could tie in some self care with the reader helping murderface take better care of himself? i mean it would be one hell of a fight to get him to try but i think its do-able.. tight hugger, kind of lets his arms linger before sliding them down when you eventually pull away. wish i had more but i think murderface is the type to deny affection whilst also deeply craving it

TOKI:

probably the easiest to hug in terms of getting him to accept it, actually i think he might be the most likely to initiate one alongside pickles. very warm, though he sometimes hugs you a little too tight and might even tug you back in if you try to pull away before hes ready. full body cuddles into you when you guys sleep/nap together, arms and legs keep you in place so... good luck trying to slip away before he wakes up. i like to think he fiddles with your hair, too, though im unsure if that fits with his character... i think that, despite still having a love for all things brutal he still likes these smaller moments of just. affection. very clingy and possessive though so keep that in mind, i think he would hold you and physically try to pull you away if someone tries to flirt with you; a lot less subtle than when nathan does it

[chouxsardine]

Coming back to me---Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: You miss him terribly, you wish he were here. Unexpectedly, there he is---Jake walking on you masturbating and you spill some more.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 4082

Warnings: 18+! Minors DNI, female masturbation, unprotected penetrative p in v sex, explicit use of derogatory terms, sexual fantasy, allusion of exhibitionism, implict soft dom!Jake, guitar worship(??) (you can already tell it's a lot and I'm going to hell for this...let me know if I've missed any)

Genre: smut, slight angst with agonizingly sweet fluff, slight hurt/comfort, agonizingly romantic Jake

Author's note: This is my second try on writing smut. I tried to be a lot bolder this time. I want this to be sweet and spicy and damn it is enjoyable and torturing for me to write. What an experience. I intend to dig further into this, so let's consider this as Part 1 of improper guitar use fantasy (more on it's way) I really really hope you enjoy this. If you want a visual for the short film mentioned, （which is also 18+!! you don't need it to enjoy the story but it's a very interesting piece) here's the link to that scene: Amante Menguante (or watch its full version in Talk to Her (2002), 1:1:01-1:1:06); That's all--Dig in :))

🎧: Baby’s Coming Back to Me by Jarvis Cocker; Homesick by Sleeping At Last

-----------------------------------

It wasn’t the film that turns you on; it’s him—it’s always him. The film only provides you with the idea.

It was a Friday afternoon, and you are mostly certain that you are going to spend the weekend alone again. Jake is out of town for a photoshoot and an interview for some magazine afterward. The time is too tight for a roundtrip back home. You clicked on a random movie to put on as background noise. It’s Talk to Her, which you have seen a long time ago and only have a vague memory of. You do remember there’s a nice song in it.

What you didn’t remember is the mise en abyme in its latter half, and you also certainly didn’t expect you to start touching yourself during it. The black and white silent film is titled Amante Mengunte, translated as The Shrinking Lover—the hero, Alfredo, drank a potion invented by his scientist girlfriend, which caused him shrinking to the size of a thumb. He is small enough to wander around on his girlfriend’s body while she is asleep. One day, he goes for a walk on her breasts, gives her a sweet orgasm in her dreams by climbing inside her vagina, and becomes part of her forever.

You catch your hand midway as it inches towards your mound. You felt embarrassed at first, getting all hot and bothered from just seeing almost any sex scenes like some horny teenager, but you know there’s something more to it. The gush of desperate longing wells in the pit of your stomach. You miss Jake so much that the idea of keeping him in you so that you never have to be apart seems enticing. The thought scares and arouses you at the same time. You press your knees together, the familiar swelling in between your legs throbs and spreads. You know exactly what you need.

Being led by your desire, you scamper downstairs to Jake’s studio—the place that feel most like him in the whole house. Simply putting your hand on the door handle sends a buzzing current through your body. The whole action has an excitement of forbidden secrecy. It is not that you are not allowed here, quite the opposite—Jake loves having you in his studio, calling you his muse, asking you just to be there doing random stuff like going through his vinyls or reading while he strums the guitar, like you are some model posing for his artwork. However, being here alone without him makes you feel like an intruder.

Upon pushing open the door, the musky, masculine scent whirls towards you. Given the time that Jake has spent down here, the room still smells awfully like him even after the many days that he was gone. The dampness of the basement reminds you of Jake’s hair freshly washed after a shower. The fresh bergamot cushions the hidden spiciness of black pepper that tingles the upper palate of your mouth like a sensual tongue during a teasing kiss. You inhale greedily before closing the door behind you, not wanting the smell to dissipate.

You turn on your laptop and connect it to the projector in the back corner of the room. With trembling fingers you plug in a silver flash drive and click on the folder labeled with a guitar emoji.

This is probably one of your biggest secrets. You have been collecting clips of Jake’s performance that are circling on social media, some shot by professionals and some by fans. (You prefer the ones by fans though; they always have the best angles and manage to capture the hottest moments. After all, you are just one of them before you start dating Jake.) And you have been editing the videos together, making a personal documentary of Jake’s performance. So far, the length of the film has reached 17 minutes, and you still have more clips patiently lying in the footage library.

You waste no more time clicking the play button. As the bright light shines through the small transparent lens on the projector, the video comes to life on the wall in front of you. You drop down to your knees.

It starts with the clip of Norwegian Wood. You like to ease yourself into it, despite already being slithery between your fold. Watching Jake play the acoustic guitar tenderizes and relaxes you. Each note, crisp and mellifluous, drips from the strings; the misty and ethereal background sound resonates in the stadium, adding to the ambience. As if the descent of a deity, Jake walks into the light as the cheering and applauding grows louder. You let out a soft sigh. Although much sweeter and mellower than its electric counterpart, the acoustic guitar dallies with your nerves. Thanks to the inadvertent little things that let Jake’s domination shine through—the way he moves the cable out of his way with a single flick of his wrist, the way his hand moves away from the strings to quickly rub the sweat off on his pants and adjust the waistline, the way he sticks out one foot to tap the pedal—every single move is a stimuli that rouses a response from your body, reminding you of how he slaps the outside of your thigh when you are squirming a bit too much under his tongue, how he spreads your release on your lower belly when he pulls out his fingers, how he nudges your knees apart and the cool air makes your clit quiver…

The music changes, and you’ve watched the video enough times to know that the next clip is the solo to The Weight of Dreams. You chose that particular video because of how unrelenting it is. For almost seven minutes, the ruthless grip of the music washes your mind empty. You stroke your hood up and down, feeling the flesh pushing down on your clit. You try, albeit futilely, to match your speed with the beat of the music. You lift up your head and gawk at Jake’s fingers tapping and plucking the strings, the muscles of his forearm flexing and the veins pulsing. The rhythm he wrings out of the instrument drips down your throat, gliding through your fold. You scuffs closer to the wall. You miss his fingers, the callouses; the ridge that separates the hardened skin from the soft slightly scrapes your walls and occasionally grazes your clit. In slight frustration, you slam one hand against the wall for leverage, leaning forward for more friction.

The overwhelming desire, plus the whining of the guitar, must have muffled your other senses. You are completely oblivious when the door opens behind you.

Jake throws the car in the driveway and almost trips as he kicks his shoes off at the doorway. A delightful change of plans allows him to come back home for the weekend. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way your face lights up when he surprises you. To his dismay, the house is eerily quiet. Your coat and bag are both hanging by the door. He walks into the living room—the film is still playing on TV, now with the credit rolling; you blanket is bunched up into a messy pile, obviously being yanked aside; the bedroom and the washroom doors are wide open, showing no signs of you. He was about to pull out his phone when he hears the muffled melody coming from downstairs.

He could never mistake the sound of his own riff. The thought of you listening to his music when he’s away strokes his ego in the best way. He smiles to himself as he pushes open the door. The sight in front of him makes him gulp. Blood rushes to the lower half of his body.

The projector’s bright light and the video on the wall are the only light sources in the room. He could only see the right side of your face from where he is standing. But that is enough to make his dick harden. Your eyes are closed, mouth slightly agape, with your jaw slack. Your hand is buried in your underwear, the bulge created by your fingers trembling with the circular movements. The blue light illuminates your face, softens your features, and bathes you in a holy glow. With your chin tilted up and your knees pressed, it looks as if you are kneeling in front of an altar, waiting to receive some religious blessing. And there it is, the image of him in front of you, playing on stage, shredding the guitar.

Making as little noise as possible, he closes the door and makes a bee line to your laptop. He presses on the volume button until the sound is completely muted. Sensing the change, you open your eyes and almost jump out of your skin at the sight of Jake standing behind you.

“Jake, I—” Before your hand spring out of your panties, you feel a warm and firm weight on your shoulder, holding you right in place.

“Keep going.”

His hand stays there for two more heartbeats, silently restating the command, as if he knows you intend to get up. You have half a heart to protest, but you quickly yield. Seeing him shatters your judgement and your sense of shame. Rarely do dreams come true, and when they do, it’s stupid to shut the door in its face. Your fingers dig deeper, picking up the speed.

“Eyes on me, love.”

The nickname muttered in his raspy voice has your head shoot up. You watch as he walks to his guitar stand, picks up his Gibson, and plugs it into the amp.

“I say there’s no need for a mirage now that yours truly is right here,” he turns off the projector and flicks on the backlit panel lights. The room is now shrouded in a puny indigo glow. “Am I right, my dear?”

You swallow thickly. Usually, this is when Jake expects an audible answer from you. But he is particularly lenient towards your reticence today.

“Now, where did we left off?” he speaks in a low mumble. He glances at your laptop screen before shutting it off. “Ah, Meeting the Masters. Very well.”

The throbbing between your legs now matches the thumping of your heart. Each contraction directly pumps blood to your clit, ballooning up the inflamed fervidity. You feel the bundle of nerves getting softer and spongier as you get wetter. Your insides ripple as you watch Jake pushes up the neck of the guitar as the trill of notes spills. Even in your murky state of mind, you recognizes that he is improvising by adding twist and turns spontaneously.

“I can hear the gears in your mind turning,” Jake tilts his head as he studies you through hooded eyes. “And it’s interfering with the music.”

He speaks to your pussy the same way he speaks to his guitar.

“Now, tell me what you are thinking. Entertain me with some of your thoughts, baby doll,” the music halts as he stands in front of you. Lifting up your chin, his thumb brushes across your bottom lip. “I’ve missed your voice, y/n. Talk to me.”

It sounded more like a plea instead of a command. Hearing that he misses you too warms up your heart. The pent-up grievance wells up to your throat, pressing a whine out of you: “I miss you so much…I-I imagine you are here.”

Jake hums encouragingly: “Be more specific, love. How, exactly?”

Dirty talk was never your metier. Jake is the talker in bed. He is fully conversant with your body as well as the effect that each of his moves has on you; you’ve always assumed he knows exactly what you want, and he’s always been correct. However, he is determined to push you further today. Seeing your hesitation, he decides to help you out.

“Am I there? Are you watching me?”

“Y-yes,” You take a deep breathe. “I am in the stadium. You..you are playing on stage.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just you, only you. You are playing, and I am in the pit, by the barricade. And I get wet. I kneel down, just like—like I am doing now.” Your fingers flinch away from your clit, the feeling a bit too intense for you to continue the words.

“I am touching myself as I watch you play so perfectly, but you…you are not looking at me.”

Jake lets out a pitiful coo: “awww, I’m being mean, am I? Ignoring my sweet girl?”

“N-no!!” You quickly deny, shaking your head frantically. If you are in your normal mindset, what you are about to say would make you burst, but the fluttering sensation down there is burning a trail of wildfire straight up to your brain; the stiff string in your mind uncoils around the pole of shame as the next sentence fall from your lips hurriedly: “It’s me, I’m seeking emotional validation because I’m such an attention whore.”

Upon hearing that, Jake’s heart clenches. He knows that you are deep in your head and whatever you say now are probably some of the most cathartic and earnest words he will ever hear from you. The words revealing your deepest desire, your long-repressed yearning for him. While flattered by the love and devotion, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt hearing your utter self-degradation. His grip on the guitar tightens, and the base of his thumbnail pales. He almost relents, wanting to scoop you up in his arms, carry you to bed, and adore you with kisses. But you are not finished.

“The gravel is grazing my knees and there will be scratches and bruises after. I finger myself. I close my eyes and imagine it is you doing it…you fucking me with your music. I imagine your fingers fucking my pussy the same way they move across the fret board and strum the strings,” now you find yourself unable to stop—the words plummeting out of you, one after another. Your fingers still dance around your throbbing clit, rubbing your labia up and down faster, drawing breathy moans.

“Haah.. Aaah…Wh-when I look up, I saw myself being projected onto those giant screens on both sides of the stage, the camera zooms in on my face…so, ah, fuck, I am watching you…and me fucking myself at the same time. Oh, please, Jake—” Your hips fall back down to your heels and you drop your head in defeat. Your movements lost its rhythm.

“Keep talking.” Jake paces towards you. You can only see the tip of his sock-clad toes and the way they slightly dig into the carpet. Your hand involuntarily reaches for him, holding onto his ankles first and then slowly creeping upwards. He bends at the waist, the guitar hanging from his shoulder, its neck knocking at your collarbone. His lips graze your ear, a mere whisper reverberates like thunder: “Go on, what else?”

You bite back more moans. “Uh…hum…The people, the people around me. They t-take out their phones and start recording and taking pictures of me.”

“Really, do they? How do you feel about that?”

“Oh God. There’s…I can hear so much…so many clicks and clacks of the shutters. And your guitar. And they talk…” Your hand on his calf fraps, a futile attempt to draw him closer. Your forearm feels sore, your neglected clit screaming for more love and contact.

“Please, Jake. I want to cum…I…” You open your mouth only to chock on a whimper as you feel Jake’s middle finger gently pressing on your clit. He is not moving; his finger merely stays there like bee on a flower's anther, pulling more sticky nectar out of you. Your arm gives out, smacking down on your thigh as you hurl forward.

“Tsk tsk, patience, love. You haven’t finished yet,” Jake leaves sloppy, wet kisses along your jawline. You pander to his lips, head lolling to the side. Every kiss feels like a searing cigarette burn.

“What do they say, y/n? Do they call you a slut?”

“Hell, yes. Yes, they post them online, the videos. They hashtag it…Mmm.. ‘Jake Kiszka’s slut,’ ‘the guitarist’s hoe’…”

With those last two words, Jake’s finger start circling your clit, a silent reward for your honesty and a bait to egg you on further. The agonizing buildup leaves you drenched at this point. The wet gushy sound is your pussy’s content purring, now that she was finally granted some attention.

“And in the end I finished. I finished along with your solo. I—I was so spent that I couldn’t even stand. Then, you finally look at me. You look at me straight in the eyes, and y-you…you said…”

“Good girl.”

“Good girl.”

Reality overlaps your imagination as you both mutter the two exact same words.

Your eyes widen. You lips brush passed Jake’s cheekbone and your forehead drops to the part where the body of the guitar meets the neck. The material cooling your skin like cooling pads for a feverish patient, breathing a sense of clarity into your mind. You are in a complete state of submission to the guitar, almost prostrating and bowing to it—a pagan, blindly asking for blessing and begging its approval.

Holy guitar spirit, please do not take up all of his time; share this man with me as well. God, I ache for him like no one else.

You will probably realize how stupid and abject the plea sounds later, that is, if you still care to recall; but right now, you couldn’t care less. You are hovering perilously on the edge of the precipice.

Lowering his gaze, Jake takes notice of your fingernails digging into the flesh above your knees and how your iron grip around his ankles strengthens even more. He knows it’s about time.

“So fucking pretty, my sweet baby.” The tip of his finger latches down on that exact spot, moving infinitesimally but effective enough to summon all your sensory nerve endings to orchestrate a collective hymn.

“Let go for me, love.”

That’s all you need to hear. Your shoulder hunches, ribcage pulls inward, stomach hollows, the muscles of your thigh contract as the walls of your pussy press together, dragging and sucking Jake’s fingers into you. Immense pleasure, like rock candy, bursts and bounces hither and thither all over your body. A part of you wish time could stop right there, so that you are preserved in the moment of forever bliss with a part of him slotted inside you, like an ignorant beetle being caught in a dollop of tree sap.

Jake makes sure you ride out your high before he straightens up. The soreness of his back only feeds more to the hardness of his cock. He slings the guitar off of his shoulder and sets it flat on the floor using only one arm, not even bothering putting it back on the stand; his other arm already wraps around your shoulder. He kneels down in front of you, his hands closed on each side of your face and his forehead resting against yours. Your breaths mingle as your heartbeats align. Jake gently pulls on your nape as you bury your nose in his chest, feeling his fingers scratching your back.

“Did so well, my love. My good, good girl.”

You catches your breath and musters your strength to look up to him with a tired smile. Your hands trail toward the bulbous erection restricted by his corduroy pants. Your mouth follows.

Jake hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back at the much-needed contact. With impressive willpower, he reaches down and cuddles your chin, pulling you up. “As much as I would love that, I also misses my girl terribly. I want to make love to her. Is that okay? Do I have her permission to love on her properly?”

The echoing tingles from your last orgasm hurtle back, making your head swoon. “Oh God, yes. Please. Jake, please.”

Jake scrambles to his feet and lifts you into his arms. Your legs feel like putty from kneeling so long. You stagger and fall back onto the leather couch. The couch is clearly too small for two grown adults, but neither of you mind or care; if anything, the limited space amplifies every sense. He guides your hands down his length and pumps it a few times. The closeness of your bodies makes his swollen tip pointed directly at your clit. You let out a needy moan, threading your finger through his curls and tugs gently until his eyes are level with yours.

Jake will forever revel in the way you look at him with your doe eyes, your pupil dilated, like you couldn’t believe he is real, like you’re intoxicated by a case of him.

“Hi, beautiful.” he grins.

“Hey you.”

You cup his face and go in for another kiss. He spits in his hand and reaches between you, positioning his length at your entrance and nudging his head in tentatively. You are too caught up in the moment that you didn’t realize your body is so taut, not out of nerves and rejection, but out of a desperate urge to hold him close. The hollowing eagerness that has been compiling for the past few months return with a vengeance. The weight and warmth of Jake’s body on top of you is all you could’ve asked for and more.

Jake can feel the confliction between the welcoming pulsation of your pussy and the hindrance clamping down. “Easy, dear,” he says as his hand on your breast traces down to your hips, rubbing soothing circles on your pelvis.

You tilt your head backwards. Your belly falls as your ribs flare out to the sides. He presses in slowly as you opens for him, until he is fully sheathed inside you. The final piece of the puzzle is being put into place. He moans a silent “fuck” into your sternum. The shiver of air travels right to your heart, through the flesh and bones.

Jake is right, no words other than “make love” can better describe what he is doing to you. Every single one of his movements murmurs “love”—his hand grabs yours and places it against his chest, right where his heart is. His cock repeatedly thrusts and retreats like crashing waves, brushing that particularly sensitive spot. His lips entwine with yours, nibbling and licking.

Pleasure, accumulating rapidly, like an empty bottle under the running tap. The surface tension jiggles, threatening to spill.

“Jake…fuck! I’m gonna—”

“Let go, baby,” Jake’s voice is unsteady too. “I’m right behind you.”

In fact, he didn’t even mange to hold out that long. The pressure sprints down his spine and blasts right to his cock. It spasms inside you, pinching and squirting. You climax together. For a moment, your hearts banging crazily against your ribcage, swearing to break out so they can be pressed together even closer.

You lie in the afterglow, two shells washed ashore, scoured back and forth by the slews of post-orgasmic endorphins.

“I love you, y/n,” Jake sighs into your hair.

“I love you, Jake. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea,” your hands roam on his back.

“I could only imagine,” he sounds compunctious. Jake sneaks his hand behind your head, dipping down for another kiss. “I’m sorry for being away. Thank you for letting me love on you, baby. Your body feels like home to me, you know that?”

You are knocked out of words by the vulnerability and the weight enveloped in that statement. You can only nod, blinking fast to dispel the stinging tears.

“Oh, don’t cry, love,” he smiles at you. There’s also something glistening in his warm caramel eyes. “I am here now, will always be here,” his finger laces with yours, traveling in turn, tapping on your temple, your eyes, and finally resting on the left of your chest, “so, Carpe Diem, Carpe Noctem…”

“Carpe Omnia.”

If home is where the heart is, he has finally settled down. No matter how far, no matter where, once and once again, Jake will always come home to you in the end, where together your soul will dance, entangled in an inseparable embrace—day, night, and for a lifetime.

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Yay you made it!!! Thank you SO MUCH for reading!! Let me know what do you think or if we want a taglist. Any comments, thoughts, and feedbacks are GREATLY welcomed and appreciated.

My other works: Permission to Fall || Mariner's Complex || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

[blues824]

Can i request dorm leaders with a Mario reader (the Mario odyssey version) and how they would react to their hat and their ship

it goes like this : the reader has been a janitor for a long time because their ship crashed in twisted wonderland and they can't leave until their ship is repaired . When riddle's overblot happened they helped defeat him by throwing their hat on riddle's head and controlling him to help him calm down. After that, they obtained power moons from the ink monster, then realized they can get power moons from defeating bosses and so on...

please and thank you

Gender-neutral reader, not Yuu, who lives at Ramshackle and is in their 2nd year. More platonic than romantic, but is very vague. I’m an English-server player, so Chapter 7 events have not happened yet.

Riddle Rosehearts

You were the student who got in on a free scholarship because you volunteered to be the school’s plumber. It was technically a well-paying job, as you got free housing, free food from the cafeteria because of a special pass from Headmage Crowley. You did, after all, have superhuman abilities of your own. While they don��t count as ‘magic’, they do put you at an advantage of sorts.

Riddle had noticed you around NRC, and he’s even had to call you when the pipes under the sink were leaking. You were very friendly, and you came with a rather peculiar red hat upon your head. But, you did your job quite well. The pipes were fixed… after you literally went into the pipes to the sound of an 8-Bit arcade game.

When he overblotted, your red hat came in handy. You threw it at him, and it grew eyes of its own. Once it knocked the crown off his head and replaced it with itself, Riddle found himself in the backseat of his own mind. You were there, directing the ‘ship’ as well as helping him to calm down. You must have had a younger sibling or something with the way that you were so encouraging and positive, despite him almost killing you.

Eventually, you got ejected out of his mind and you were dizzy once you got outside. You sat down, your legs spread out on the grass, your head spinning and with stars and swirls and tweeting birds circling around you. Riddle was in a similar state, so you were both about to be taken to the infirmary. However, something dropped from the heavens above. It was a moon. You, stumbling about, got up and walked over, and picked it up. Your vision focused for a few seconds to see that it was a Power Moon, before you passed out.

The Housewarden of Heartslabyul woke up a few hours later, only to find that he was alone. From what he remembered, you were brought here as well. He got up from his bed and started asking around, only to find out that you were at the old Ramshackle dorm. He knew that was where you lived, but how did you get all the way over there in your condition? When he got there, you were working on a rather large and weird-looking steam-powered ship. You attached a strange moon-shaped object, and the ship rattled with life, spooking the 17-year-old.

A jolly laugh emitted from you, but you turned around to see Riddle behind you. You were surprised that he was there, but you asked if he was alright. This was overwhelming for him, so you decided to just roll with it. If Luigi could deal with this, so could Riddle. You explained that the ship in front of the two of you was called the ‘Odyssey’, and that you were looking for a way home. The Power Moon that you just attached to it powered the ship a bit, but you needed six more. He promised that he would help you and Yuu get those moons as payment for your help.

Leona Kingscholar

You were an agreeable person that he tolerated. He wasn’t particularly fond of your social personality, but you were at least able to pick up on it and keep conversations professional. He, too, has had to call you a few times for plumbing issues, and you would keep talking to a minimum as he showed you where the issue was. The first time you disappeared into the pipe itself, though, made him sort of freak out. He thought you weren’t magical and that you were just an ordinary plumber.

Well, whatever you did, you did your job well. The plumbing didn’t have any issues for a while after that, and he gave you a small (but still considerable) sum of money as payment. You immediately invested it into Ramshackle, as you wanted to help Yuu and Grim out as much as possible. You and Leona did not cross paths after that, you understanding that he wasn’t a very friendly person.

That was, until Leona overblotted. You are called because of the work you had done for Riddle. Once again, you threw your hat, and Capps landed on the lion’s head. Leona took the backseat in his own mind and you were, once again, steering the ship. Your presence was somehow calming, but he noticed that your normal red hat was not on your head. Instead, it was on his head. You encouraged him to keep fighting for #1 in any race he went through, and he really felt it in his soul.

Anyways, you were a bit more used to taking control over the overblot monster by this point, so you had consciousness for 5 minutes instead of 5 seconds. Of course, you were tired. Your father had not trained you, and thus you were having trouble adjusting to taking over someone/something else’s body. You were able to get the Power Moon and make it about 30 steps before passing out.

Leona woke up in the infirmary wondering where you were. He knows that you had been there to recover from taking over his body, and you probably needed a longer recovery period than he did because you didn’t really have magic. He walked all the way to Ramshackle in search of you just to see the Odyssey firing up once again after you added the second Power Moon. 

You explained that this could be a way to help Yuu get home as well as yourself, and for some reason, Leona resented the thought of you leaving. You were the only person who knew his weaknesses as well as his strengths, and if you were gone, he would have no one he could be vulnerable with. However, he did also vow to help you restore your ship, because you deserved to go back to the Mushroom Kingdom.

Azul Ashengrotto

Neither he nor any of the other mer-students know the first thing about plumbing, so when the pipes get clogged because someone flushed something they were not supposed to, you were the person he called. You were actually very friendly and very willing to do your work with a smile, and he offered you 3 weeks’ worth of vouchers for food and drinks at the Mostro Lounge. What he did not expect was for you to go inside the pipes.

Because you were employed by Crowley himself, there was no need for actual payment from Azul. However, he almost felt obligated to compensate you for your work. Thus, the vouchers. You were there the next week, actually, and Jade was your server. He told his boss that you were there, and the cecaelia found himself rushing out of his office to sit with you and speak with you. It was a very nice conversation, actually.

Anyways, when Azul overblotted, you were immediately called. You were well-versed in battling and swimming, plus you now had experience with battling overblots. Cappy flew through the water like he flies through the air, and you took over the body of the overblot victim. Inside, you saw a small version of Azul… when he was more ‘squishy’, as Floyd had so kindly referred to him. You went up to him and patted his head (which had Cappy on it) before telling him that he was doing a good job, and that he shouldn’t give up.

Spending this amount of time was really stretching yours and your hats’ boundaries, and you flew out of Azul’s mind like you were ejected from something. You spent a total of 10 minutes in the cecaelia’s mind, and you were exhausted. You thought your condition after Leona was bad, but this was worse. You were hallucinating as well as stumbling. You saw three Power Moons, and used the very last of your energy to target the middle one. Unfortunately for your dignity, you missed it completely.

Azul was in no better state than you were, and he woke up the next day in the infirmary. However, from what he remembered seeing, you had collapsed. Thus, shouldn’t you have been in the infirmary as well? He asked the nurse attending, and they said that you had woken up only a half-hour later and went right to Ramshackle. So guess where he went? To get himself spooked by you adding the third Power Moon to the Odyssey. The ship rattled with life, floating for a few seconds before sinking back to the ground.

You turned around and spotted your cecaelia friend as well as Leona and Riddle. The latter two were there out of obligation, as they felt as though they should be there to commemorate the progress you were making with getting you and Yuu home. Azul greeted you before asking about your weird ship, and you jumped up into it and told him as well as the other two, and Yuu and Grim, everything there was to know. 

Kalim Al-Asim

He called you regularly, mainly because you were his friend, but also because people keep flushing insects that they find down the toilets after they pick them up with toilet paper. All that toilet paper caused it to get clogged multiple times, but you didn’t mind. Every single time you came, Kalim knew that you were going to do a good job, and after he would pay you a handsome sum of money. That money went right to Ramshackle dorm.

The first time you went over to fix the plumbing was a time of wonder for the Housewarden. You went inside of the pipes, and you came back out completely dry. He was absolutely amazed by your ability, and the pipes were completely fine from that point on for the next few months. That was, until the plumbing was clogged again and he got to call you again. This started a very cute friendship between you both.

When Jamil overblotted, Kalim was even more startled when you threw your hat at Jamil before you got teleported. When the dust settled, the Octotrio, Grim, Yuu, and he noticed that you weren’t with them. You were, instead, inside the mind of Jamil, trying to get him to relax. However, this was unlike anything you had seen before. By the time you had gotten out, you were throwing up because of the overexertion that you had caused yourself.

Kalim returned just in time for you to pass out. You didn’t even reach the Power Moon this time. However, in the infirmary, you woke up just 30 minutes later trying to leave. The nurses as well as he were wrestling and arguing with you so that you could rest. However, you used your superhuman strength as well as your ability to jump to your advantage. You ran to Ramshackle, the young Al-Asim trailing after you as best as he could.

There, he saw Yuu and you adding a moon-shaped thing to a weird-looking ship. You gave him a hug like you didn’t just fight against him, and you took him aboard the Odyssey to give him a tour. He was like a kid in a candy store, completely amazed at the piece of machinery. Sure, Twisted Wonderland was known for many sorts of odd things, but he hasn’t seen anything like the Odyssey. There was nothing in T.W. that actually could travel between dimensions like you promised it could.

However, if you and Yuu were going to leave, Kalim would definitely miss you both. After all, you both became good friends over the course of his friend’s unfortunate downfall. But, he offers to help you as well as the other three you have called your friends. Actually, Riddle, Leona, and Azul showed up not long after, congratulating you on the 4th Moon. This little group of friends you were creating reminded you of your dad’s friends back in the Mushroom Kingdom.

Vil Schoenheit

He made sure that everyone knew proper bathroom etiquette, as he believes it’s very important. That being said, he calls you at regular intervals to keep up maintenance on the plumbing. Again, it typically follows with some money, as it is a rather filthy job. And again, the money just goes straight to bettering Ramshackle. After all, Grim needs his fancy tuna, and you are the sole breadwinner of the dormitory.

The first time you went into the pipes to perform the proper maintenance, Vil freaked out. You just disappeared into the tubes to the sound of an 8-bit sound. He looked inside of the opened pipe and he saw absolutely nothing. There was no sound, and he didn’t know what happened. He was about to use magic to find you but you came back out with the same sound not five minutes later, raving about how those were the clearest pipes you have seen thus far in the two years you’ve been at NRC.

When he overblotted, he also knew your routine, but Cappy has this thing where it’s like a missile, and it won’t stop until it’s reached its target. That being said, it wasn’t without difficulty that Cappy finally found its way onto Vil’s head after removing his overblot crown. You went into his mind, and found him screaming and pacing. You sat down on the floor and made him sit down in front of you, and you made him go quiet. You reminded him that a story could not exist without a villain, but a villain could exist without a hero, and thus he was technically the hero of the story.

Getting him to a point where you could actually talk to him took a lot of time. Another 10 minutes was spent, and your exhaustion showed. You threw up again, your body unable to withstand being in someone’s mind for that long. However, it was long enough to get the Housewarden of Pomefiore to calm down. Cappy was exhausted as well, and you both passed out. However, you were able to get the Power Moon this time.

After an infirmary trip and a speedy recovery from the two of you, as one has superhuman abilities and the other has a healthy lifestyle, you both made your way to Ramshackle. Because of what you had gone through that day, you decided it was time to show him the Odyssey, and he was honestly impressed by the craftsmanship on the ship. You obviously cared a lot, and because this was the 5th Moon, it was starting to operate and hover above the ground.

The Odyssey groaned, becoming awakened at the addition of the Moon. Yuu and Grim started to celebrate and cheer at the prospect of Yuu and you finally being able to go home. Sure, the pyromaniac of a cat would miss his Ramshackle dorm-mates, but this was not a time for sad thoughts. Vil was later joined by Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, and Jamil as they congratulated you on the progression in your journey.

Idia Shroud

The first time he sees you, your hat reminded him of a sequel game in the series I Need to Rescue the Princess From an Evil Turtle Trying to Marry Her!!! However, the reason for your visit was rather embarrassing. One of his inventions kind of went haywire in the bathroom, and the pipes were no longer working. But, you weren’t judging! This was your job, and you were happy to meet new people.

You went inside the pipes, making Idia and Ortho freak out. Where had you gone? You came back out with soot all over your face and clothes. Your expression looked shell-shocked. You quickly shook everything off as you shook the Housewarden’s hand before heading off to your next job. Before you left, however, Ortho rushed to you and gave you a blue sack of money as payment for what you just went through.

When Idia overblots, you were already on-scene. You needed that Power Moon, after all. However, it was going to be much more difficult to obtain it because of the mechanical overblot. Cappy even had a hard time getting into Idia’s personal bubble, much less onto his head. You were close to your limit when your hat finally made it, and you were transported inside his mind. You found him sitting at his older brother’s burial site, and so you laid a flower on the ground before extending your hand to him. This is the first step to moving on, you said. He accepted your hand, and that is when you were ejected out of his mind.

Luckily, you weren’t there for very long. 5 minutes, and you were pretty much fine. You were definitely very dizzy, and you were still stumbling about, but with the help of Ace and Deuce, you were able to get the world to stop spinning for a second. Idia collapsed, and you ran over to see if he was alright. Then, you both were taken to the infirmary, and that was the last thing either of you remembered.

A few hours later, the Housewarden of Ignihyde woke up in the infirmary bed, recollecting his memories. Ortho was right next to him, but he wondered where you had gone. The young robot informed him that you had gone to Ramshackle to add the Power Moon to the Odyssey, and he was so confused. Weren’t those items only in that video game you reminded him of? This was nonsense.

It was not nonsense, as when he made it to Ramshackle, the Housewardens of the other dormitories were there along with Yuu, Grim, and yourself. The Odyssey seemed almost fully functional, save for just one more Power Moon. Everyone knew where that last Power Moon would most likely come from, and to say that you were scared would be an understatement. However, you have Idia’s vow that he will help you prepare for that battle if it’s needed.

Malleus Draconia

He actually has no reason to call you. The plumbing at Diasomnia is always in perfectly functioning order, and no maintenance is needed because it’s his magic that makes it run perfectly all the time. But, he did find the fact that NRC had a student plumber to be rather interesting, so he decided to have Lilia call you to run general maintenance on the plumbing system anyway.

You showed up with your toolbox and a smile on your face, not even being deterred by the spooky appearance of the Diasomnia dormitory. The Koopa Castle was much scarier back in the Mushroom Kingdom, anyway. You knocked on the door, and it was answered by two knights, one you recognized as your classmate, Silver. They led you to Malleus, and he was a lot taller than you imagined. Anyway, you asked where the most accessible location to the pipes was, and he showed you one of the restrooms. He did not expect you to enter the pipes.

This little job actually started a friendship between you two, and he would ask many questions about your occupation as well as your homeland. You told him about your father and mother, and how you were technically the heir to the throne of the Mushroom Kingdom, but you needed to find a way back home. That brings up the Odyssey, and he goes with you to visit it and see what it was. At this point, it was right after Riddle’s overblot, so there was only one Power Moon.

One thing he was surprised to see was that his magic did not work when it came to powering the Odyssey. It required a more powerful type of magic that not even he had. He was sure that his grandmother nor any of the other 3 most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland could even attempt to power the ship. It was made to transverse between dimensions, and their magic was made to transverse between the realms of Twisted Wonderland.

Six overblots later and you’re terrified. You tell him that you are terrified of him overblotting because you were just exhausted. You knew that you would not be able to defeat him, and you didn’t want him to overblot at all because you knew that it would kill him. Malleus was saddened to hear your pain, and how you were very close to giving up on your dream as well as Yuu’s dream just because you physically couldn’t handle it.

But, the two of you knew that only overblots brought Power Moons. As much as the Housewarden wanted to deny it, he knew that if anyone were to overblot, it would be him. He also knew that there was no way Cappy, your hat, would be able to stay on his head long enough for you to be able to calm him down while you are in his mind. If he could, he would assure you that you had nothing to worry about, but because you knew of his tendency to get attached to those closest to him, you had everything to worry about.

[wooahaes]

morning glow

pairing: non-idol!95z & gn!reader

genre: fluff. kinda can be interpreted as romantic.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: sleepy reader + hannie being tormented by cheol + shua. just silly fluff! vague mentions of food but none present in fic. vague alcohol mentions.

daisy's notes: idk what these guys have but i want it

Sometimes, despite loving Seungcheol and Joshua, you truly despised them. This morning was another one of those days. Let’s go on a walk together before we go home. You didn’t even remember which one of them said it: you were just dragged out of bed this morning by Seungcheol (Joshua was responsible for Jeonghan), and forced to bundle up for a morning hike in the woods. Despite the way you and Jeonghan had been leaning against each other for a few minutes, ready to nod back off (or just find a way to sneak back to bed), your tormentors had kept the two of you there. At least Joshua had been nice enough to kneel down and re-tie your shoes for you, only lightly teasing you for looking like you’d fall asleep any second.

“We can watch the sunrise together,” Seungcheol said, pulling an arm around your shoulders. “You’ll like it.” 

You mumbled something incoherent instead. Where was Jeonghan? You turned your head to see that Joshua was already holding his hand to keep him close, not letting him slip away too easily. 

“They’ll wake up more when we start going,” Joshua had been smiling, fingers intertwining with Jeonghan’s. 

Jeonghan tried to tug his hand free. “If we don’t run back.” 

Jeonghan could enjoy a nice morning. So could you, to be fair. But the four of you had stayed up late, drinking a little and joking about stupid shit for far too long. You should have known Seungcheol was serious about this walk when he stopped drinking early into the night, saying that all of you promised to go.

“I mean it!” Seungcheol called back over his shoulder. “I’m not letting you miss the sunrise out here. Both of you should have gone to bed when we did instead of staying up.”

Okay, maybe this was partially your fault. Could they blame you? The two of you had fun talking.

The autumn leaves crunched underneath each step you took, your body leaning against Seungcheol’s until you woke up further. Although he kept his hand in yours, you’d slowly straightened up over time, waking up more and more in the chilly morning air. Joshua and Seungcheol kept the conversation going while you stewed in your still-sleepy thoughts. Maybe if you could get out of Seungcheol’s grasp, you could steal Jeonghan and go back to the house. Maybe the two of you could cuddle up instead, too, and be warm and sleepy together. Yet the moment you started to wiggle your hand free, Seungcheol’s grasp tightened.

“You’re not going back,” he said, that teasing lift in his voice telling you that he knew exactly what was going through your head. 

Joshua laughed, so light and airy, and came up to your other side. His hand slipped into your other one, pulling it from its pocket, as he swung your arms. “Just one morning,” he said. “We won’t bother you two anymore.” 

Jeonghan sounded far more awake than you were, “You owe us breakfast.” 

“Done.” Seungcheol chuckled. “I think this is nice, though.” 

To be honest, it was. Despite the chill of an autumn morning, you liked the company you had. The air felt more refreshing, too. The leaves were changing and falling, and the crunch of leaves was satisfying. The sun wasn’t fully up yet, just high enough that it wasn’t completely dark out. At some point during this walk in the woods, it stopped feeling as though you were being dragged along and like you were spending some time with your favorite people. Seungcheol was bundled up warmly, although he finally let go of your hand at this point (maybe it was because Joshua still had your other hand—you couldn’t take off to go back to bed… which, at this point, you weren’t planning on it anymore) and unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. 

“Hold on.” With all of you stopped, Seungcheol had begun to wind the scarf around you, tucking it close enough that you’d stay warm. “If you’re cold, you should tell us.”

Of course he’d notice. Seungcheol always noticed the little things like that. Joshua looked at you as well.

“Do you need my jacket?” He asked, already reaching to mess with the zipper, “I don’t mind.” 

Jeonghan glanced at you, eyes darting back. Sure, the sunrise was tempting, but… Siding with Jeonghan? Even more tempting. All of you had a few more days, after all…

“Yeah,” you said, fiddling with the scarf. “Thank you, Shua.”

The gentle smile he had almost made your heart break. But he let go of Jeonghan’s hand, and immediately the two of you broke away, Jeonghan’s hand slipping effortlessly into your own. Amidst yours and Jeonghan’s cackles, you could hear Seungcheol whining as he took off after the two of you, Joshua calling you a traitor in the distance. Your lungs were aching in the morning air, heart racing as you and Jeonghan raced your way back to the house. By the time you made it there, you’d collapsed onto the front porch, leaning against Jeonghan as he laughed softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said out loud. “We’ll go watch the sunrise tomorrow.” 

With a giggle, you wrapped your arm around his. “Mmhm. Tomorrow,” you agreed. 

By the time the other two approached, having given up on chasing the two of you, the sun was rising in the sky. Seungcheol swatted at Jeonghan, pushing him to move closer to your side as he plopped himself down next to him. Joshua came to your other side, snuggling in to watch the sky with all of you.

“You were right, though,” you mused aloud. “It’s pretty out here.”

“There’s a better spot to watch it,” Seungcheol pouted, nodding toward the woods.

“Then show us tomorrow,” Jeonghan said, head resting on his shoulder.

Joshua squeezed your hip gently. “Alright,” he said. “I promised you guys breakfast.” He’d unzipped his jacket, draping it over your head, “but now you’ve gotta help.” 

Despite your groans in protest, the three of you followed Joshua back inside after admiring the sunrise for a moment longer. At least you were with the three people you adored most in the world.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @staranghae @weird-bookworm

[cuubism]

Intemperate

alternatively titled, "consumed with lust for some fucking guy"

4300 words following the thought, "what would it be like to experience sexual attraction again after 100 years in a jar?"

Dreamling, E rated, post-2022 reunion, dom/sub vibes & daydreaming about bondage

--

Dream had never been a creature of the senses, but he did have senses. In the Dreaming, anything that smelled or tasted or sounded was merely part of his power, and therefore not really a subject of the senses as usually conceived. The Waking was a different matter, a cacophony of things outside of himself to experience.

But Dream never thought himself as driven by senses the way actual beings of the Waking were. His senses were an illusion, abstracted from physical reality, a way of bringing him closer to the living things his function was to serve but not really a part of him. So many senses were vague in dreams, after all, for they were products of the conscious mind and its understanding of the world. Not of the realm of dreams.

Dream was not driven by his senses. He was struggling to remember that at this moment.

“So I’ve been saving this one for a special occasion,” Hob was saying, as he poured from a bottle of syrah into two glasses, “and I know we’ve met a few times already, recently that is, but—” he finished off his pour, leaving the bottle to the side and slanting a bashful smile in Dream’s direction— “every time I see you still feels like a special occasion, to be honest. Anyway, you’ll have to let me know how it is.”

Dream took his glass in the hopes that the scent and taste of the wine might distract him from all the other senses currently bombarding him.

He had thought, for a time after his imprisonment, that he might have lost his senses entirely, become inured to the feelings of the Waking world. For one hundred and five years he had felt almost nothing in his cage: there had been no smell, no taste; all sounds were muffled other than the ones he made himself; he saw nothing but the inside of that basement, and the reflections of the glass. Even touch had atrophied when the only thing his skin felt for so, so long was cool, even glass.

He had nearly forgotten what it was like to be otherwise. But he was certain it had never been like this.

It was their first time meeting alone, upstairs in Hob’s kitchen rather than downstairs in the inn. And Dream was sitting altogether too close to him. They had taken seats at right angles to each other at the table, rather than across, and he was perpetually aware of Hob in his peripheral vision, of how their knees almost bumped under the table, of Hob’s forearm resting on the tabletop near his own. He was so close, had he ever felt so close?

The simple curve of Hob’s shoulder was catching like a knife under Dream’s ribcage. The angle of his jaw making a home in his throat, and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes landing somewhere in his vocal cords. The deft movement of his hands curling at the base of his skull, the scent of his cologne when he leaned close simmering low in his belly, the hum of his voice tickling up every inch of Dream’s skin. Grabbing hold of his breath.

“You’re quiet today,” observed Hob, sipping his wine. “More than usual, I mean. Everything alright in the Dreaming?”

Was it like this for humans all the time? Dream wondered. This heavy anticipation in his chest, the bodily attention verging on pain? He hadn’t known it was possible to be so intently aware of another person, but there it was, Hob Hob Hob in the pounding heart he didn’t need, a compulsion that wasn’t intellectual or even particularly romantic, but rather a strained desperation that could only be soothed by touch.

He had hardly touched anyone since his escape, and he had only touched Hob once, at their second meeting when he had told Hob where he’d been, and Hob had hugged him. Strong arms, solid chest, the tickle of hair against his ear, the resonance of life that hummed in Hob’s body. Dream had returned to the Dreaming afterwards and sat on the steps of his throne room for a very long time, palm pressed to his chest where their bodies had connected.

“I am fine,” he said now, and, because he was trying to be a better friend, added, “thank you.”

Not, he thought, with a tangle of chaos inside him, that it was really friendship that he was feeling now.

“Okay,” Hob said, with little conviction. “If you say so.”

Dream wanted to know what Hob would say about it. What he would say about it using his hands and his body and his skin. It was difficult to keep up any sort of conversation thinking like so. Hob was making him feel incredibly loud inside, and not the loudness of the Dreaming, of the dreamers, but a noise of his own making. A noise of his own longing.

He took another sip of his wine to steady himself, and found his hand was trembling.

“Whoa.” Hob grabbed hold of his wrist to steady him before he could drop the glass. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Dream fixated on where their hands were connected, struck by the insane impulse to shake more so Hob would keep holding onto him. Dream had fallen headfirst many times—it was the only way he knew how to do it, in fact—but he could not now recall if it had ever been quite like this. Had he ever been so flung askew by someone’s mere proximity, made so insensate just by the desire to touch? He did not recall, but he did not think so, and he wondered again about his imprisonment, and how sunlight that one might normally turn one’s face towards with ease could be blinding when coming out of the darkness.

Hob realized belatedly what he had done, and let go of him with a guilty startle, and then Dream did drop his glass, ignoring how it cracked and spilled on the table as he lunged for Hob’s hand, catching it before he could pull away fully.

Hob stared at where they touched, utterly still. “I’ve never known you to get drunk,” he said. An out, perhaps, for Dream, if not a graceful one.

Dream gave in to impulse and brought Hob’s hand to his mouth, kissing his palm. The touch of skin was so bright, bright as the rush of power when the Dreaming was returned to him, loud as a billion dreamers’ minds filling him again where before there was silence. And Dream’s nonexistent blood was singing, or perhaps screaming.

“I am not,” he said, and looked up in time to see Hob’s eyes darken. Once such attention from Hob might have triggered the part of Dream that was prone to offense; now he wanted to do such unbecoming things as falling to his knees between Hob’s legs and biting the inside of his thigh through his jeans. Press his face between Hob’s legs and see if that alone would be enough to get him hard, if Hob would put his hands in his hair. To want such things was hardly new in Dream’s long existence but to feel it so strongly, like he was starving, like touching Hob might fix what felt perpetually broken inside of him, that was.

Intemperate. Out of control. Such feelings had never brought Dream anywhere good. But he was made of feelings.

“Dream…” murmured Hob, turning his hand to caress his cheek. Hob held Dream’s face in his palm, and he might as well have been touching every inch of his skin for how Dream felt it. Easy. Takeable. Had. Dream had always prided himself on being above it all, untouchable, but really he was weak for a kind touch and for wanting and for the burn of skin on skin, and he felt especially weak, right now, for Hob.

Hob might not mind such weakness, he thought. Unlike most, might not hold it like a blade above his neck.

Again, Dream let his compulsions pull him, trusted Hob, trusted his friend, to keep him bounded as he slid off his chair and onto his knees, Hob’s thighs bracketing his shoulders. Hob’s breath hitched, and Dream looked up, meeting his stunned gaze, dark in the low light of the kitchen.

Hob swallowed, the bob of his throat visible, and laid his hand on Dream’s cheek again.

Dream did not kneel. Dream had been forcibly put on his knees for one hundred years. Dream was on his knees now at Hob Gadling’s feet, and he wanted to be there, he wanted to trust Hob to touch him and let him touch, to hold carefully the rope he had furtively woven around Dream’s throat when he wasn’t paying attention. To hold him there, so he couldn’t get up until he was satisfied.

“What—” Dream started, and had to swallow, mouth dry, the acidity of the wine clinging to his throat. “What would you have done to me, if you had me the way you daydreamed, the day we first met?”

Dream had caught the scent of those daydreams, of course, and merely pushed them aside. He wondered, now, if Hob could have always affected him so, had he merely looked properly in that direction.

“What’s more important is what I want to do with you now,” Hob murmured, thumb ghosting across Dream’s lower lip. “Of course I wanted to have you when I first saw you. Of course I did. You were like nothing I’d ever seen. But that feeling is— it’s practically nothing compared to how I feel about you now, when I lo—” he swallowed, cutting himself off. Dream kept looking up at him, and Hob kept holding his face. “When I love you.”

Love. Dream did not know quite in what respect Hob meant it, but perhaps it was all, or perhaps it didn’t matter. Dream had never had a love where it didn’t matter.

Dream leaned his cheek against Hob’s inner thigh, as he had so wanted to, and Hob ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly. Even through his jeans, Hob’s body was warm, his hand gentle, and Dream sighed, put at ease by the proximity. It should be alarming, to be so easily soothed. Threatening, to be touched. But it wasn’t. Dream only wanted to be closer, no matter what direction it careened their relationship in. Hob would not let it end badly, he thought. What a strange thing to feel sure of.

“I have not been with someone in a very long time,” he admitted. He was sure Hob could surmise this of the past century, but it had been much longer than that. “Locked away, I became so divorced from sensation that… I no longer know quite what it is I am feeling, I’m afraid.”

Hob scratched at his scalp, and Dream shivered. “All you have to know is how to tell me off if I do something you don’t like.” He huffed. “Not that you’ve ever been particularly shy about that.”

Dream smiled, a small thing, but it came easier than it had in a long time. “Perhaps I should have been.”

“Much as I do wish you hadn’t run out on me, I kind of like you as the stormy thing that you are,” Hob said. “I like my Stranger. Tell me off all you want, only stick around. Don’t leave.”

“I won’t leave,” Dream said. “I swear it.” He had no desire to, either. Not for quite a while.

“I get the sense that a swear from you means a lot.” Hob’s hand was still in his hair. It was bliss.

“Yes.”

Hob’s smile was warm and the tiniest bit possessive, and something in Dream that had been holding him up for a long time, that should have been proud and indignant and resisted being bound, thrilled at it instead, and wanted to bare its soft throat. Part of him wanted to punish Hob for his audacity in going along with this, wanted to punish himself for this most unbecoming behavior, but the part that had felt Hob’s daydreams and his forgiveness and now the touch of his hands had seized control and thrust him forward into the river of his own arousal. And Dream found himself enjoying the current so much that he no longer cared onto what rocks it might dash him.

Again, he thought: Hob would not let that happen.

“I’ll have to be careful not to abuse it then,” said Hob. And he let go of Dream’s hair, and Dream, unaware of how much that touch had been holding him up, swayed forward until his face was pressed to the juncture of Hob’s thigh, where he was growing hard under his jeans.

“I know that you would not,” he said. Hob had always let him go. Even when he didn’t want to.

“Up you get, then,” said Hob, and hauled him to his feet. Dream went easily, surprised into movement. “We’re not doing this here. You’ll kill your knees.”

“My body is not human,” Dream said.

“Still.”

They were face to face, now, and Hob’s expression was so soft for him, even with the heat building in his eyes. “You would take care of me?”

Hob rubbed up and down Dream’s arms. “I would. I would take care of you.”

Dream leaned in and kissed the corner of his lips, and then, caught by the hunger that latched under his ribcage, captured the rest of his mouth as well in a growling, starving kiss. All that heat and hunger filled him up and he followed it in a way he had not let himself for an eternity. He chased the lingering taste of wine from Hob’s mouth. Curled himself into the warmth there.

Hob kissed him back, tongue and teeth and the wanting of a hundred-plus years. His hands slid up over Dream’s shoulders to his neck, held lightly there, and with that hold he pulled Dream backwards through the kitchen, their lips connecting with less and less grace as they went.

“Better get somewhere more comfortable before I lose my wits entirely,” Hob said, between breaths. “I’m feeling less compassionate towards your knees by the second.”

Dream cared not where they were; he followed Hob blindly. Overcome by touch and taste and the sound of Hob’s breath and all things that were so so so loud after a century of silence. And it was perhaps because he was not aiding at all in their trajectory that they crashed into the wall by Hob’s bedroom door instead of making it over the threshold. Hob’s back hit the wall, and Dream hit his chest, catching himself just quickly enough that he only came nose-to-nose with Hob instead of smacking their foreheads together. Which would have been terribly undignified, not that Dream was feeling particularly inspired by dignity at the moment.

“Look at you,” Hob breathed, running his thumb under Dream’s eye. Then added, eloquently, “Fuck.”

Dream nipped at his throat, then sank again to his knees in one smooth motion, dragging his hands down Hob’s body as he went before letting them land in his own lap. He looked up at Hob, feeling spectacularly unclothed for all he was still wearing his jeans, shirt, socks even, but without his coat or his cloak or his shoes. Rare, for him to be so bare, since. Hob, too, was dressed casually, barefoot in his jeans and long sleeve Henley, and it made Dream feel on more equal footing. No attempt at pretenses.

Kneeling there felt like the right place to be, at that moment. Dream left that feeling to interrogate for later.

“This is really not a good look for me,” Hob said, breathing unevenly as he took Dream’s face in his hands again. “Get my oldest friend back and not only am I getting into your pants, but I’m not even doing it in a bed. It’s a bloody good look for you, though, fuck.”

“You like seeing me thus?” said Dream, as Hob nudged at his lips with his thumb. Dream opened his mouth, let Hob press his finger to his tongue.

“Yeah, of-bloody-course I do, Dream, you’re gorgeous like that. I only—” he bit the thought off halfway through, biting his lip so hard it turned white.

“Trust that I would not be here if I did not wish it so.”

Hob softened. “I know. I’m just reeling a bit. Fuck.”

“Your mouth gets filthier as you get emotional,” Dream observed, gratified that he was able to make Hob so.

“Yup, ‘fraid it’s my first—” he jumped as Dream pressed him to the wall by his hips, took the button on his jeans in his teeth and pulled it open— “first— fuck— language. Anything respectable’s from later, if it was ever there at all. Sorry for the filth, Your Majesty.”

Everything in Dream jumped to hear Hob call him thus even as he was on his knees. “I don’t mind.” He pulled Hob’s zipper down, too, salivating as it revealed the heaviness of Hob’s arousal, still cradled in his briefs. “I know by now what kind of man I am taking as my lover.”

He meant this in many ways at once and he hoped Hob understood.

Hob cupped himself through his underwear. “Can I…?”

Dream nodded. In fact, he wished very much that Hob would. Whatever he was thinking. Anything.

Hob pulled himself out, and then Dream was faced with his cock and— he had never actually been in this position before. He could summon the experience, of course—Dream contained all memories of intimacy, all wet dreams, all fantasies—but that was not the same as feeling the rush of pained arousal happening to him, the need to open his mouth consuming his body. The newness made it all the more startling and intense, but for the first time since regaining his freedom Dream leaned into newness, into intensity—and pressed his lips to Hob’s cock.

Instantly, another kaleidoscope of sensation: heat and sweat and pressure as Hob gasped and jerked forward involuntarily, nudging the head of his cock properly into Dream’s mouth— and then there was the heaviness of him on Dream’s tongue and Hob’s hand going to his hair, and Dream wrapped his hands around the strong muscles of Hob’s thighs to balance and it was all very, very much. A noise loud enough to banish the quiet of the basement that he still sometimes heard, echoing within him.

“Alright, love?” Hob asked, petting his face, and Dream hummed an assent, and took him deeper. Straining in his own pants, enjoying the play between his own arousal and Hob’s. Enjoying hanging there with no relief because it made everything prickle louder on his skin. He took Hob deep, then pulled off again, taking a breath that was more for Hob’s benefit than his own.

“I am,” he said, voice already with a rough edge to it, “I think, very well indeed.”

Hob laughed. “God, you. You have no idea what I want to do to you. Or, maybe you do, what with your—”

“I can sense dreams, not all thoughts, as such,” Dream said. He imagined the noise if he heard every passing thought of every being around him. “That would be maddening.”

“Dreams already sounds maddening, you mad thing.”

“It is true that I have rarely been accused of sanity or reason,” Dream admitted, and Hob laughed, head tipping back against the wall.

“Nor I, apparently. I cannot believe I interrupted you sucking my dick to have this discussion. Curiosity really does kill.”

“Curiosity has kept you alive, Hob Gadling,” said Dream, pressing his lips again to Hob’s cock. “And I am grateful for it.”

He took Hob in his mouth again, humming at the taste and weight of him, and Hob swore above him. What would you do to me? Dream wondered. Given the liberty?

As if he had heard the question, Hob started rambling, eyes falling shut. “You have no idea how pretty you look like that, on your knees. I don’t take it lightly. I don’t. I know you’re a king, I know you’re— and you make me mad, you make me want more, how could I possibly be given more than this? But you know me. One day, if you’ll have it, I’ll tie you up properly. And I know, okay? I know, you’ll have to trust me. If you really want to be on your knees. You make me want awful things. Beautiful things. Fuck—”

This last bit came as Dream took him deep enough to bump against the back of his throat, possessed by the image Hob had spun, and Hob let out a strangled gasp as Dream swallowed convulsively around him, nearly choking on it.

“Dream, I—”

Dream knew he would come, and leaned into the sensation. Bitter spend flooded his mouth, spilled down his throat and over his lips, and as he rode through Hob’s orgasm with him he let Hob’s daydreams bump up against him. Images of Dream on his knees again, naked this time, rope wound around him in intricate patterns, holding him there. Hob’s hands on the knots. Bound by kind hands rather than those that meant him harm, held in place to rend nothing from him but pleasure. And steadiness. Captured from the rough currents of himself.

He moaned as he let Hob’s spent cock slip from his mouth, shivered once and then again, out of control as Hob’s imaginings and his physical sensations and Dream’s own arousal battered at him. Hob fell to his knees before him, said “Dream,” with so much broken longing in it—haven’t you had me already? Dream thought, aren’t you having me?—and kissed him, hands cradling his face. Dream felt he must be vibrating at the pitch of the universe itself, so elemental was his wanting, and Hob gave him what he wanted. Of course he did.

He lowered Dream to the floor, cradling the back of his head, braced himself over Dream with their chests pressed together. His weight should have been oppressive, but wasn’t. It merely held him in place, easy and steady.

Their gazes met. “You would—” Dream’s voice was rough— “bind me? Gently? Hob Gadling?”

“Only so,” said Hob, eyes dark, cheeks still flushed, and Dream shivered again. “But right now, I just want to make you feel good. Okay?”

“Yes,” Dream breathed.

Hob braced himself on one arm and reached between them, undoing the button on Dream’s jeans with some difficulty. Dream should have made his clothing vanish to make it easier for him, but found that he wanted Hob to do it for him, to work for it, and to take care of him.

Hob’s hand wrapped around his prick, and Dream startled. Hob’s grip was warm and deft and Dream was very close to the edge already, and then Hob kissed him. Tender and hot, like he had been waiting to do this for a very long time. Waiting, always waiting for Dream.

He bit down on Hob’s lip as he came, clutching at his shoulders for steadiness, feeling rushing through him to the point of pain, to the point of whiteout. Far too much released all at once. All the sensation he had craved, blinding as the noontime sun.

Hob worked him through it as he shook, and gradually came back to himself. Everything was pleasantly staticky then, and Hob's weight was grounding as he let himself sink fully onto Dream, blanketing his body on the floor. And then Hob kissed him again, gentle and sweet. This was a lot of kisses for a being who had not been kissed in a millennium, and Dream whined, overwhelmed, winding a hand in Hob’s hair like he could perhaps manage to keep him there.

“There's a good love," Hob was murmuring into his cheek. "You’re so needy, aren’t you? I love it.”

Dream of a century ago had bristled at the mere implication that he needed anything, but Dream of today, pinned under Hob’s weight, was forced to concede that he did. Was forced to admit that he liked when Hob called him such, because Hob always qualified it with and I want to give it to you. And he realized that Hob had done so then, too, only Dream had been too blind to see it.

Still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure, he curled a leg around Hob’s hip, drawing him closer, and Hob chuckled as he complied. “I’m regretting the floor,” he admitted. “Your poor knees.”

“I reiterate that I am not human,” said Dream, “and am not bound by human bodily limitations.”

“Oh, but you could be,” Hob crooned, stroking a hand up and down Dream’s side under his shirt, “couldn’t you?”

A smile tugged at Dream’s lips. “Hob Gadling, do you wish to see me colored by your lovemaking?”

Hob sucked a mark on his neck. “Maybe.”

Dream shifted his form just slightly to let the skin there bruise.

Hob sighed. “God, you’re a marvel.”

“Careful,” Dream cautioned, as the words caught somewhere within him that he hadn't known was lacking. “A man might feast on such compliments.”

“Feast, then. You’re too skinny by far.”

“I thought I was pleasing to you.”

“Oh, you are.” Hob gathered him up in his arms, rolled them so that Dream was on top and no longer pressed into the hard floor. “You are, darling.”

Darling.

The mania that had possessed Dream had subsided, but he found himself still hyper-focused on Hob’s arms around him, the smell of his sweat when Dream pressed his face into his throat, the warm rumble of his voice. So much missing sensation. He did not know how to reel all of the parts of himself that had spilled out back in, but perhaps if it was only here, that was okay. He could stay unspooled across the floor, unwound and directionless, wrapped around Hob's hands, until he was forced again by his responsibilities to go.

He wormed his way further into Hob's arms and said, “I think I would like to stay for a while, if that is alright.”

Hob pressed a smile into his hair. “Love, I would be terribly sad if you didn’t.”

[auras-moonstone]

omg i love your ethan imagines so yk i have to request one!!! a gf!ethan x reader imagine based on the lines, “never was much of a romantic, i could never take the intimacy. and i know i did damage, cause the look in your eyes is killing me” from the song runaway by kayne west? (ignore that its a kayne west song i dont support his actions, and i do love taylor swift lolol) but its an angst where the reader and him are in like a complicated relationship where they both like each other but aren’t dating, and then the reader is their when he reveals himself in act 3? sorry if this request was long lol!! tysm 💖💖

hiii, i love your request and i love writing angst😫 i hope you enjoy it <3

hoax — ethan landry

word count: 1,686

pairing: gf!ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: y/n finds out the boy she loves is behind the killings, and thinks the love they had was a hoax.

warnings: angst. mention of death.

GROWING A LIKING TOWARDS Y/N HAD DEFINITELY NOT BEEN ON ETHAN LANDRY’S PLAN. He never even considered it a possibility, even though her dizzying smile and angelic laugh should’ve been enough warning signs. Ethan really thought it would be easy. Sure, Y/N was indeed super kind and funny—and she was lucky enough to have been out of Woodsboro during the murders, so the Kirsch family didn’t have a vendetta against her—, but the plan was the only thing on his mind so he never gave her a second thought outside of it.

Having juked the roommate lottery, he ended up sharing a dorm with Y/N, which meant spending most of his days with her as she was also his classmate. The plan was just to infiltrate the group through Y/N’s friendship. But her charm was inescapable, and soon enough Ethan’s eyes started to absentmindedly find her, his heart slowly began to pound faster whenever she was around, and his soul itched to maker her laugh, because he had grown addicted to that magical sound.

He didn’t have time to run, because he had fallen for her like an early spring snow—unexpectedly, shockingly but beautifully nonetheless. Y/N had swiftly entered his heart and mind to show him the romantic kind of love he had been missing his whole life.

No, they weren’t officially dating, but they both knew the feelings were reciprocated. They had difficult lives, and they couldn’t commit to a relationship yet. But neither of them minded that much, the mere presence of the other was enough. A simple etiquette wasn’t going to make any difference.

Ethan loved that Y/N wanted nothing from him, unlike his family—especially his dad, who forced him into a dark plan he never asked to be a part of. Ethan loved Richie, that was never in doubt, but he had it coming. His own decisions pushed him to his death. Was that the rest of the family’s destiny too? The thought of it paralysed Ethan, he didn’t want that to be his ending. He was just nineteen, he had a whole life ahead of him. But he also was terrified of hurting and disappointing his dad and sister, who were still a wreck after Richie’s death.

He had an internal war constantly going on inside his head and painted on his face. Y/N had noticed the anguish surrounding the boy for a couple of days now, and it worried her a lot.

“What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?” she finally asked one day, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind as Ethan washed the dishes.

Her touch was as calming as a lullaby, and it was the only thing that could make him forget about what was going on in his life. “Family issues” he admitted.

“Everything okay?”

He turned around to face her “It’s just… they expect more from me” his answer was vague, but Y/N would never push him to tell her something he wasn’t ready to share. “They want me to focus more on the family business, and at first I was okay with it, but now I’m not so sure that’s what I want for my life.”

“Did you tell them that?” she asked softly.

He shook his head “I don’t want to disappoint them. This business is really really important to them.”

“I can’t tell you what you do, but you do know it’s your life, right? And you shouldn’t let yourself be miserable to keep someone else happy. If they don’t respect your wishes, why should you?”

Ethan hugged her to his chest and wished with all his strength for a future like this—with no revenge plans, with no fear of disappointing anyone, with not having to lie to the person he loved the most in the world. A future with her on his arms, without having to be constantly worried of losing her.

He knew better, but just for a moment, he let himself believe that future was possible. It was a little hoax that allowed him to keep going.

Y/N FELT LIKE HER BODY WAS GOING TO COLLAPSE FROM TIREDNESS AT ANY SECOND. She was exhausted, scared and tired of running for her life. Tara, Sam and Y/N were now cornered by not one, not two but by three Ghostfaces. Her feet hurt almost as much as her soul—they had just lost Chad, and there were no signs of Ethan and Mindy.

“Just quit the drama and show yourselves for fuck sake” Y/N said in irritation.

Officer Bailey looked at her, showing him a smirk she didn’t like at all. It was evil, secretive, the smirk of someone who knew something crucial that she didn’t. “Oh, kid, this is about to get more dramatic. Especially for you.”

When Ethan felt a pat on his chest, he knew it was time. He took off the mask. He had imagined that scene countless times, wondering what Y/N’s face would look like once she knew the truth. Yet no image could have prepared him for the immense amount of pain he was felt when his eyes met hers.

Y/N stood frozen, but her eyes said it all. They spelt betrayal, astonishment and above all, sadness. A hoax, a sleigh of hand, that’s what their bond had been. It had meant everything to her, and was just an strategic move for him. Ethan could read every thought on her mind, and he wanted nothing more than to cradle her into his arms and sweep all those ideas from her mind.

It all happened in a blur—one second her gaze and mind were focused on Ethan and the next one she was being dragged away by him.

“No!” she tried to fight him, her feet tried to stay firm on the ground but his strength was unbeatable. “Ethan, please.”

“I’m moving you to a safe place” he explained in a calm voice. But she didn’t trust him anymore, so fear crept into her body. Was this how she was going to die? At the hands of the boy she loved? “Here.”

The closet was dimly lit and narrow, their bodies were almost pressed against the other. “Let me go.”

“Y/N, it doesn’t matter to them if you had nothing to do with Richie’s death. They are going to kill you, you need to stay here.” he explained desperately.

Y/N’s eyes went to the knife held in his right hand, then she looked down at the stitches on her stomach, and she swore she heard the way her heart shattered like glass. Had Ethan—the one who had kissed the wound better, the one who had held her hand as the nurse stitched her up, the one who whispered reassuring sweet words on her ear as she looked down terrified at all the blood she had lost—been the one who inflicted that very same wound on her?

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was wondering, so Ethan grabbed her by the cheeks as if she was the most fragile thing in the world. The terrified look on her eyes didn’t go past him, and it killed him. “No, baby. No. I swear, I didn’t do that to you. I would never hurt you.”

“Don’t call me baby! And don’t you get it? You already did.” her lower lip trembled. The guy who she had trusted with her body and soul, the one that felt like home to her, was the person whom she should’ve been running away from all along. “Was I just some pawn in your game?”

Ethan’s eyes widened “What?”

“Was I just some kind of Trojan’s horse? The girl you used to get inside the group?”

The brunet wanted to say no, but they both knew it would be a lie. “Only at first…” when Y/N hid her face in her hands to sob, he couldn’t help but bring her into his arms. The action destroyed her, because his arms were the place she used to shelter herself in whenever she felt sad. And despite the fact that he was now the one piercing her soul, his embrace still quieted her pain. “But I fell for you, for real, Y/N. I hate myself for bringing you into this mess, you don’t deserve it. You’re… you’re the one who made me feel happy again after everything that happened last year.”

“Fuck you, Ethan. I hate you.” she cried in his chest. Y/N wanted to pull away almost as much as she wanted to lock her arms around his frame forever.

“I know, I’m sorry” he whispered. “I have to go.”

“No. No, please. Don’t leave me here, stay with me.” the panic in her voice was heavy.

“I’m going to come back for you, I promise. Don’t leave unless I come back, okay?”

What if you don’t come back? was the question that lingered on that small room. There was a high chance that he might not see her again, and that this was the last time she would see him alive.

“If you’re not back within ten minutes, I’ll go find you. And you better be alive, Ethan Landry.” the boy smiled, and pressed a short kiss to her lips. “Please come back to me, okay? I love you, please don’t make me live a life without you.”

“I will, Y/N. And then we’ll go home, and cuddle and everything will be okay. I love you.”

But that night, Y/N walked back to the apartment alone, leaving a part of her back in that shrine. She arrived to the place that stopped being a home and became a house instead. She tucked herself to bed and closed her eyes waiting for warm arms to hug her waist, but they never came. Instead, she had to hug the pillow that smelled like citrus—his shampoo—and let the salt tears fall freely.

She’s got a lot to live without now, and she’s never going to meet what a future with Ethan could’ve been. The battle was over, but the worse was yet to come. Now, she had to learn how to be without Ethan.

[dizzycoffee]

Hi there, Hope your day is going well! Id like to request head cannons for Charlie, alastor, and Lucifer with a fem overlord reader who’s basically tohru from miss kobayashis dragon maid? Here is her wiki page to help :) : https://maid-dragon.fandom.com/wiki/Tohru

— Charlie, Alastor, Lucifer / Reader; Headcanons

i hope your day is also going well!! i wasn't fully sure if you meant the reader to be more power-like or personality-like, so i tried to keep it balanced?? i just hope you enjoy <3

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ HEADCANONS ･*:.｡..｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

— Charlie;

With both your personalities, you two often make the other residents / staff of the hotel sick

Like, it's hard to miss a moment when you aren't at least holding hands, much less be apart.

Being with Charlie, there could be friction between you and someone like Alastor, who would make it a point to rile you up just for the fun of it

Charlie's eyes widened, taking note of your glare the moment Alastor laid his claws on her shoulder. She chuckled nervously, immediately stepping back for distance. “You know better than that, Alastor,” she mumbled between a reluctant smile. Seeing his eyes narrow at your blazing figure, Charlie knew Alastor would continue to pester.

There are times when Charlie wonders how you, a powerful overlord who could easily destroy whatever is in your path, chose to live a life of redemption alongside her. She's never seen your powers, as you often restrain yourself from reacting with them.

Your devotion to her is also something that catches her off guard. She almost feels guilty knowing that you would do anything she asked for. It helps knowing you're hers, not trapped by someone who could take advantage of your love.

The moment Adam had even dared to look at Charlie, you were the first to jump into the fight. Fighting off the extermination was dragging out more and more, alongside your anger. It was in this moment, up on the roof as she tried to regain some sense of courage, that Charlie saw you show of a portion of your power. As Charlie watched fire come out your mouth which circled around Adam to keep him enclosed, she couldn't help but wonder what she did to deserve someone as devoted as you in her life.

— Alastor;

Everyone thinks you're absolutely insane for even wanting to be in his presence. And when Alastor doesn't bat an eye and actually lets you be close to him, everyone almost loses it

I feel like at first, he was more interested in the powers you have. He can see you're powerful and it intrigues him a lot. Even your dragon characteristics catch his attention.

When you show a clear romantic attraction, he initially brushes it off. He's not one to indulge in such activities... but he let you get close enough.

The end of Alastor's cane gently pushed you back. “Now, now my dear. What have we talked about?” He raised his brow at you, his piercing eyes meeting yours. You mustered up a sweet smile, easily recalling your previous conversion, “That personal space matters?” “Correct! You're more than welcomed to accompany me so long as you keep your hands to yourself,” his smile widened, patting your head. He didn't miss the way you swooned over his touch.

On the off chance that the two of you do get closer, he'll never outright say it. He'll keep you second-guessing his actions, which are all far too vague to fully decipher.

There are many days where its all the same, his enchanting words closer than how he physically is. It's all tame, almost superficial. But there are days where you find him closer than usual, days where his touch lingers and his smile almost seems softer than usual. Days that make you think he might actually care.

The overlords left the meeting room, leaving behind Alastor and your. Before you could even get up from your seat, you felt a hand be placed on your shoulder. You stayed put, heart beating faster than it should over a little touch. As the room fell quiet you let your eyes wonder until they met with Alastor's. He shifted in his seat, and you followed suit until you felt both your legs brush against one another. It was small touches like these, small and insignificant, that kept you coming back for more. You two stayed quiet, indulging in each other's company for a brief moment.

— Lucifer;

When he first saw you, he thought you were going to hate him, just like how Alastor hated him and all. So to avoid conflict, he tried to keep it professional and short.

That proved to be nearly impossible, since you were almost always by his side. He tried to be distant, he really did, but at some point he just sort of gave up and let things be

Will try to play it cool but he always ends up flustered when you show your devotion to him. It nearly killed him when you expressed that you’d do anything for him.

Lucifer chuckled softly, almost nervously. “I can’t seem to understand why you even want to be around me,” he admitted, though hesitantly. You tilted your head at him, brows furrowed in a puzzled manner. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s because I like you. I want to be with you, sir.”

He def was turned on /j

When he caught glimpse of your power, he nearly forgot he was Lucifer himself and got scared shitless. To think he’d been having you around and just a fraction of your power could annihilate anything that comes your way, which could possibly include him. He couldn’t tell if he was terrified or attracted to you in all honesty.

Of course, he understands that his own power if outmatched but damn does he feel sorry for whoever messes with you

After having watch you fight off some sinner for getting too close to him, Lucifer wrapped his arm around you. “I thought you were gonna chop off his hand,” he jested, laughing at how scared you left your victim. You raised a brow, “Did you want me to—” “No! No, uh, it’s fine! I swear!”

[bananaman-mp3]

yo im aware that theres some absolutely wild nonsense going in the top/bottom narusasu discourse side of tumblr so im here to make my contribution considering the funniest case scenario i can think of:

theyre both bottoms. i dont have like. solid canonical proof of that (because no one does its all subjective) but... if i hd to make a serious case id say that theyre both kinda needy for the other.

on one hand youve got the obvious "i chased and pined for you till the end of the world" naruto.

on the other youve got "i can never be truly completely alone and detached from this world until i kill you" sasuke. in this case its kind of the opposite in a more "i dont show it but you make me care so much so deeply" rather than "i need you so bad"

but thats kinda stereotypical right. whatever. sasuke is very heroine coded i mean have you seen the fanservice-y way they draw him sometimes. tits out. again this is stereotypical but i find it compelling

naruto is good at swallowing things. remember the frog and the raven? yeah me too. i remember. i wonder if can fit thing things inside his a-

anyway canon evidence is not even the reason i made this post i did it because of the way i think they accidentally became bottoms.

i think after vote2 and all that pining was over and they seriously started contemplating their relationship as potentially romantic and sexual they both individually considered if it would be awkward to have sex as theyre both men.

im thinking sasuke was wholy okay with the idea of bottoming from the start because he thinks to himself that naruto is probably too much of a pussy to agree to do it, so hed be fine w it.

meanwhile naruto has several emotional crises of masculinity after considering that sasuke may want to be the top and instead of concluding that they can just switch, like a normal person, he overcomes gender stereotype stigma all by himself thinking that it doenst make him any less of a man and that he would really like it because its sasuke. he wouldn't disliked being topped if the top in question is sasuke.

this is all ends in them finally starting a relationship and hilariously waiting for the other to make a move for about an awkward minute. and then

"hey-"

"so-"

"are you gonna-"

"you want to-"

and vaguely gesturing about the other coming to do the topping, followed by a split second horrifying realization that they both assumed they were going to be the bottom to make the other feel more comfortable and having a crisis over it.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

last child - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: more domestic fluff with leon, a touch of angst over leon's scars, passing mentions of drinking, leon being a fucking cheeseball, leon's obscenely handsome back. Words: ~3k Notes: hiiiiii. thank you all so much for you kind comments on the first drabble in this lil collection, i have never felt so inspired!! thus, here's more romantic bullshit with the guy. i'm thinking these will all exist within the same vague universe with detective!reader and husband!leon, especially because you guys gave me some very interesting ideas for him. this drabble in particular was inspired by emrurow, who suggested: "leon def has a whole package of scars from his missions and just imagine this scene where the reader is like gently caressing them and kissing them and its just so fluffly and sweet and vulnerable at the same time.........aghhhh." AGREED. now combine that with my strange urge to hose this bitch down with sunscreen. i hope you like the direction i took for this! enjoy <3

“Vacation” is a funny word in the Kennedy world.

When your work-buddies at the precinct bring up their vacations, it’s always a trip with the kids that’s months in the making, or summer getaways with the missus they’ve requested time off for. Always in the States and always planned ahead. The big joke in the bullpen is that the officer with the most cases closed this year will win a dazzling trip to Greece—but Leon has been to Greece, and he claims it’s pretty boring.

You think you’d find Greece pretty boring, too, if you spent the whole time there crawling around in the mud and hiding under enemy tanks.

So, no Greece for you. Vacations in the Kennedy world look more like this: Leon is cleared to go home, he somehow gets hold of your ever-shifting work schedule, becomes possessed with the urge to throw himself at the closest idea of “relaxing,” and springs it on you as a very romantic surprise. No elaborate itineraries. No plan. Just whatever consensus the two of you come to in the car, partners-in-crime escaping into the wind.

“So… Vegas?” You joke, slipping your key into the ignition of Leon’s precious Lamborghini Miura. So precious to him, in fact, that he avoids driving it at every opportunity.

The second he sags down into the passenger’s seat, your husband spams the recline button until he’s near-horizontal. The hand not cradling an ice pack over his nasty black eye curls loose around your elbow.

He scoffs, winking open his good eye at you. “With my luck?”

“Ooh, right. Bad idea then.”

Yeah. His track record with cars alone was impressive—he’d busted open two in the first year you’d been married, and you’ve been chauffeuring him ever since. Somehow, you don’t think Leon and casinos would mix.

You can’t resist the urge to pet his poor knuckles. These, too, were banged up. After a beat of the two of you filing through all of your available escape plans, you break the pensive bubble in the car by sweetly kissing his bruise-mottled hand. “Mwah. Where do you want to be right now, baby? Let me take you there.” 

Leon’s head had lolled to face yours, and for the millionth time since Racoon you’re struck by how bone-tired he always seems. He rasps with a tasteful touch of patheticness, “I want a cold beer and I wanna be outside. Wanna see you in a swimsuit, too.”

As straight-forward as a chainsaw, this guy. Hm. Your brows flick up at the picture he paints for you, and you lean right up to his face so Leon can see how unimpressed you are. “Do you want a sandwich, too, Mr. Kennedy? Maybe some—”

You go quiet even before Leon lays a kiss on you. It’s his hand that does it, long-fingered and twisted with damage, guiding you closer with enough painful tenderness to make a mote of sand feel special. Uhm. What had you been saying? You’d been talking, but… The touch wasn’t a little tap for you to tilt your head up, no—it’s just on the right side of needy, the heavy pads of his fingertips dimpling your jaw so he can pull you down to kiss him. Happiness tastes like spearmint gum. 

You part with a soft wet sound. Leon licks his lip and smiles, “No. Just wanna be with you.”

Well, the best place to be with him that involved cold beer, the grand outdoors, and one of your swimsuits was the lakehouse he owned up in Philly. The fact that he agreed to go there was truly a testament to how desperate he was to relax. The lakehouse wasn’t like his Lamborghini, your Prada sandals, or the boat bobbing in the marina back in DC—it was a family heirloom. One last relic of the old Kennedy money he never talked about. The most Leon had ever said about his inheritance was that it was “dirty,” and you don’t think he meant in the messy way.

Your husband’s secretive past aside, the memories you’d made here together were sun-warm and golden. If you were looking to make some extra money on the side, you think you’d offer up the place to the film crew of some wholesome coming-of-age movie. It was stupidly gorgeous. On a sunny afternoon like this one, the water was one horizon-wide mirror, making the whole day twice as sky-blue and shimmering. A pine-y breeze cooled the drying water on your back and fluttered through the heavy, low-slung trees reaching for passing paddle-boats. Hanging over the whole thing was Leon’s personal slice of the Appalachian mountains. He never said much about the house itself, but his childhood hiking the trails was free game.

Leon has a knack for escaping. He’s not nearly as good at vacationing. Lucky for him, you wrote the goddamn manual.

Your husband lays his chin on his folded arms and peers at you over his shoulder. “Like this?”

From where you’re standing rooted to the weathered wood of your jetty, Leon is a fucking vision. He lays out in the sun on his belly, lazy tomcat limbs loose and pliant on the dock. All you can make out of his face is the white, knife-straight scar on his chin, hidden by a feathery curtain of angel blonde hair. Even the tacky palm tree beach towel he’s laying on suits him.

…It takes you a second to answer, cause, yeah. Yes. That’s… wow. Holy shit.

“...Dear?” 

How can one word gush with so much smugness? Hoo, boy. He was a baby, honey, sweetheart guy. Not dear. For that, you slip off one of your foam flip-flops to smack him or something—but, of course, Leon swats it aside without looking. 

The innocent little shoe almost goes spiraling into the water lapping at the dock, but bumps into your cooler instead. A fishing boat just a few leagues out has arena rock radio on full blast. One of Leon’s hands taps out the drums for Hot for Teacher.

“Shut up.” You puff a strand of hair out of your face. “Is that really how you’re gonna talk to the person single-handedly saving you from sun-damage?”

“Haven’t saved me yet,” he gives a pointed wiggle of his poor, sunscreen-less shoulders.

As rebellious as you’re feeling, you do as told. He’s impossible to resist like this. Well, he’s upsettingly dreamy in any situation, but he’s at his worst when he’s all lazy and languid for you after too long apart.

“Let’s fix that,” you say, and uncap your tube of SPF 50.

Leon’s face drops back into his folded arms. You pad around his body on the towel, careful not to step on him as you take your usual seat on the small of his back. It’s then that the gravity of your task hits you. Why the fuck are his elbows attractive?

Bigger question: how are you going to survive the next fifteen minutes? It had been you in the skincare aisle this morning. Hell, your hand had gone for the lotion sunscreen over the spray sunscreen for a reason. In that moment, you knew how your decision would butterfly into the future, and that no matter what you would always end up here, staring down the gorgeous swath of Leon’s bare back. Un-sunscreened. Needing you to touch him. Ugh.

“My eyes are up here,” Leon remarks at your silence.

Your other flip-flop dings off his shoulder with a satisfying bounce.

“...I let that happen.”

You don’t doubt that he did, but it feels good to tease him. 

Burdened by the consequences of your actions, you slump forwards on top of him. He’s dinged up even back here, and there are strange, yellowing bruises patching around his shoulder-blades that you stoop to kiss. You understand why he only has the energy to lay flat on a towel like a fish. It looks painful, and not for the first time in your life you’re overwhelmed by the need to take care of him.

…He has single-handedly set feminism back at least thirty years.

Well. Dammit. You glare down at your husband’s stupid, beautiful back muscles. “I do this because I love you very much. Not because I feel obligated to as your wife, or cause’ of any societal expectations. Just because of you.”

Leon, still running on a dead battery, gives you a confident salute. You imagine eagles cawing overhead. “Yes, ma’am.”

Another loss for feminism: that gets a big, giddy laugh out of you. Maybe you just missed him, but his sleepy jokes are hitting the mark even more than usual. You’re still peeling with giggles as you drop a big dollop of sunscreen into your hand, and they don’t die down until you’ve spread it between your palms and begun to spread it out over his shoulders.

The tips of his ears have gone red. He warmly mutters, “Love that sound.”

Since it’s not every day that you get to indulge in your husband’s back, you take your time. He lets out a long breath when the cold cream meets his sun-warm skin, and in that one sound you hear weeks of pent-up tension already melting away. Leon has always seemed unstoppable to you. Even in his wiry rookie days, when you never would’ve called him wiry at all, he felt like he could plow through anything on a wave of willpower and spite. Now, that relentlessness has become physical. He’s plump with muscle all over. His back especially, so much of his weight as taut and ready-to-go as a bull on the charge. 

Or, in less words: he’s built like a brick shithouse.

But he is still, at his core, the not-wiry-yet-wiry rookie you loved. When you accidentally press into a new bruise, he makes a soft wincing sound through his teeth.

“Sorry, baby,” you utter. 

From then on, your touches go feather-light. You fan your palms down his slim waist and make sure his freckly shoulders get good coverage. For a while, the thoughts in your mind go somewhere far away and shapeless, focussed only on the task at hand. But the sunscreen makes his skin so shiny that all the little details catch more highlights than usual, and you realize, with a rising sense of discomfort, that all the things you aren’t allowed to know about him are laid out in front of you. There are loads of scars on your husband’s back that you don’t even recognise anymore.

The old ones are the ones you know. Most of them are nothing more than thin, pale discolorations now, just distinct enough to make out from memory. In a fucked up way, it’s fascinating: there is a sad old scar on the back of your hand from Raccoon, and when it passes over a similar jagged cut on Leon’s ribs, the two have aged together. But while you’ve gained only a few odd scrapes or dings being a detective in DC, Leon’s body is a whole new story.

They are not the neat, decorational scars an artist might accessorize a figure with. It’s all ugly, in inconvenient places that layer over one another, quick swipes, deep gouges, shallow bullet wounds, shredded lacerations, and more you don’t even have words for. Your heart plummets into your gut. You’ve seen these scars on him when they were still fresh bandages, but it only dawns on you now, stepping back to look at the full picture, just how many he has.

You swallow hard. “I’m so glad you’re home. Did I tell you that?”

Leon hums a yes, but it’s a dragged out, suspicious sound. He’s quick to sus you out. Nobody in the world can read you better.

You’re shooed off his back with a hand, and when he lumbers off his belly to sit up and face you, the sliver of black-eye you catch underneath his ice pack cuts you deep. He hasn’t opened his free arm for a whole second before you’re darting underneath it, his body tacky with sunscreen where it melds with yours. Your finger swirls around the oldest bullet-scar on his arm.

Leon takes a slow pull from his beer, squishing your face a little where it’s tucked against his shoulder. The bottle taps against the dock. Tink. Always, always, he has to joke with you first. “You’re making your worried face. Stop thinking.”

Your voice is muffled by his shoulder. “You can’t even see my worried face.”

“Then you’re making your worried silence.” Disappointed, he asks, “Where’d all your giggles go?” 

The reply that your mind loads up for him is an unfiltered, pained, I hate that you’ve been in so much pain. But telling him that would only be stating the obvious, and in the grand scheme of his mission and his self-bound duty to protecting other people, (never himself, never ever himself), it feels like a stupid thing to say.

You’re not sure what to say. Instead, you drag your finger down a raised pink scar on the back of his arm, laid neatly with connective tissue like rows of embroidery. “...What’s this from?”

Leon has to check to know which one you’re talking about. Squinting at his arm, he plucks through his memory before guessing, “Pulled a girl out of a fire.”

That is exactly what you figured he’d say. Sure, he’ll chatter your ear off about Aerosmith and Italian cooking to no end, but the second you even blink in the direction of his work, the chatter dries up. All that’s missing is the smart-mouthed segue—

Leon pulls a smug face. “She’s a virologist now.”

“Ashley isn’t graduating until next year,” you roll your eyes.

That earns you a one-arm shrug. He’s still glimmering with pride. “She’ll be a virologist in a year, then.”

It’s never what gave him the scar that he remembers—it’s why he got it, what cause he took it for, that he never forgets.

The arm wrapped slung around your waist goes for his beer again, and this time Leon squishes you extra while he takes his sip. When that doesn’t succeed in sparking another laugh from you, he drops all pretense and resorts to tickling you, pinching your side and keeping you fished against him when you shriek and squirm away.

“Leon!”

“What!” He groans. “I’m trying to have a little R&R and you’re brooding. Enough.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you scoff—and then scream in outrage, because Leon decides he’s had enough of you and attempts to push you off the dock.

The only reason you don’t go sploshing into the drink is because you get a good hold on him first, and if you go down, then so would he. Between all that playful wrestling and shouting, Leon tugs you into an insistent kiss. And because this is him, the center of all good things in your world, you come out of it warm-faced and giggling again, your cheeks aching with a bright grin. He never fails to make you laugh.

You slump back on the beach towel, still twitching with little laughs. Just to win some of your dignity back, you reach past him and steal a long sip from his beer, shaking your head at him the whole time. It washes down your throat bubbly and wonderfully cold. “So mean.”

“C’mere,” Leon pats the space next to him. And knowing precisely what he’s doing, he hits you with one of the closed-mouth smiles you never see and assuages all of your worries with one, “My sweet girl.”

Hook, line, and sinker. You join him on the end of the dock, (weary of any mischievous hands that might shove you in), feet dangling over the edge and dipping into the pleasant, swaying waters. The breeze on your wet skin is almost too chilly, so Leon’s sun-warm body spooning up behind yours is the ultimate balm. You bask in your personal space heater for as long as he’ll let you, and he presses lazy kisses to your shoulder as you squeeze him close.

There’s a long, scraggly white line snaking up his wrist. You outline it with a finger. This is one of the ones you were there for, back in Raccoon—Leon took a bad hit for you, pushing you ahead of him so you could get to safety first. You’re curious to see what he’ll say.

You tap the scar. “What about this one?”

Leon doesn’t have to look to know which one you’re talking about, this time. His nose nudges behind your ear, and your body thumbs head to toe with the rumble of his voice, a single harp’s chord plucked by an expert player. “Keeping my world safe.”

Oh my god.

A huge, impish grin blooms on your face. “...You are such a fucking cheeseball.”

Leon pushes you clean off his lap and straight into the lake.

[soraviie]

you're oblivious.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ masterlist

━ about: fluff + crack  ━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: lowkey inspired by a video of Hoseok being oblivious to BTS. Literary wise is not that complicated but it's humourous

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON:

sAVE HIM

Literally 

He’s struggling so bad bro it’s not even funny 

Fights the battle against your ignorance on two sides

By night, he’s your suave secret admirer, leaving behind finely crafted letters of adoration that would put the brightest of the Romantic Age into a second grave

By day, he’s fucking shitting himself

Knees weak, palms sweaty, mom’s spaghetti 

“This is made of silk,” he tugs at his own shirt during a short elevator ride

“Hmm,” comes your reply and from the gleam in your eye, he might just bear this suspicion you’re orbiting Mars right now

Alas he can’t stop

Because Holy SHIT! You’re here! Hi!

(truthfully, in the beginning, he was somehow much more put together, wowing you with sleazy smiles, breathy laughs and all the glory of that fuckboy gene that sleeps somewhere in his DNA but after that flew over your head and he listened to a podcast about the scarcity of sincere romantic gestures and the respect of polite admiration, the attempts to seduce you grow exponentially worse with time)

“It’s not velvet because it doesn’t feel velvety. Or tweed. Because obviously, it’s not…tweedy.”

“I see,” you conclude, dead to the world. “Have a nice day, Mr Kim.”

Watches you leave, bites on his fist, bites on his shirt, sulks the day away

plEASE just let him talk to you, I beg

Wants to hear your opinion, your insights, what you like and dislike, everything

Thus he tries to break the ice by initiating the dumbest subjects

“Grape?” he leans against the table, a total playboy. “Thoughts?”

“Of a singular grape?” you clarify

He sweats. “yEah.”

“None,” you reply flatly

So think a teenage boy with a crush but more wholesome

If he’s ever seen talking to you and/or trying to subtly touch you (which is another thing on its own) know that the last twenty minutes were spent shitting, screaming, vomiting

Ah! The Touching!

Tries to be subtle and casual - a hand over your shoulder because of some vague reasons, plays with your clothes a lot while pointing out this looks pretty on you 

HAND! ON! LOWER! WAIST!

The excuse is he’s just guiding you where you need to be 

And where you need to be is in his arms

And his bed he's actually so horny for you damn checking out left and right and then feeling conflicted over it because as a man...!

All this circus is, of course, detrimental to everyone’s mental health 

It is deeply painful to watch

Yoongi probably goes around citing the long-term health damage this inflicts upon him 

In the end, Namjoon is ousted by someone in the group. Anonymously but still the e-mail “Go out with Namjoon, he’s the one writing the letters. You have 24 hours.” is accompanied by “sent from Jimin’s iPhone”

YOONGI:

What have you done

You’ve created a monster!

When the saccharine first stage of catching feelings is gone with no results, honey boy, shyly twitching and squirming at every sentence, smiling softly at you in the distance, is no longer

This is Min Yoongi a.k.a. Agust D a.k.a. don’t wear converse a.k.a. the infamous Tokyo deliverer

Because, yes, Yoongi is not the stone-cold bastard everyone thinks he is, he’s actually a caring, considerate man interested in the simple life not the grand scheme of the universe

But you must remember - what Yoongi wants, Yoongi gets

You’ve ever seen shameless Min Yoongi?

Lord

He will not give a single shit

Will sit in your lap even with 1000 chairs available, invites you to dinner all the time with some handwavy excuse

Turns into his version of a whore (wears one layer instead of three)

(tight, white t-shirts displaying the Min Buffgi agenda, hello)

Points at a tattoo parlour and says you should get each other’s names engraved then he sort of laughs but does he??

Has  created a ship name for you and does bring it up at any moment he pleases to be fit which is coincidentally all the time

Definitely says “this is because I like you” in passing

But all in all, you can sEE it in HIS EYES!

They sparkle! 

Requests your presence like a tyrannical king if he’s feeling down

Gives you probably weirdly affectionate names like “heater” or “vitamin water” meaning you make him warm and energized

Sorry, he just can’t get anything like “honey” past his lips so “solar panel” it is

To keep you around him longer plays his favourite version of the game "two truths one lie" which is "all lie, pure shit"

Basically says the most blatantly untrue shit so you would sit and debate that coconuts in fact do not migrate due to birds

Sometimes he's still not up to talk and wants to just submerge himself in the music but even so, oftentimes he's okay with you chilling on the couch doing your own thing

Basically having a crush for him means wanting head pats and then doing the absolute most to receive them (while taking good care of you in turn)

JIN: 

Clings

He doesn't usually do that so that's how everyone knows something's up

Back hugs because it’s cold, back hugs because it’s warm, it’s raining in Madagascar, he doesn’t care

Paradoxically, says the most ego-inflated things whilst sweltering red like a forest fire

“Look at me, haven’t I passed even my normal rate of attractiveness? I’m definitely 12 today,” says he whilst pushing hair out of his forehead, thus showcasing the flaming ears

He will NOT! have anyone embarrass him during this crucial time!

If any one of these degenerates opens their foul fucking mouth to spill the practice conversation he had between himself and the mirror, he will kICK THEM INTO THE SUN!

Lame, couple puns

All the time

Neverending

He has to rehash them after a while

Really wants to make you laugh :(

Wants your compliments so bad, he's fishing for them every second of the day

hehe fishing get it because he likes to fish

“Doesn’t this shirt match my hair?” he asks

“Hmm. You look like a grapefruit.”

Turns away in shame, palm over mouth

Definitely hands RJ so you could watch over him

It’s his child so he wants only the most elite care and seeing you play with the plush has him melting in heart-shaped goo

Ooo! Smooth Jin has entered the station! He’s boarding the train! Look at him go!

Whispers in your ear, establishes his dominance over the seat next to you, makes up the most random bullshit for you to touch him - can you adjust this, adjust that, could you help him brush his hair etc.

Oh, and if you don’t take proper care of yourself, he activates his strict care mode

You know those moments when Jin becomes The Eldest? Hot

“All life is precious,” says with a frown but one born out of worry standing in front of you, arms on hips as you sit there with your head hung low. “Your’s even more so don’t be careless with it.”

But after scolding he treats you either via food or by saying he's just worried for you

Definitely offers to do something for you and throws fake tantrums about it

"Ah, __________, I can't believe you're making me pay for this meal!"

"I'm not ??? I can pay for my own share if your rich ass is so stingy."

Pouts to the max -

"Yah, you don't think I can take care of you?! Yah, you're underestimating me. Oh, ____________ you won't be underestimating ever again!"

HOSEOK:

Doesn’t embarrass himself quite as much as the rest 

He’s actually kinda chill about it

Perhaps because he’s been the oblivious one in the past and he’s reserved himself

And he doesn’t want to overwhelm you or make you uncomfortable

One word that comes to mind - solid

(not that, you pervert)

Trustworthy you know

Offers a ride everywhere whenever he can especially from home to work and back

Do you need something? He’s got it. Do you want extra help? He’ll do it

You're sad?

He'll cheer you up in no time

So really becomes like your rock

Starts nonsensical conversations as well but unlike Namjoon he actually succeeds

“This one they had in pink last year, it was all over Instagram. How is it purple now?”

“Dunno,” you look at the flowers. “Maybe different species. Maybe they repainted them. Purple is trendy right now.”

“Haha, borahae.”

Then plucks one flower and tugs it behind your ear

“There. Pretty.”

Feeds you a lot, really attentive

Doesn’t really care what you see him as for now - a friend or a helpful guy - as long as you’re living good, he’s happy :’)

The only thing giving away his crush is the constant playing with his ears to alleviate nervousness

And the handmade jewellery, for sure has by now given you ten to twelve handmade bracelets which he nearly passed away when gifting

Whenever he sees them on your wrists gets ultra shy but happy cause this might actually happen in due time

JIMIN:

Did I say save Namjoon? Save this guy

You don’t know what his deal is? He doesn’t either

Know of his duality? Prepared to be exposed to it on a rhythmic rotation from here on out

Was he just yesterday, playing with your earring, whispering in a sultry, whiny tone:

“Why don’t you like me, __________?”

“I do like you.”

“You could like me a bit more. I would really like it if you would.”

And is he now, on this fine fucking day, hiding behind Namjoon whispering into his ear to tell you you’re doing a great job?!

Yes. 

He’s feeling shy today :(

Lingering touches all the time

It’s a scientific fact published in the new issue of an international medical journal - if he’s going ten minutes without touching you, his kidneys, lungs, stomach and tendons experience abrupt and painful deterioration 

So you better get your ass here asap :)

He’s stretching? Somehow hugging you. You’re sitting? His hand is on your thigh

HAND! ON! THE! THIGH!

It's like an entirely new brand of love for him and there are many different flavours to this

Calming, comforting, jealous, they’re mine back off

Cutely annoys you for attention

Like standing in the doorway, asking you 1000 times if he’s cute or not, sing songs your name for no reason

Oh my god, mentions your name at random times of the day, sometimes while singing, sometimes improvising a tune, sometimes just underneath his breath

You're always on his mind, so naturally, it sits on his tongue all the time as well

A stream nay an ocean of compliments, not just to you but to everyone whose listening

Or is forced to listen

Like Taehyung whose ear he has yapped off already

Because to him, you are the best and everyone else should also think that

“Hey, isn’t ___________ so cool these days?” “You always look so bright!” “Thank you, _____________, you’re an angel! We can be a fairy angel duo!”

And then the other shoe drops

Shameless Jimin is a menace and a half

Biting his lips, laughing breathily, sorta being a dom

“Don’t pout, _________, brats don’t get awards” :)

“You should look only at me, got it” :)

Just really sweet, cute, menacing, really caring and attentive if you’re feeling down

Oh and lest we forget his special soft whiny voice! In full throttle when you’re around

“_________, we should be around each other for a very long time.”

TAEHYUNG: 

:)

:)

:)

Does this seem menacing? Because Taehyung is

Where does one even start with this little shit?

Says the most heinous, out-of-pocket shit. 

“__________, I want to see what our children would look like.”

And if you somehow manage to not see it, when Taehyung is as subtle as the asteroid that plunged Earth into the Ice age, that’s fine he’s just going to be even bolder :)

Treats it almost like a game

The more oblivious you are, the more he’ll hammer through the walls of blindness :) don’t worry :) he’ll succeed next time :)

Unlike Jimin who probably has a laugh of “how they’re so blind”, his laugh says “you’re so cute :) I’ll get you next time”

Gift giving!

Waffles, flowers, little jewellery brought with no excuse or explanation

Always ropes you into doing something together, even if it’s something silly

He’s confident but it is warm and yeah kind of cocky but with no malice behind it

It’s like he’s oozing a pink romantic light from within

Watches out for you, like proper gentleman stuff - walks on the side of the road in case of splashes, pulls out the chair, waits for you to finish work to accompany you home 

But no personal space you just have to live with it

If there’s music can and will dance with you ranging from a slow waltz to nuzzling you whilst swaying

Definitely does weird things like if you bump into something, he must “inspect the damage” which means sitting you down and lowkey and respectfully admiring you and softly touching you (in appropriate places, you pervs)

If he annoys you so much, you threaten to put him in a chokehold, he looks like a man in the gate of Heaven

Honey, darling, lovely is a must

Has his gallery full of pictures of you (taken consensually) though I always imagine them as being super blurry

He's a blurry sorta guy

Says he misses you a lot even if you haven't gone anywhere

Definitely has had a conversation about your past lives and that you must have met at some point

He’s persistent but not in a creepy way, only does this much because he sees you being oblivious but not weirded out by all these gestures

Definitely and 100% insists that his angel brought you to him 

JUNGKOOK:

If there wouldn’t be a child protection squad engaged at all times, he would have already snapped his neck trying to impress you

Giggles a lot!

Sort of jokes about it

Like if you somehow end up lying next to each other, he will say something like “oo the air changes, it’s becoming heavy”

Definitely adds your gestures to the infinite list to mimic

But genuinely does pick up your habits because he’s watching you a lot

Protective! To the max!

If you’re scared of anything, anything at all, be it a stranger or a moth, he’ll be there to avert the threat

Calls you his dog’s other parent for sure and instructs Bam especially to protect you

Very cuddly once he gets to know you

At first not really talkative mostly just reacts to you, laughing along your jokes, commenting on how good you’re doing something but then asks for your opinions, invites you to play games and such

If you’re mad at him - the literal impersonation of 🥺

Holds your hand while walking sometimes and then teases himself for it???

Who knows what goes on in that head

Gets jealous and definitely glares if someone is trying to make moves even if you’re not together

Afterwards, he pouts and whines

"They're not even that great. I can do all that and more"

Does and promises to do stupid things to impress you, like if you need to move a table, he’ll definitely bust through the wall and say all cool like “I can get it by myself, don’t worry” only to strain his muscles 

Shows off his tattoos and if you want to get one as well will be so enthusiastic, you’ll get the best parlour in the city, the most thorough care afterwards provided by him of course

At times when he’s talking and you turn to look at him, his brain stops and there’s audible error noise coming behind those eyes

Sometimes he stutters when speaking to you, especially if trying to be smooth but he’s doing his best

Actually, he's the hottest when he's not trying

Like he's driving you back home, music on the low playing all sexy and he's like clicking his tongue while leaning back into the seat

And that does something to your brain, breaks through the wall and surmises a point that this dude is actually kind of hot

And he's taking special care of you

He then turns and chuckles taking in your wide eyes

"Do I have something on my face?" he asks. "Or have you begun liking me, ____________?"

You blush and look out the window

"It's nothing"

He doesn't push further but secretly hopes to high heaven you do

Has told about you indirectly to his mom by asking questions about how people like to be wooed

But then definitely has that shy smile when she teases him about it

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