#gonna have to go back and make that a proper tag since it's a running theme now

[blindmagdalena]

This headcanon/fic hybrid has been updated and partially rewritten to have a proper beginning, more fleshed out middle, a new ending, and better perspective. You can find it here! Anonymous asked:

Lionlander?! Idea!

What if I'm some way somehow S/o ran into Homelander and a whole scenario played out like the Lion with the thorn stuck in his paw and Homelander being the lion of course and little s/I bring the mouse lol. I can imagine it now! Homelander being in some situation where he can't believe he actually needs help (not sure what kind of situation that would be lol) uhhh how could the great Homelander get himself stuck in this mess?! Then little short adorable s/o comes along just ordinary and minding her own business and notices poor Homelander in his situation she doesn't laugh or get scared despite his grumpiness towards her instead she just smiles sweetly and comes over and helps him... Being completely warm and friendly wanting to make a new friend rather than run away...

OOHHH you know, I've been pondering the repercussions of a possible "kryptonite" for Homelander being discovered. An Anti-V, if you will. Imagine he's soaring through the sky and hears something whistling through the air behind him. Some kind of projectile? a small missile, maybe? It's nothing he hasn't handled before. It could blow up in his hand and he would be fine.

In that split second he has to react, he decides to forego dodging it, and see where it's coming from, honing in his vision, except as it gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. What the fuck? His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him in the chest, fumes filling his lungs and coating his skin. He feels like he's been turned inside out. Suddenly he's plummeting towards the ground, and crashes directly into your backyard, an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

He's out like a light, and when you muster up the courage to approach him, he's not moving. Oh god, he's not breathing. In your panic, your brain shuts off, and you act without thinking.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No, compressed, hands over his chest, pulsing again and again in a rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he shoves you away from him, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a shove like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body feels heavy. He's having trouble breathing, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in.

He's wild-eyed, breathing erratic, and you're afraid he's about to put himself into cardiac arrest. He may not have his usual strength, but the brutal way he punched his palm into your chest was still no joke.

"Homelander!" You address sharply, trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. What if whoever tried to kill him is coming for him? "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

Maybe it's something in the tone of your voice, equal parts authoritative and compassionate, or maybe it's the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It's pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag and a first aid kit. As you lean over him, he sees a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his palm.

Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it. You startle, looking down where he touches. You now notice the beginnings of the bruise, too. "Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as you can muster. It stings where he presses his fingers in, the skin tender. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks numbly. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another. "I think these need stitches," you say, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak.

What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. Homelander catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the pain is beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent.

Thank fucking Christ.

"Okay," you say tentatively. Instead, you continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing it from his temples, down his jaw. Homelander watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head, though only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, he almost forgets you're strangers.

"What're you doing?" He asks, voice low, nearly a growl.

You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight. It's uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for the feel of it.

"I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?"

Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on baited breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, Homelander evens his expression. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. "I need to lay low awhile." Though he can feel his powers steadily returning, it would be foolish to fly before nightfall. Whoever shot at him could have another round loaded and waiting. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," Homelander says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

Homelander watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first, but grows gradually more clear. Of all the commotion he's becoming aware of, he fixates on your breathing to drown out the rest.

After an hour, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas, even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

From his observations , he's learned the rhythm of your heartbeat, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's very lucky for you that I am so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so utterly charming, Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does. Homelander stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

Homelander's lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it.

"Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hung in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, Homelander puts his hands on your waist, and pulls you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you. He hears your heart begin to race, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his neck, sinking deeper into the kiss.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed prettily from the tip of your nose to the tips of your ears.

"What... was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs. You look up when he points, and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you.

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You ask playfully, your shoulders relaxing. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to chuckle. "Oh, no. I haven't said thank you yet," he says, hands lingering on your hips. He'd only meant it to be a quick thing, but now you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He licks his lips.

There's still a couple more hours until sundown. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll figure out exactly what the fuck he got blasted by. For now, he owes you a proper thank you, and himself a little Christmas treat for his trouble.

[stars-for-circe]

Hot To Go

Song inspo!! - HOTTOGO by Chappell Roan

Tags / cw: headcanons, cheerleader!reader x dropout!ellie, fluff, Highschool au, Ellie is older by 1 year, reader is in senior year, 90s era

Dropout!Ellie who always does her best to show up and be supportive of your cheerleading

She always makes sure to pick you up every Friday night after practice, long after the sun has set and dew had started to form on the cold grass field.

She makes sure to wait by her pickup truck in the parking lot, leaning against the drivers side door and listening to music on her walkman until you come over to meet her.

She always greets you with a kiss on the cheek and one of her jackets to keep you warm in your thin uniform - the smell of her wrapped around you makes you feel so cozy.

Dropout!Ellie who lets you hangout with her in the back of her truck after practice, eating the worst junk food known to man as you gossip about people from your school

You’re sitting in the back of her truck, cuddling her under a shared blanket as you share a greasy cheese pizza - your legs intertwined as you try to feed her a slice with her eyes closed, making you both giggle as she fails miserably.

While she dropped out a couple years ago, she was still in the grade above you, so you have some shared memories about school. There are certain people she knows about, but most of them that you gossip about are complete strangers.

“No fucking way, he still goes there? Dude’s like a super duper senior at this point!”

Dropout!Ellie who won’t let you go home without a proper goodbye, leading to giggly make out sessions in her truck as you both try to hide from the automatic nightlights in your driveway.

Dropout!Ellie who sneaks into your school to watch your routines during matches, and somehow never gets caught.

At this point, you’re 99% sure she’s bribing the office ladies not to rat her out because they still have a soft spot for her.

Ellie never fucking tells you when she’s gonna show up, so every single time it takes you by surprise when you see her hiding behind the bleachers and cheering you on as you balance at the top of the pyramid.

And every single time, you almost fall from how distracted you get.

Dropout!Ellie who tries to involve herself with your schoolwork and be helpful, but is the exact opposite of what she attempts to do.

You’re studying for finals at the park while Ellie swings upside down on some random tree branch, blasting rock so loud that you can hear it all the way on the bench.

All of a sudden you hear her run over to you, leaves crunching under her feet, and two heavy hands landing on your shoulders

“So whatcha doinggg??”

She immediately regrets asking, because now you’ve trapped her next to you and planted a massive textbook in front of her to help you study.

“Babe- I dropped out in grade ten there’s no way I can help with any of this shit-”

Secretly, she gets a little sad sometimes because she can’t connect with you about school or share classes with you since she dropped out.

Dropout!Ellie who tried doing your makeup once, and you never let her go near it again because of how bad it was.

“No- Ellie it’s meant to be sparkly on the inner corner-”

“Stop with the fucking medical terms and just let me-”

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO-”

You were 27 minutes late to practice that day because of how much Ellie insisted she do your makeup even though it wasn’t necessary.

You spent those 27 minutes desperately trying to wipe off the bright blue glitter she’d spread all the way up to your eyebrows.

Sometimes you still find pieces of glitter in your carpet from the whole fiasco.

You help her feel better, though, by letting her pick out which bows to put in your hair and which colours you can use for eyeshadow during games.

Dropout!Ellie who makes sure she’s always there with you during games, even when she can’t make it herself.

While you were busy getting dressed into your uniform, she was fiddling around with you pom-poms, eyeing all the pretty colours and sparkles.

She wanted to stay as long as she could until you had to leave for the game, because this time she couldn’t go with you.

But a sharpie on your desk caught her eye, and she suddenly had a small idea on what she could do.

And hours later, after the game, when you went to grab your stuff to leave, you noticed a tiny little black smudge on the handle of your pom-poms. And upon taking a closer look, a small smile made its way to your face after you saw your girlfriend’s faded initials hidden behind all the ribbons and plastic.

Dropout!Ellie who cannot wait for summer, when she can finally have you all to herself without school or practice or homework getting in the way.

Half of the summer you aren’t even sleeping at home. Instead, Ellie sneaks you out of the house and drives three hours into the middle of nowhere to look at the stars.

She puts up some blankets and pillows in the back of her truck, brings out a radio softly playing nirvana, and a Tupperware box of cookies she made to share as you lay in the back of her truck to stargaze.

She points out the bigger ones, and the ones making constellations to you as you wrap your arms around her and listen to her nerdy mumbling, slowly lulling you to sleep.

“See? That one there’s called Ursa Major. I uh, read it somewhere a while back in one of those astronomy books you got me.”

“…mhm…”

She giggles at your quiet chirps to her explanations as your slowly fall asleep, before pulling a blanket over you and lets you drift off under the stars.

And when you wake up - still outside in the back of her truck - resting on her now sleeping chest, you glance at Ellie and her resting expression. You watch how it becomes blanketed by the early morning sunrise, and you listen to how the radio is playing some indie country artist you couldn’t name.

And after a while, you decide that, despite the fact she’s a dropout and your a straight A cheerleader, and despair the fact that it is the most random pairing ever, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist: @happysparklingshadows @irelandzo @r3starttt @iamaboringrattat @genderfluidlesbain999 @slut4mascss @rxreaqia @kylorey25 @massivepeacefemme @elliewilliamsfavborderhopper @ratdungeon @elxarw @mariasabanahabanabana @vvynia @abbyshands @littlegingerperson5 @flowersforvi

[bbgghost]

lot to love: chapter 7

blurb: you are the nineteen year old, younger, mutant sister of Mystique. you go to Professor X's school and have been since you were young. slow burn with wolverine ♡♡♡

a.n. im worried these are too short but idk erm enjoy this my little sweatys SEND IN YOUR REQUESTS PLEASE i would love to write specifically for you guysss ♡

c.w. age gap is mentioned alot lols! thinks get a little heated, gulp.

masterlist | tags: @white-wolf-buckaroo @mikariell95 @onlythehobi @kokomixxk @samsamsantos @fluffyflamingo20

The term had ended, and the summer holidays had finally started. Most of the students went home to their families, but some remained, as they had no other place to go. You sat in the library with many of these students, creating a proper class plan for the new school year. Storm had helped you by giving you some of her early plans and Scott offered to sit by during your first lesson. It was comforting to have them support you, as you had oftened looked to them when you were younger.

You reflect on those days, back when you really struggled getting over your abandonment and you struggled making any friends. You remember spending many days alone on the grounds, in hallways, in the lunch hall, at the kitchen bench. You realised how grateful you were for Storm, and remember how she began sitting with you, before you met Bobby and Pyro. You hoped you could possibly do that for one of your students, not that you wanted them to have horrible pasts and struggle to make friends. You wanted that motherly relationship that you had only ever had with Storm, well one you still have.

The sun sets slowly over time, and the warm beam of sunlight that had illuminated your desk early this afternoon begins to fade. You notice yourself feeling cooler, the sky getting darker and the lack of students now surrounding you. Most likely they had gone to participate in their hobbies, a routine you had also developed in your early years. You pack up your belongings and made your way outside.

When you exit the library, you're met with a nice feeling of calm. Nobody was running through the hallway, bumping into you and there weren't any young kids screaming. You gratefully took in a deep breath, and made your way towards the teachers lounge.

Once in their, you sat down next to Scott, who was deep into some old classic book. You relaxed into the old leather of the chair and turned to him. "You enjoying your new privledges?" He asked. You hummed in response. "Well, term hasn't started so you aren't exactly a teacher yet, are you?" He joked. "I guess not." You considered, "But I'm definetly working hard like one." He laughed at that.

"Have you seen Logan?" You asked. He looked up in thought. "I think he just got back from taking Rogue and Bobby somewhere." He said. You smiled at the thought of him driving your friends around. You remember that they aren't old enough to drive yet and smile in amusement. "Thanks." You said before going towards the door. You took a shortcut out of the building and back into the garage where you found the Wolverine himself.

He had his back to you, he was clad in a classic wife-beater and blue jeans. You bit your lip as you eyed him. He was kneeling down next to his bike, tightening something with a wrench. Did the school even own hardware tools like wrenches? Sweat gleamed down his back, and illuminated his tan muscles. "You going to keep staring, or are you gonna start talking?" He asked. Your eyes widened and you swallowed harshly, and remembered that he could probably sense you. "What do you want me to do?" You asked seductively. He turned to you with his brow raised and laughed with a very small smile.

"I don't think you want to know." He smirked. You made your way closer too him as he turned and stood up. You look up at him, flashing him your best doe eyes and whispering, "Yeah, I do." He smirked and clutched the wrench in his hand so tight his knuckles turned white. You briefly imagined his claws coming out of the skin, but came back to reality when he started laughing. "You're very confident, missy." He commented and turned back around to his bike.

"I'm just matching you." You stated plainly as you watched him twist something different. "And you're sassy." He added. You rolled your eyes with a huff. You came even closer to him and grabbed at his wrist, wanting his attention. He dropped his other hand that was working on the bike and turned around to you. "Don't be doing that." He said quietly. "Doing what?" You asked innocently like. He gritted his teeth together and looked over your head. "Stop avoiding it." You whispered quietly, he picked it up, despite you almost going silent at the end.

"You need to be with boys your age." He said even softer this time. He didn't want to fully acknowledge that there was something going on between you too. He didn't even want to begin going into what he wanted to say. You moved your hand down his wrist, and began rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. "No. I don't." You said firmly. He clenched his jaw and finally looked back down at you. "Yes. You do." He said almost angrily. "I'm old enough." You pleaded. "I'm twenty in two weeks."

"Jesus Christ, I'm 160 years older than you." He exclaimed. "I don't care!" You cried and grasped his other hand, him having put down the tool a while ago. He didn't respond and looked away from you. Tears brewed in your eyes at the sting of rejection. You thought about slapping him and punching him. You thought about breaking down in his arms. Instead he merely pulled his hands from your grasp. In a last attempt at crying out to him you shouted. "Oh, fuck you!" You said and turned to walk out.

"Hey! Don't you talk to me like that!" He fumed. You span back around and looked at him in shock. You repeated again, "Fuck you." only louder and with more attitude. He took one last calm breath before walking towards you. You feared for you life, only for a brief moment, but remembered that you knew he would never even think about hurting you. He grabbed your biceps between his large forceful hands. "Don't be such a brat." He spat. You glared at him, staring into his dark brown eyes.

His crows feet were so prominent now, and his teeth bared in anger. He looked down at you, and noticed how soft you looked between his two hands, all young and beautiful. His right hand quickly made its way into the back of your head, grabbing at a fistful of your hair. Your head leaned back at the movement. Your angry stare sooned turned expecting, waiting for his next move.

After many movements he pushed his lips onto yours, and moved them over your soft and plush ones. You felt the inside of his mouth, and felt your teeth clash. It was messy, rushed, passionate and horny. You gripped both your hands onto his biceps to stable you as he arched your back against him. His left hand moved down to your ass, and he squeezed feverishly. You squeaked into his mouth at the harsh grip and melted into his hold.

You pulled away from him after a bit, panting as you realised how desperate for air you were. "Sorry." You squeaked out. He released his hold on your cheek and instead took to rubbing his hands up and down your sides. "Never apologise doll. I swear." He spits out inbetween heavy breaths. "You're so beautiful." He says, eyes trained on yours. "Thanks." You whispered quietly, and he smiled at your response. He wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you close to him. "I'm sorry." He said and kissed the top of your head. You put your hands around his back, touching the textured fabric of his tank.

As he pulled back, you drew you hands to his front and rubbed your hands over his chest. "It's okay." You whispered while nodding. He nodded along with you before looking away. "Can we go inside?" You asked. He hummed in agreement and put his arm around your shoulder, leading you through the garage door.

Later that night, you sat on the couch with him in the front of the tv. His right arm was draped over your shoulder, and you were curled into his side. You don't think there was anywhere else you would rather be. You wished you could stay there forever. His fingers drew on your bicep in soft circles, and the calming nature of the movement made your eyes droop. Some old movie from the 70's that Logan said he had watched at least three times played on the tv. You didn't completely understand the plot of it. A mix of being distracted and being tired influenced your ability to do so. You nuzzled your head into Logan's side and finally shut your eyes.

At the sound of your calm breaths turning even deeper he looked down at you to find you deep asleep. Your soft lips were pouted and parted. Your dark, soft lashes rested against your warm cheeks and fluttered slightly when the telivision got a little loud. Logan swore he had never seen anything more peaceful. It made his heart warm and completely god rid of his thoughts.

He gently turned to put his right arm under your torso and his left arm under your legs, picking you up and holding you carefully. You adjusted yourself, slowly waking from your deep sleep, and put your arms around his neck to stabilise yourself. He took slow steps out of the living room and into the foyer before ascending the stairs. He took you to his room, not yours, and whispered to you to 'hold on tight' while he opened the door. You mumbled softly in his ear, it all being incoherent, as he closed the door behind you.

He laid you down on his bed, and turned to undress himself. He stripped down to his boxers, and walked into his small ensuite. Unbeknowst to him, you watched him the entire time, eyes trained on his back and slowly his backside. You sleepily eyed him, like a starved woman and sighed when he walked away. You turned over, now more awake, and began undressing yourself. You pulled off your jeans and pulled off your top. You kept your bra on and laid back down in the sheets.

When Logan came back out he saw your eyes peaking out from the covers. He smiled tiredly and climbed in next to you. He wrapped his arms around your body as you curled into him. He brushed your hair back from your neck and looked between your eyes.

"You're such a sweet thing." He whispered.

[sofmoth]

I Found My Place in This World (It’s in Your Wake)

here’s my entry for @beefrobeefcal’s september prompt!!! this is fairly out of my comfort zone so i do hope you all enjoy it! title is from 'she's the prettiest girl at the party and she can prove it with a solid right hook' by frank iero, work is not inspired by the song.

the photoshop is MYOB (mind your own business) mkay

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth), link here.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

husband!joel miller x wife!reader, WC: 1.03k

TAGS: husband!joel, anniversary dinner, all the fluff, chubby!joel, marriage has caused joel to gain weight, soft!joel, no physical description is given of reader, reader uses an inhaler, joel is goofin, POV u become one with the couch, joel calls reader “sweetie,” joel jokingly asks if he’s fat, reader jokingly calls themself “delicate," fuck i love this man

It’s officially been one year since you tied the knot, one whole year of living with your husband full-time. Joel had been fairly insistent that you lived separately until you got married, despite the fact that you spent more nights with him than without during your engagement. You never really minded, he had a mortgage to pay on his house but was still more than willing to help you with your rent until the day came.

One year later, and marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline. It was only a drawback according to your brother-in-law Tommy; you love the way Joel’s belly had softened over the last twelve months.

No longer was he forgetting to eat breakfast, packing himself a half-assed lunch to take to his job sites, nor was he attempting to pass off three-day-old pizza as a full dinner. If you could go back in time ten years, tell your younger self you have a husband you love cooking for, you would vomit on your own shoes. Being who you are now though, it’s a joy to make him a meal, fulfilling to see how happy it makes him that you’ve ensured he eats well in the early mornings and has proper lunches to keep him strong until dinner. The way he relaxes on the couch with you after, pulling you on top of him to cuddle, the wonderful healthy squish of his tummy between you a reminder to you both that love is not all in the way one looks.

He had been self-conscious at first, when he stepped on the scale and saw the number had increased. You very quickly put that worry to bed, assuring Joel every day that he was still the sexiest man alive. You told him how sexy he was irritatingly regularly, and then he started to believe it. He started walking around the house in his PJ pants with his shirt off again, you begging him to flex, him obliging. Joel’s belly and the weight he gained were the most physical and personal reminders of how much you loved him.

To celebrate this first full year of your marriage, you made a fabulous meal so you could stay in for the night and enjoy it together. Pot roast and potatoes, enough rolls to choke a horse, two or three glasses of wine. Joel is doing the dishes, you lay on the couch watching him across the room. He glances back at you, smiling, and you wave with your fingers. The wine has certainly hit you; you’re not drunk by any stretch, but you’re definitely more comfortable horizontal. You close your eyes, listening to the sink run for a few minutes before the last dish clinks in the drying rack and the water stops.

“Wow. My wife made such an amazing dinner, and I’m so tired from doing those dishes. I think I’d like to sit and rest.” You can hear the dry playfulness in his voice, eyes still closed.

“Boy oh boy, that couch looks comfy. I think I’ll have a seat riiiiight here.” Your eyes fly open, hand covering your mouth as you cackle at the feeling of him sitting on your shins.

“Joel! No, c’mon! If you’re gonna sit on me, at least sit on my thighs. I’m so delicate.” Joel rolls his eyes, smiles as he scoots up.

“You’re right, this cushion is way more comfortable. I think I could fall asleep here, matterfact I just might.”

You reach for him, pinching his side playfully. He does sit on your thighs for a few minutes, arms stretched across the back of the couch, head tilted back and eyes closed. The muscles in your legs finally begin to feel like TV static, and despite the fact that you’ve sobered up considerably it’s still not a particularly pleasant sensation.

“Oh shit, baby my legs are falling asleep. Bit’s over, I gotta move ‘em.” Joel looks down at you, mouth open in mock-offense.

“Is my wife calling me fat? On our one-year wedding anniversary, of all days? How dare you, I cannot believe this.”

Still, he does get up; long enough to lay his entire body on top of yours. He nuzzles into your neck, his beard scratching your skin softly. He sighs deeply, squeezes you in a hug as you rest your hand on his back. And then he raspberries you.

You squeal, laughing wildly as he begins laying a barrage of kisses to your neck and face. You laugh so hard you start struggling to pull in a full breath, and Joel jumps up quickly to get your inhaler out of your purse. You’re still laughing, now coughing and wheezing at the absurdity of the situation. He shakes the little plastic container thoroughly before uncapping it and handing it to you, tugging you upright before you press the canister and inhale.

He rubs your back as you hold your breath, exhaling slowly with you. He presses a kiss to your temple, taking the inhaler back and replacing it in your purse. As he sits back down he pulls you into his lap, cradling you against himself.

“I’m sorry sweetie, I got a little carried away. You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. It wasn’t full-blown, I was just getting too wound up. Thank you for getting it, though.”

“Of course. Don’t want my wife taking a trip to the emergency room, especially not on our special day. Here, lemme—”

He shifts so he’s laying on his back, holding you on his chest as always. He continues rubbing your back, occasionally kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, husband?”

“Yes, wife?”

“That joke you made about me calling you fat, it wouldn’t matter to me at all if you actually were.”

“I know, sweetie.”

You rub Joel’s shoulder gently with your thumb, feeling yourself growing tired from the steady rhythm and pressure of his hand on your back.

“You can go to sleep, we’ll be okay out here tonight.” You hum.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[sanguineterrain]

no other will do - e.m.

Summary: You're home from college for the holidays. Eddie's playing a show and he wants you to be there. How can you say no to the boy you've been in love with since freshman year?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings/tags: mean girl who is jealous of reader, friends to lovers, absolutely lovesick eddie. this man is so in love with you!!!

Eddie's waiting in front of the gate when you come out. 

You'd honestly believed you'd convinced him not to come. Five times on the phone you had told him he didn't need to. It's a long drive from Hawkins to O'Hare International Airport. You're on break, Eddie's probably busy; there's no way you'd expect him to spend a day chauffeuring you to town. 

But there's his van. 

Eddie is not dressed properly, despite it being November, clad in a leather jacket and jeans. His hair is tied back in a ponytail. You're struck with the urge to run over and kiss him. 

No! No. Bad Y/N. You'd gone to college four states away for a reason. Yes, it had the program you wanted and branching out of Hawkins was necessary. But more importantly, it gave you ample space to get over your longtime crush on your best friend. 

Mission failed, obviously. 

"Eddie," you call weakly, waving. 

He looks up and his face splits into a grin. Eddie meets you halfway to the van, taking your suitcase. 

"I distinctly remember telling you not to pick me up from O'Hare," you say, following him to the car. 

"How long have we been friends?" Eddie asks. "You should know by now that anything you tell me not to do, I'll do it."

"So if I had asked you to pick me up, you wouldn't have?" 

Eddie pretends to think about it. 

"Hmm. Nope. I'd still be here. Gotta make sure Hawkins' princess arrives safely."

He loads your suitcase and closes the door. Then he turns to you, beaming. Your heart does a flip-flop.

"Missed ya, sweets," he says softly.

"I missed you too, Eds."

He pulls you into a hug and you melt. Eddie’s warm and smells like that familiar spicy cologne you’ve been homesick for for the last three months. All the promises you'd made yourself about not getting soft and dumb for Eddie Munson fly out the window. You're hopeless. And he doesn't even know it. 

He releases you and opens the passenger-side door for you, then gets in on the other side. 

"This is pretty," Eddie says, turning the ignition. 

He tugs on the hem of your green knitted sweater. 

"Oh." You swallow. "Thanks. It's new, I got it at a shop near school. They have a guitar store, you know?" 

"Yeah? Did you go inside and wow them with your knowledge about heavy metal?" 

"No," you giggle. "I'd never look at guitars without you. 'S sacrilegious."

“Sacrilegious, huh? Am I some kinda guitar god?” Eddie grins.

“I’m not gonna answer that and blow up your already giant ego.”

“Ego! That’s it. Outta the van, princess.”

“No chance,” you say, clicking your seatbelt. “Royalty deserves proper treatment.”

“You called my bluff,” he sighs. “I have a hard rule about never kicking pretty girls out of my van.”

You turn to look out the window so Eddie won’t see your reaction to that. He starts the car and pulls out of the pickup zone. 

“Hey, so,” he says. “Speaking of guitar gods, we, uh… got a gig.”

You snap your head back. 

“You did? Where?” 

“It’s called Excalibur, ‘bout twenty minutes from Hawkins. Kinda feels like a sign,” he chuckles.

“A paying gig? Eddie, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you,” you gush.

Eddie’s suddenly shy, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Really?”

“Of course I am. I always believed in you. If anybody can be a rockstar, it’s you.”

Eddie glances at you, then back at the road. He seeks out your wrist and squeezes. He might as well be squeezing your heart.

“Thanks, princess,” he says fondly. “Well, so, what I wanted to ask is: will you come? I’d get you in for free, obviously.”

“Eddie, it’s a business—”

“That can afford me bringing a plus one,” he finishes with a wink. “Non-negotiable.”

“You want me to come? I’m not exactly heavy metal.” 

“Of course I want you to come, sweet thing. You’re my best friend and you’ve supported me from the start. I know it ain’t your scene, but you don’t have to stay the whole time! We’ll probably go eat afterwards and you can meet the others.”

“Others?” you ask.

“Yeah, well, since we got booked, we’ve been scoping out the place. We met this other band, Birds of Prey. The lead singer, Missy, she’s cool. Real Janis Joplin vibes, y’know?”

“Oh.” Missy. Of course Eddie had met a girl. You couldn't expect him to just not. Eddie’s a sweet guy. Funny. Handsome. Love of your life. Et cetera. 

“So you’ve met a lot of… girls?”

Eddie glances at you and shrugs.

“Some.”

“Like on dates?”

Shutupshutup. Eddie’s too clever for you to be asking direct questions like that. You might as well hang a neon sign around your neck that says jealous!

He laughs. 

“I’m really not the kinda guy people go on dates with, angel.”

Which is not true. At all. If you can figure out Eddie’s a winner, any girl with a half a brain can do the same. But you don’t tell him that, because you’re selfish and pathetic. 

“I want to go,” you say instead. 

Eddie lights up. “Great! Oh, awesome. It’ll be a bitchin' show, promise.”

“I don’t doubt it.” 

Eddie seeks out your hand, rubbing your knuckles. You smile despite the acute feeling you’re sealing your doom. 

Friday comes fast. You spend most of your time before Eddie's show agonizing over why you love tormenting yourself. Then he rings you up and asks if you'll come over for a pre-show soiree. And because you're a sucker for Eddie Munson, you say yes. 

You've been to the trailer before. It's not strange at all for you to be here. Wayne knows you well. But for some reason, this feels different. When you saw Eddie everyday, you could pretend. His constant proximity was normal then. Now, after three months apart, you're a lovesick calf. It's just like when you'd first realized your crush on Eddie back in freshman year. You'd been an absolute mess and it'd nearly cost your friendship.

You've sworn not to make that mistake again. 

Eddie’s room currently looks like a tornado ran through it. Clothes are strewn everywhere. You dodge a flying bandana from your place on the bed as he continues to rifle through his closet.

"Eds," you sigh. "Does it really matter what you wear?" 

"Of course! It's a statement."

"But the whole point of metal is to not care," you say. “Come back so I can do your other hand.”

Eddie obeys. He kneels one leg on the bed and sticks his unpainted hand out. He’s got a bit of black kohl around his eyes and brand new spiked boots. You make sure not to look at his face for too long so you don’t do something really stupid. 

You laser in on Eddie's fingernails, carefully painting them with black nail polish. He holds his breath every time you get close, still as a statue. 

"Actually, the point of metal is to protest societal structures you don't agree with, like the government,” he says. “Metalheads definitely care if you're not dressed for a concert."

“But I thought everything in your wardrobe is metal.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie gestures to his Metallica tank top. “This isn’t concert metal. I have a reputation, y’know.”

“Well, I’m not dressed for a Corroded Coffin concert either,” you reason. “I don’t own anything metal.”

You’d tried, for the record. You'd found a charcoal gray sweater and black tights. That’s about as close to metal as you can manage.

“That’s okay, princess. You’re so pretty, you don’t need to wear proper attire. I, on the other hand, need to look like I eat souls for breakfast.”

You cap the polish. Eddie thinks you're pretty.

“Okay, done. Don’t smear it.”

Eddie wiggles his fingers with a grin.

“You’re a doll. What if I pair this with my jacket? Or wait! What about my torn black jeans?"

Eddie gets up, hands poised delicately. He stops at his closet and pouts. 

"I'll ruin your hard work," he frowns. "D'you mind helping me look mean and scary?"

You get up with a smile. 

"Impossible. You could never be mean and scary."

"Way to crush a guy's dreams, princess."

You shrug. "Somebody has to tell you."

You gently push through Eddie’s “clean pile.” You pick up a leather jacket and a torn sleeveless top that says Devil’s Advocate.

“What about this one? You look nice in this one,” you say, holding it up to him.

“Nice? I can’t look nice! I’m not going to prom, Y/N.”

You sigh.

“Fine. You look mean and scary. Straight from the Underworld. Satan himself. Better?”

Eddie shivers exaggeratedly, grinning.

“Getting me hot under the collar with that talk, princess.”

“Shut it,” you huff, throwing the jacket at him to hide your fluster.

Eddie squawks, dodging the jacket. He wiggles his fingers.

“They’re drying!”

“I’m pretty sure they’re dry now, Eds.”

“We really can’t be so sure, can we?” 

You get up with a sigh. 

“I am not taking your shirt off, Eddie.”

“Well, ouch, princess.” 

He shrugs and in a second, pulls his shirt off. You immediately turn, looking up at the ceiling.

“Jeez,” Eddie says behind you. “‘M not gonna blind you. They show male chests on MTV, y’know.”

“I’m giving you privacy,” you say, face hot. “Now hurry up. You don’t wanna be late.”

You peek, just for a second, and catch a glimpse of pale, freckled skin and a line of hair that disappears under his jeans. Nope, nope. You are not going down that rabbit hole of thought.

“Can you at least help with the jacket?” he asks.

“I suppose.”

You take the jacket and bring it behind him. Eddie sticks his arms through, never breaking eye contact.

“Good?” you check.

“Perfect, sweet thing.”

You frown at the jeans he’s chosen.

“Eddie, those have holes.”

“Yes, dear, I know. I made ‘em.”

“It’s November! You can’t wear clothing with holes.”

Eddie beams, eyes scrunching. You cross your arms.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. “‘S just nice you care so much ‘bout me not getting sick. You really are a sweet thing.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be sick over my visit.”

“Purely selfish reasons, huh? Tsk tsk.” Eddie shakes his head.

“No! I just—wanna spend time together,” you say. “And we can’t do that if you’re sick.”

“Alright, alright. What if I wear my lightly torn jeans? ‘S that fair?”

Eddie steps away from you, beginning to undo his belt. You panic.

“Uh, yeah, yep! Fine! I’ll go start the car.”

You scurry down the hall and grab Eddie’s keys. You get into the van. By the time Eddie comes out, the car’s already warmed up. He wears jeans that have significantly less rips. Eddie puts his guitar in the back, then gets into the driver's seat. He smiles at you.

“Aw, look at you, keepin’ my seat warm.”

“Because you have the blood circulation of a vampire,” you reply with an eye roll.

“Vampire and the princess. Now there’s an underrated literary trope.”

Eddie looks at you a moment more. Then he seems to make a decision, sliding off the cross on his middle finger and putting it on your left ring finger. Your eyes widen.

“Eddie—”

“For luck,” he says.

“But… I’m not playing.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “But if I know you’re wearing my ring, well, I gotta make you proud. Don’t wanna be an embarrassment while you’ve got my ring on.”

“Oh, Eds. I am proud. You’re doing it.”

Eddie gives you the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Thanks, sweet thing.”

“You’re welcome. Now you really have to drive, Eddie. You’ve got a half an hour till your show starts.”

He checks his watch.

“Shit! Alright, hold onto something. We’re cutting this twenty minute trip down to ten.”

Eddie ends up making some questionable driving advances. Halfway through, you question if you should’ve gotten into the car with him. But you get there on time. 

Eddie ushers you out. 

“Eddie, just go, it’s okay. I can find my way inside.”

“Oh, absolutely not, princess. This crowd is rougher than The Hideout’s. Plus, I gotta get you in somehow. C’mon, pretty girl.���

Eddie keeps his guitar in one hand and you in the other. You’re practically glued to his side as he corrals you both to the back entrance. 

“Hey, Sal.” Eddie waves at the bouncer parked at the door. “Everybody’s inside?”

“Sure is. You’re on in ten. Better hurry.”

“Thanks. This is Y/N. She’s with me.” Eddie nods to you. 

“No guests, Munson,” Sal frowns. 

“Watch it, Sal,” Eddie pushes back. “She’s not a guest. She’s my girl. Came all the way from college to see me. Y’mind? We’re on a tight schedule.”

Sal looks at you. You hope he doesn’t ask questions; you have all the speaking ability of a fish right now. 

“Hmm. Fine. No tricks.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie grins, tugging you through the entrance.

“You lied to him,” you whisper when you’re far enough away. “Eddie—”

“Sweet thing, what was I supposed to say? Had to get you in. And I didn’t lie, okay? You did come from college and you are my girl. Only girl I’ve got, right?”

“But… you made it sound like we’re—”

“Dude!” Gareth hisses. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Chill, Gare-Bear. We’ve got time. Where’s Jeff?”

“Bathroom. Hi, Y/N.”

You wave shyly.

“Hey, Gareth. Cool chain.”

Gareth gives Eddie a look. You don’t know what it means, but whatever it does makes Eddie’s cheeks redden. He turns to you and squeezes your waist.

“I gotta go. Stay in the front so I can see you, ‘kay?”

“Why? Afraid I’ll run?”

“Nah,” he grins. “Just rather look at your pretty face instead of these ugly mugs.” 

“Hey!” Gareth huffs.

“Eddie…” you tut. “Be nice.”

“Not nice. Mean and scary.” 

He makes Devil horns with his fingers and sticks out his tongue. You giggle.

“See you after,” you say. “Good luck!”

And with that, you brave the crowd. Immediately, you feel out of place.

You’ve been to Eddie’s shows before at The Hideout. But this crowd is bigger and definitely a more intense scene than Hawkins. Most of the crowd is already drunk, or at least buzzed. They’re loud with excitement and unaware of their surroundings. You focus on not getting pummeled and on finding a seat up front like Eddie’d told you.

A group of girls push past you. The ringleader knocks into your shoulder and gives you a dirty look. She has long, dyed purple hair and black makeup. Her features are striking and perfect for the atmosphere. You wish you could fit in like she does, at least for Eddie’s performance. You’re starting to feel like you might be the embarrassment tonight.

“Watch it,” she snaps. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, and grab a seat.

Thankfully, nobody else bothers you. It’s only another minute before the lights dim. The first band is clearly very popular, judging by the howling cheers they get. Their frontman is covered head to toe in tattoos. You make a note of a green dragon inked on his neck. Eddie will like that one a lot. 

You do your best to match the energy in the room, despite not knowing many songs. Eddie’s played a few bands for you, but since metal isn’t really your thing, you’re lost when it comes to the less well-known bands.

After the opening act finishes, you see a curly head of hair poke out of the curtains. Eddie searches for you. You wave and he finds you then, giving you a big smile.

“Having fun?” he yells.

“Tons!” you shout back.

He gives you a thumbs-up and disappears backstage. The curtains part.

“And now, Birds of Prey!”

The group of girls who’d bumped into you step onstage. You clap lightly and stay seated. Their lead singer, the purple-haired woman, gets to the microphone. Missy. 

“You guys ready to hear some real music?” she laughs.

The crowd screams.

“Good!” 

They launch into Enter Sandman. Missy has a perfect voice for it, raw and raspy. You prefer Eddie’s voice, sweet and low. He always complains it’s not metal enough. You’re sympathetic but you secretly love that Eddie can croon, if he really wants to. Sometimes he does, when he’s had a beer or two and is sleepy with affection. Then he’ll sing along to Wayne’s Buddy Holly records. Your very own Eddie Munson exclusive.

Bird of Prey finish after a couple songs. You politely clap with the crowd. 

“And now, something fresh!” the emcee announces. “Corroded Coffin!”

You jump from your seat, clapping excitedly. The band comes out. Eddie dances around the stage, hyping up the crowd. They eat it up. Eddie’s born to perform.

His eyes find yours and he blows a kiss. You shake your head. After all these years, Eddie still flusters you better than anybody.

“Those ladies before us were pretty dope, huh?” Eddie asks the crowd.

They scream their agreement. He grins. 

“Hope you guys like Ozzy.”

Eddie is beautiful. He plays guitar like it’s an extension of himself. Everyone else is yelling to the lyrics, nearly drowning out the sound. You can only stand and stare. You probably look ridiculous gawking at them. But oh, well. You love Eddie Munson. If you look like a fool, so be it.

Jeff closes their performance. The crowd goes wild with applause.

You go backstage before the next band goes up; once the lights go down, it’ll be impossible to navigate the crowd. Backstage is thrumming with energy. You spot Birds of Prey first. Missy locks eyes with you. She struts to you, brow raised. You draw your shoulders back, braced for a fight.

“Princess!” 

Eddie drapes himself over you like it’s been years since you’ve seen him as opposed to forty-five minutes. You hug him back, tearing your gaze from Missy.

“Hi, Eds,” you say.

“Hi, sweet thing!” 

He squeezes you hard, curls tickling your cheek. Ah, yes. This is why you’re here.

“You were amazing,” you gush. “Really, really wonderful, Eds.”

Eddie looks like you’ve just told him he won ten million dollars.

“You really think so?” he asks. “Not just pumping my ego, are you?”

“No, Eddie. I loved it. Especially the Dio one.”

He grins.

“Oh, I know. Saw you dancing, pretty.”

“Stooop,” you whine. “Don’t make fun of me, Eds.”

“I’d never. You’re the best dancer there, angel.”

“Yo, Munson!”

One of the performers waves at Eddie.

“We’re heading out! C’mon.”

“Yeah, Eddie,” Missy coos. She looks at you. “Bring your friend too.”

Your stomach twists. Eddie turns to you.

“Hungry?”

“Oh, um… sure. Where are we going?”

“This burger joint. ‘S not far. I’ve been there loads of times.”

“With Missy?”

Eddie gives you a funny look.

“Sometimes her band comes. Wanna check it out?”

You don’t want to be a drag. Eddie is genuinely excited, hopped up on adrenaline. The rest of the band will be there too. It’s not fair to make him take you home.

“Okay,” you say, trying to smile. “Sure, Eds. Sounds great.”

Missy, luckily, takes another car. So it’s just you and Corroded Coffin in Eddie’s van. Jeff and Gareth chatter about the show and songs they should play next. You’re in the front seat, because Eddie always has you sit up front no matter who’s in the car.

“Eds?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“Are you, uh… h-how well do you know the bands that played tonight?”

Nice. Subtlety +100.

“The first guys who performed, Black Tar? Not that well. Their frontman, Beetle, he’s kind of a legend at Excalibur.”

“With the dragon tattoo?”

“That’s him. Staring at other guys’ tattoos, huh?”

“Actually, I was thinking the dragon would look much better on you, Eds.”

Eddie grins. 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” 

“I have been thinking of getting a new one. You haven’t chosen a tat for me since freshman year. High time we continue the tradition.”

“I think a blue dragon would look cool,” you say. “On your back or something.”

“My back? But then no one would see it, sweet thing.”

“I’d know it’s there.”

Eddie laughs.

“Would you come with me to get it?”

“Of course,” you say. “I always do. Even when you got your bats from that skeevy guy at The Hideout.”

“Now Bill was a nice dude and dirt cheap. ‘Sides, my arm didn’t turn green, did it?”

“Thank God,” you huff.

“Always worrying about me, sweet thing.”

“Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t wreak havoc on unsuspecting Hawkins.”

Eddie pulls into the parking lot of Brey’s Beef. Big deals on big beef! the sign reads. Your chest tightens at the sight of Missy and her band inside. Eddie reaches for your hand and squeezes.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ready.”

Eddie opens your door and you curse how sweet he is and how in love you are. 

Brey’s is a tiny burger shop that looks like it time-traveled here from the 50s. You go with Eddie to the counter and study the menu boards while you wait in line.

“Their milkshakes are to die for,” Eddie whispers in your ear. 

“To die for, huh? Munson approved?”

“One hundred percent.”

You order a cheeseburger and a strawberry milkshake. Eddie orders an ungodly creation called The Demon and a mint chocolate milkshake. You make a face.

“Hope you like your toothpaste shake,” you snort.

“Mint chocolate is superior,” Eddie shoots back and pulls out his wallet.

“Eds, wait—”

“No, no,” he says, pushing your coin purse aside. “I’m paying.”

“Eddie, no, c’mon…”

“Who got paid tonight?” Eddie asks, shaking his wallet. “Lemme treat you, princess. ‘S not like I get to do it much this year.”

Eddie pays and scoots you to the condiment counter. You sigh, shoving your coin purse back in your coat.

“Eds, I would’ve paid. You should save that money.”

“‘S okay, sweet thing. You’re worth it.”

God, how can he just say those things? He has to know what they do to you, doesn’t he?

“I’ll wait for the food, ‘kay? You can sit down.”

You glance at where the others are and try to hide your grimace. 

“Okay, Eds. Thanks.”

You take the seat at the end of the table. Missy and her band are in the middle, heavily flirting with the Black Tar members. As soon as she spots you, she stops. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“So,” she says. “This is the famous Hawkins Princess I’ve heard so much about.”

“Just Y/N is fine,” you mumble.

She laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“Didn’t know Eddie hung out with your sort.”

“My sort?”

“Y’know.” She gestures. “Normie. Uptight. Did you even know any of the songs tonight?”

“Some of them. Eddie’s played Dio and Sabbath for me.” You turn to Beetle. “Your opening number was a really cool cover. Judas Priest, right?”

Beetle winks at you. “Hell yeah it was. Thanks, Hawkins.”

Missy sneers.

“Well, you know how to pretend, I’ll give you that. I’m surprised, though.” She turns to her friend. “Remember when that one townie wandered in? How embarrassing.”

Her friend giggles. 

“Oh, yeah. He was so jumpy too. God, what a freak.”

The word makes you feel sick.

“Eddie thought it was hilarious too,” Missy adds. She looks at you. “I guess metal’s not for everyone.”

“Lay off, Miss,” Beetle says. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not!” she squeals. “I’m just saying, y’know, people should stay in their lane.”

“Eddie says metal is for everybody,” you say, stronger than you feel.

“Of course he’d tell you that,” she scoffs. “And then you’ll go back to college for six months and he’ll forget all about you. Eddie’s not gonna want somebody holding him down, duchess.”

And that does it. You can’t take anymore. You’ll apologize to Eddie in the morning for walking out but right now, you’re tired. If this is the girl Eddie wants, you won’t fight. 

Missy whines after you, syrupy venom sinking into your brain. 

“Running already, queenie?” she mocks.

Eddie told you once there’s no shame in running. He said taking shit isn’t heroic. If you can, leave. So you do.

It’s windy and freezing. You know it has to be midnight at least. November nights in Hawkins aren’t known to be mild. You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders and walk down the sidewalk. Maybe you can hail a cab or something.

Something wet hits your cheek. You wipe away the tear. Another falls, then another.

“Y/N, angel? Wait up!”

Eddie catches your bicep, tugging you around to face him. Fuck. You’ve never been good at lying to Eddie. He can see right through you. You have to think of something. 

“Sweet thing, why are you crying?” Eddie pulls up his sleeve and brushes your tears. He looks devastated. “Princess, please don’t cry. Who did this? Tell me, I’ll make sure they don’t bother you again.”

And you can’t help it. The name falls out.

“Missy,” you gasp. 

Eddie’s immediately confused.

“Wh—Missy? She made you cry?”

You nod, sniffling pitifully. This is not how tonight should’ve gone. 

“What the fuck,” he snaps, and you flinch. This is it; this is where Eddie chews you out for starting drama with the girl of his dreams.

“Oh,” Eddie whispers, eyes wide. “No, no, ‘m sorry. Not mad at you, babe. Sorry, sorry. I just—fuckin’ cannot believe she made you cry. How shitty can you get?”

“I shouldn’t be crying,” you say. “I shouldn’t, it’s stupid, I just—”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie pulls you into a hug, rubs your back in slow circles. “Stop it. Don’t say it’s stupid. If it made you upset, it’s not stupid.”

“I know you like her,” you cry into his shoulder. “I don’t mean to ruin that, I—”

“Whoa, what? Sweet thing, Missy’s just another singer. We’re not betrothed or anything.”

“But you said—over the summer—”

“Yeah, we got to know each other. But she’s just part of the scene. And there’s a bajillion people like that. She’s nothing special, princess, no way. She definitely doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

“But she is metal. And I’m not. And I’m gonna go back to school soon and you’re gonna find somebody who knows all of Dio’s albums and plays Dungeons and isn’t scared of getting tattoos or piercings or—”

“Y/N,” Eddie says. “I don’t care about any of that. You could religiously listen to the Hot 100 like Harrington does, whatever. Doesn’t matter. Won’t change the fact that I’m crazy about you. Nobody’s got my heart but you.”

Eddie freezes. Slowly, you draw back to meet his gaze.

“You’re crazy about me?”

He gnaws the inside of his cheek, looking everywhere but you.

“I, uh… y-yeah. I am.”

You hold on tighter because it feels like Eddie might try to back up first so you won’t have to push him away.

“I’m crazy about you too,” you confess.

Eddie’s eyes go big as dinner plates.

“Me?”

“There’s never been anybody but you,” you inform with delight.

Eddie’s smile is sweet and a little bashful. He surges forward, hands landing on your hips. You put your arms around his neck.

“Kiss me, Eds?”

“Anything for you, sweet thing.”

Eddie is gentle. He moves his arms up, trying to block you from the wind chill. You play with the ends of his curls. It’s everything you’ve wanted since freshman year and more. Eddie’s warm and everywhere. You feel him smile against your lips.

“Told ya you’re my girl,” he murmurs.

You smile softly. 

“Sap.”

“Oh, I mean, uh—” Eddie clears his throat. “You’re my girl in a mean and scary way.”

“Very convincing.”

“Thanks, baby. Wanna get outta here?”

You frown at the windows. 

“I kinda wanted to try those Munson-approved burgers.”

“Oh! Shit, hold on.” 

He hands you the keys and runs inside. You turn on the van, cranking the heat to four. Eddie flits from the counter to the table. He says something to Missy she does not look happy about. You wiggle giddily in your seat.

Eddie returns shortly. You roll down the window so he can give you the food and shakes. Then he gets into the car, blowing hot air into his hands.

“I hope you didn’t start a fight with Missy,” you frown.

“I just told her to stay the hell away from us.” Eddie shrugs. “Turns out Beetle chewed her out plenty.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. You made quite the impression.” Eddie grins and nudges you. “You’re more metal than me, sweet thing. Gareth and Jeff are getting a ride back with him.”

You grimace. 

“I guess they weren’t too happy about us ditching them.”

“Nah, they were understanding. Told them I wanted to take my girlfriend home.”

You laugh, warmth flooding you.

“Oh, really. And what did they say to that?”

Eddie grins.

“‘It’s about damn time.’”

[satorubrain]

Back again 👀👀👀

How would Gojo react if his s/o dressed as him? Like he’s back from work or he walks in on them- can be up up you!

I can imagine the reader giggling to themselves while trying not to trip over Gojo’s trousers BC WHY IS HE SO TALL???

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Tags: Fluff, crack, reader is implied to be short but lets all agree that Satoru is just a fucking buff giant. Why is he built like that. I'll stop ranting-

Synopsis: Gojo sees you cosplaying as him

A/N: I had to add stupidity to this.

"Perfect!!" You exclaim styling your white hair wig. Now all that's remaining is, do work with Satoru's humongous clothes. He was already giant yet his uniform is fucking baggy, which just increases your problems.

The amount of pins you had to use to make his pants fit you already have your hands aching. His top is a fucking dress and you think you're gonna cry. But it's too late to stop. Continuing to put on the white mascara on your eyelashes and checking if the blindfolds fit you-

"FUCK YOU SATORU" You scream trying to get rid of the anger his size is giving you. You just want to get ready before he arrives home. You just tear up the blindfold since you're now too lazy to make proper adjustments, it's just easier if you tie up a knot.

Finally, you put on the ridiculous wig. Yes, it's absolutely absurd that you decided the wig hair length should make up for the difference in height.

Oh lord this get up is hilarious. You're shaking trying to control the laughter while looking at yourself in the mirror. Unwilling to ruin your mascara, you decide to get up and wait for Satoru in the living room. You text Satoru that you "need him" before putting on the blindfolds again, manspreading and sitting like him with a wide smile anticipating his arrival any time now.

It doesn't take him more than twenty minutes to hurriedly unlock your door. But this is not what he was envisioning, nonetheless he is not disappointed.

"Im hOO-" he stops mid sentence removing his blindfolds so he can properly look at you for a couple of seconds before bursting into his loud hyena laughter, clutching onto the door knob for support because lord you knocked the air out of his lungs in the most comical way. You would've looked so cute if it wasn't for that darned wig of yours.

"Laughing at the strongest? That's not a very good idea" You choke out trying to control your laughter, biting your inner cheek.

He's wheezing oh so loudly now and closing the door behind him, so he can go to you and sit beside you. He fails to form any sentence whenever he even glaces at you- both of you are now trying to control your laughter, just wanting to breathe for a moment.

"C-can I have a pic-" He wheezes so loudly he starts coughing and at this point both of you have tears of laughter running down your face.

"Yes you may, my dear FAN" you yell the newfound nickname with your cracking voice sending the both of you into another fit of laughter.

It takes you both a solid while to calm down before he can have a photoshoot with you while recording the entire thing with another camera so he doesn't miss out any moments.

You both also record a tiktok with team rocket's motto, but instead of meowth there's an abrupt cut of you tripping over his damned long pants and your wig falling off your head with a screech and him trying to save you- the video goes viral overnight.

What others don't see is how you tripping caused a loud rip of his pants from your toe till your knee as the stiff wig falls with a thud on the ground and you both are rolling on the floor laughing again.

You best believe this man has tucked away the clothes you wore today, as he would say, "to keep the memories safe" but lets ignore how he made the wig a table decoration.

I'm 5'3- so imagining a whole foot long wig standing is fucking killing me.

[REQUESTS ARE OPEN]

[MASTERLIST]

[avonne-writes]

The Proper Way to Wake a Lady

Fem!Gale x Bucky post-war married sex 😏 NSFW (duh)

My first attempt at het smut 🫣 wrote it in a fever rush tonight. Sorry for any typos, it’s 2 am. I will upload it to AO3 tomorrow. For @brotherwtf and @butdaddyilovehim99. Inspired by this post.

Edit: posted on AO3

~♡~

The blanket slips down over the hill of Gale's shoulder like a droplet of rain trickling down the window. A hand follows in its wake, warm and gentle to ease the shiver that runs down her body. It’s still early. She can tell from the sting of exhaustion under her eyelids and the darkness that calls her back to her dreams. A kiss presses to the goosebumps rising over her sleep-soft skin in the morning cold, and up it moves with damp, sticky heat to the crook of her neck, where a slow inhale whistles against her hair.

The next kiss seeks the spot behind her ear, then her cheek. The brush of a mustache tickles when those greedy lips move past her earring to adore the constellation of freckles under her eye. She curls up a touch tighter on her side when they move away, missing the sweet pressure, but she isn’t lonely for long. Fingertips climb up over her bare arm to the thin strap of her nightgown, teasing and confident like a musician's who's about to play his favourite instrument. They slip under the strap and tug it down.

"Mm." She hums noncomittally. She doesn’t mean to say anything with it except to show that she's awake and that she's not yet convinced she wants to be.

A low chuckle brushes the shell of her ear, rising to the challenge. Knuckles caress her naked shoulder, then that large, loving hand moves down her chest to cup her breast through the thin satin. Thumb against the bump of her nipple, tracing lazy circles over embroidery.

"Bucky." She makes a noise of protest, rolling back just enough for her shoulder blade to rest against his firm chest. There’s heat dripping down her body to pool between her legs, but she likes this tug-of-war they play when they have time to linger in their want. She only lets go of the rope when she knows he's gonna fall over and laugh at her in delight. "It’s not even dawn yet."

"Didn't know there was a curfew." He nuzzles her blond curls. His hand shimmies under her nightgown and caresses the swell of her breast, her nipple caught in the mischievous hold of his knuckles.

She can’t help but arch into it under the guise of a deep breath. Bucky's fingers squeeze and release around her in response, maddening. She puts her slim hand over his because she wants to feel him hold her, ring to ring. He traps her thumb with his. Tugging on the rope between them. She doesn’t let go yet. She wants to squirm to feel how hard he is but she holds herself back, keeps her voice calm, bites the smile on her lips.

"We ought'a talk about the proper way to wake a lady." Gale sighs in feigned exasperation.

Even in the dim, fuzzy-dark room, the flash of his grin draws her eyes as he flips her over to her back and leans down to kiss the last flutter of sleep from her lips. His mouth tastes like home, his mustache brushes her skin.

"I'm all ears, doll."

She stretches with the soft sound of a stifled yawn, her arms reaching towards the ceiling while he lays his heavy frame on her and tries to free her breasts from her gown despite her squirming. Unable to do it, he kisses the shallow valley between them through the fabric, then the skin bared by the deep neckline. He seems to pause at the lack of gold chain there, but then he must remember that the locket he gave her before he left for the war has been locked in a drawer with his dog tags since he came home three months ago. Perhaps, she will wear it again if it doesn't make him pale and misty-eyed anymore.

Gale lets her arms fall back and loop around his neck, feels his pulse under her fingertips. She scratches at the curls at his nape as he cups one of her cheeks and smiles into the kiss he presses to her throat.

"For a start, a lady's dress is sacred." She says, her even voice in contrast with the way her thighs slide open to bracket his hips. His cock presses against her through his pants, a barrier soaked through with her need in seconds.

"Yes, ma'am." He chuckles again, running both of his hands down her thighs to ruck up her gown and roll it up over her slender body. "I'm real careful."

It’s all a game. She never minds a small tear or a stretched satin strap if it means he still wants her with a passion that doesn’t let him wait. She can sacrifice a few hours to the sewing machine if it’s because he loves her a little too eagerly, with too much desperation for propriety. She wouldn’t have married him if she wanted someone rooted in the dull ground. She always wanted to fly.

The nightgown is off. He throws it on the floor along with his own shirt and pants. He still wears a pair of rosaries even at night, one for her and one for himself, and they dangle between her breasts as he leans over her on all fours. She opens her mouth to ask if he'll wear a third if what she feels to be true is confirmed in the coming weeks, but her words get caught in her throat because he dips down and seals his mouth around her left nipple.

She gasps and rocks under him with as contained a desire as she can keep it while his tongue is circling her bud. It’s hard to see anything in the darkness but she knows what he looks like when he sucks and nips at her like this, she knows the bliss on his face and the cheeky smile in the corner of his lips when he switches sides. Her small breasts used to be her insecurity, but he has always loved them, and she never once felt inadequate with him. The war changed a lot of things but not this. Not the hungry touch of his mouth on her, not the hand he entwines with hers on her pillow.

He smooths his other hand over her belly, lingers to feel her trembling muscles for a moment before he reaches lower.

Her free hand shoots down to hold his wrist right there between her legs, where he's ready to push his fingers in and make her fall apart. But that’s not what she wants, not yet.

"Gale. Come on." Bucky says in a whining voice, pressing little kisses all over her collarbones as if begging her to let him continue.

It’s just like the Bucky she knew before the war. She loves her John the way he is now, regardless of his scars and that new brooding shadow in his eyes, but she loves his past self too, and she likes to remind him that he hasn’t died overseas.

She smiles at the ceiling and drags his hand away, pressing it to her hip. "Second rule, never rush a lady, John, or she might bite."

Bucky laughs and lies down on her with his full weight. The hair on his torso rubs against her naked skin. He cups her face with both hands, fingers in her hair, and kisses her on the lips. He licks into Gale's mouth slowly, savouring every brush of their tongues, every encouraging stroke of her palms up and down his back. When she nips at him, they both snicker.

Bucky rubs the tips of their noses together. "All right, sweetheart. Tell me, what do I do?" He squeezes at her waist. "Wanna make my pretty lady happy."

Gale feels a hot flush run through her entire body. His pretty lady. She wants to clear her throat but she can’t, she's trying her best to show confidence and see the game through to the end. "Make sure she's relaxed and... prepared to wake up."

With the hand she uses to comb through Bucky’s hair, he feels him nod.

He gives her a playful peck on the cheek. "On it."

He trails his lips over her chest, his right hand sneaking back to her breast to massage it as he slides further down her body. Her legs move to close when he rises from between her thighs, not because she wants to hide but because she still hasn't quite grown out of the reflexive shyness, but he keeps them spread with his shoulders.

He mouths at her stomach, at the low curve of it that she hopes is more than an illusion of gain, then he kisses her hips, one after the other before he moves to her thighs. Holding them pushed apart, he sucks at the lean muscles on the inner side. He sucks long enough that she makes a soft, needy sound despite herself, sure that he’s leaving a mark. He doesn’t do the other thigh because he knows asymmetry excites her, makes her long for the completion of the sensation and will draw her pleasure out. She closes her eyes and fists the sheets in anticipation. When he brushes his thumb over her wet folds, her breath hitches in her chest.

"How does the lady want it?" Bucky teases, rubbing Gale's bent thighs.

Gale doesn’t care, she just wants it with all the shaking need in her belly, with a want she hadn't known before she met him, but she forces her voice to sound composed. "Slow and steady."

Bucky moans softly, which draws a quick smile to her face again. She has never slept with anyone else but him, but the stories she heard are enough to know that there aren't many men who take to this with Bucky's enthusiasm. He truly enjoys it, and she loves him for it so much. She loves how attentive he is, how clear about his own desires and patient with hers, and how he likes to pleasure her even more than being pleasured.

When he dips his head down and licks a stripe up the center of her, she arches, and her thighs twitch in his grip. He leans in again and stays there this time, with his mouth tight around her and his nose buried in her dark blond curls. His lips feel soft, but the pressure as he sucks is hard and relentless, and her hips roll against it in a confused rhythm, unsure if she wants more or if she wants to get away from the sharp pleasure.

He flicks his tongue and licks at her greedily, as if this was the very reason he woke her up, just to have her spread open and panting as he puts his mouth on her cunt. Gale covers her eyes with a hand and rubs at her bitten-sensitive nipples with the other, mindless with it. She's soaking wet, and the sounds of her pleasure mixing with his hums makes the need ache so deep that she feels like she can’t take it without losing her mind. She tries to tilt her hips away from his languid strokes, but he just grips her under her thighs and pushes her legs towards the mattress, pinning her immobile.

She can’t do anything but lie there and take it, and it's such a heady rush of relief that she feels her stomach tighten even before he gets a finger in her.

"John." She cries out. "Oh God."

"You taste so good." John groans and one of his fingers slides into her slowly, crooking in thick, sweet pressure while he sucks on her. It spears her deeply enough to hit her with that familiar feeling of fullness over and over again until she starts shaking and comes gushing all over his hand and face.

"Fuck, you’re gorgeous." He sighs as she's coming down.

When the rush of pleasure stops, she reaches for his free hand on her thigh, and he gives her a squeeze but doesn’t pull away from her core. He pushes another finger into her, thicker than three of her own together, and uses his thumb to keep pressure on where she's too sensitive for his mouth. He moves his lips to the thigh he hasn’t marked yet and completes the set. His chin and mustache feel damp from her pleasure as they move over her pale leg. She feels embarrassed, but this is her husband, and he wants her. He wants her so much. It’s okay to want him back.

With her face aflame from exertion and a newly building need, she rocks into the touch of his fingers and breathes a laugh of joy. "What a nice way to wake up."

"The best way." Bucky sounds like he's smiling as he twists his fingers inside her to make her moan. "I figured you might say, thank you, John."

Gale moves against his touch, chasing her pleasure. "Don’t count on it."

Bucky snorts in amusement. He lets her thigh go in favour of leaning down to suck at her oversensitive clit again, sloppy and loud. Gale shifts helplessly against the sensation, tugging at Bucky’s hair until Bucky has some mercy on her and starts crawling up her body. He sucks and licks at her like she's a feast, mouths over the sensitive spot below her belly button, the jut of her ribs, the underside of her breasts, her hard nipples and the sweaty slope of her neck.

She nudges his head up and kisses him tenderly on the mouth. For a moment, she wishes they turned on the lights, but there’s no use reaching for the light switch now.

She hugs Bucky tight and angles her hips up for him. "I'm ready, hon."

Bucky's breath rushes out through his nose against her cheek. She feels his hand move between them, rubbing, searching, then that quick, sharp pain that turns into aching need immediately as he pushes into her. He fucks her with slow thrusts at first, staying deep inside and barely pulling back, letting her get used to the wide stretch of it. As he picks up his pace, he gives her messy kisses and presses their foreheads together.

"Let me -" He draws the words on her lips with his own. His hips snap forward desperately, pushing a high-pitched gasp out of her. "Let me come inside again. I wanna give you a baby. Please. Oh, Gale, let me."

You already have, Gale almost tells him, but she can’t be sure yet, so she just nods and kisses him, and says yes a dozen times over as he starts losing himself to the pleasure, fucking her with enough force to make the bed creak. When Gale cups his face, she can feel that his eyes are closed and his eyebrows are drawn together as the bliss of it builds. She's not there yet but it doesn't matter - all she needs now is to feel him let go.

She pulls one of Bucky's hands to her breast and his forehead to her shoulder, and she whispers into his ear. "I love you so much, John. I want your baby, you can give it to me, I want -"

With deep, shuddering moans, Bucky thrusts once more into her and comes, deep inside where she rocks into it. His body tenses, then relaxes in her embrace, a heavy weight for her thin arms but she will never not be strong enough to hold him, she swore that when he first came home and felt like he would never be a whole man again. She can feel some of that same helplessness in the way he hides his face in her neck and strokes her hair in the afterglow, but she also knows that he’s getting better.

After a few minutes of quiet cuddling, she nuzzles his cheek. "Final rule is, if you wake your lady, never fall back asleep before she does."

He laughs and lifts his head to look at her. His smile could light up even the darkest room.

[plush-rabbit]

Word Count: 3.5K A/N: No name again!! Part Three this time. Woo! Um, I just miss writing. I have some request that I wanna do, and like honestly, i need to make time. And I'm slowly making time! So, one day. I wanna write an Adam chapter, but like idk. Like I could. I'm the writer, but like also, I wanna do this other one, and like i thought it was gonna be super quick, but ya know me. I like words and sounding deep. So who knows. It gets like updated whenever its slow at work, so one day.

-

You pace around the room that you occupy. It doesn’t feel like home. You’re afraid nothing will ever feel like home again. You look at yourself in the mirror, and trace your tongue over your sharpened teeth, and you can’t recall the change to them- whether they grew into fangs during your fall, or when you were in your unconscious state. 

“‘S probably why my jaw hurt so much,” you mumble to yourself.

Despite not showing much interest in most things, Lucifer has brought it upon himself to make your room as comfortable as possible. He’s brought candles, and pillows to add color. He’s brought you different types of creams and perfumes for you to try, telling you to let him know what scent you like best. The shower adjacent to your room is kept clean, and stocked full of sweet smelling soaps. Your closet is full of clothes, so soft that you played with the fabric between your fingers until you feared you’d ruin them with your nails.

While your back no longer aches like it once did, you still avoid looking at it. The morbid curiosity to touch it grows every second, but you can only let your fingers ghost against the edges of the scars, feeling the pulled skin against yours, chills making your body rise. You feel bile in your throat when you touch a scar that runs thin and farther down your back- skin that stayed stuck and only released when it was far too thin and weak to hold on any longer. 

It’s sensitive, and almost ticklish. The tags of shirts make you uncomfortable, and you gently pat yourself dry after showers. You stare at the fogged mirror after every shower, and you have yet to wipe it clean and turn around to see what you’ve lost.

Lucifer has assured you that it’s not nearly as rough as it once was. Perhaps he’s right about that. Yet, you hate that he knows what you’re going through. You hate that you can’t be angry at him, that you can’t throw a fit and tell him that he doesn’t understand. But he does. He’s one of the few that will understand what you’re feeling, and you can’t bring yourself to talk to him.

There’s a knock on your door, and you look away from the mirror. “Come in,” you say out loud, already knowing who is on the other side- speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You give a small smile as Lucifer walks in with a tray of food, taking careful steps to not let the drinks topple over. 

“I brought dinner,” he says with a smile. 

You sit on the bed, legs crossed and watch as he places the tray over your lap. “Thank you, Lucifer,” you say. There are two plates, two sets of cutlery, and two drinks. Once again, he’ll be having dinner with you in the confines of your room. 

Lucifer takes his place in the chair beside you, and with a wave holds the plate in his hand, carefully balancing it as he holds the silvered fork in the other hand. Your fingers wrap over the silver, as you poke and prod at the food. 

“I hope you like it,” he says. “It’s been a while since I cooked anything, so I’m hoping it’s good for you.”

You pierce the food with the prongs of the fork. “I didn’t know you cooked,” you mumble, before taking a bite of your meal. The taste is savory, melting on your tongue, and you cut another piece before even swallowing the first one.

“It’s been a while.” Silver clinks against porcelain in a melody, behind his words. “It’s been ages since I’ve had proper meals.” You catch his eye, and he clears his throat. “Running Hell is a bit of a task. Hardly ever lets me enjoy my peace,” he says quietly, nudging his food with the sharpened point of the fork. 

“I can’t imagine the type of work it takes to run it all,” you reply, wrapping your lips around another forkful of food. 

Lucifer hums in response, and you take a sip of your drink. He hardly ever talks about Hell in detail. He’ll focus the conversation on you, trying to pry out your interests and likes. At times, he’ll talk about his daughter, Charlie. He tells you how she’s off somewhere in the Pride Ring, about how she was when she was young, how he would have her sit on his lap and watch as he’d tinker in his office. The stories are always in past tense, and you never like hearing the sorrow that are entangled in his words. Not only that, there’s a lack of mention of his wife, despite the ring that he still wears. 

The conversation comes to a still, and you frown. 

Dinners in Heaven were hardly ever quiet. There’d always be some type of noise, some gentle hum of a song, laughter, talk about slaughter that made you queasy. You’d eat with Adam most nights. Some nights you were accompanied by Lute and you always welcomed those shared meals, where she’d sit beside you, her wings folded neatly behind her, compared to Adam’s prodigious wings which graced the floor. She’d remove her mask when dining, and would grace you with a gentle smile. 

Home was the only place you’d ever see Adam without his mask. The horns curved and the bright lights a warning against others, looking down on others with heavenly light. He’d wear his mask in public, it was loud and showed who he was. Newer souls always looked at him with awe, and he hungered for the way that they would trip over themselves to speak to him. They may not have known his title, but they knew he was important, they felt the power that he held, the authority that he carried. He was someone to be admired. He was someone that you wanted to be around with. 

Even though you were just an angel, you didn’t hold power that others didn’t already have. But Adam still chose you, and you chose him. 

You should have chosen to run away when you had the chance.

The food tastes bitter, and you drop the fork, the clinking making your flinch and turn your head. Your name is whispered, and a hand places itself over your arm. Your eyes are shut tight, and you feel like a fool. “Are you all right?” Lucifer asks in a soft voice.

You suck in your lip, teasing it between your teeth. “No, I’m sorry, Lucifer.” You shake your head and blink back the tears that threaten to spill over. Turning to him, you wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m fine, I’m sorry. I was-” your voice wavers, and you cover your eyes with your hand- “remembering Heaven. I remembered how my meals-” tears drip down, and you wave your hand. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”

With a wave of his hand, the tray of food, and his own plate disappears from your sight. It’s quiet for a moment, and he pushes his seat closer to your bed before breaking the silence. “Do you think of Heaven often?” Shamefully, you nod. “What do you miss?” 

Adam. You peek at him between your fingers, and when he hands you a tissue, you take it wordlessly. “The view,” you answer. The tissue dabs at your eyes, and you let your hands fall beside you. Fingertips nudge against your hand, a silent encouragement to continue to speak. Your fingers jump, and there’s a sudden urge to take his hand in comfort. Rather, you let your nails scrap against the bedsheets.

“When I was still-” Lucifer’s voice pauses to take a breath- “I would sneak off to this forest. I’d watch all of his creations frolic among the fields. I’d have a few of my own creations rest against me. It was serene.”

You stretch your legs, and pull the blanket over your lower half. “I was a lower rank angel,” you start. “No one hardly needed me unless they wanted me to fetch something. But there was-” you bit your bottom lip and flicker your eyes towards Lucifer who listens with his attention on you- “an angel who would take me to see the stars.” You smile softly, and rub the corner of the tissue between your index and thumb. “It was a vast space, where the sky was lit by the radiance of the stars. It was the first time anyone thought of doing something for me,” you say out loud. 

“You were an angel, were you not?” Lucifer asks, his body leaning towards you, a hand wrapping around your wrist, and you let him take your wrist.

“Just an angel, nothing more. I don’t even know why he was so nice to me.” You smile at him, but you look away, smiling at the end of the bed. “I still don’t get it.” He was praised for so much, given everything and perhaps that’s what made his ego bigger than what it needed to be. “But he was kind to me.”

“Another angel?” He sounds surprised. You wonder what angels were like back in his days.

“A higher ranking than I,” you shrug with your answer. There’s a reason why he was able to get away with so much.

“For all that Heaven was, the views were ethereal.” You hum in response. It’s silent, and his shoes tap against the floor. “I’m sorry that Hell doesn’t have views like those.” His thumb arches over your wrist, and you dig your nails into your palm.

You stay silent beside him. Heaven’s land and warmth, nothing but a memory for you to return to. The room smells of rosemary and wine, and your blankets are thick in the stench of it. You turn to him. “Lucifer, why don’t we eat at the table?”

He stiffens at your voice, his mouth opening and closing without an answer. “I didn’t know you wanted to,” he replies.

“I’m stuck in this room all day, I want-” more is what you want, more than the four walls of your bedroom- “I want to see the other rooms. I’m not like I was before. I can move now.”

His eyes scan over your body, and with a nod, he clears his throat. “Okay,” he nods once more. “Breakfast will be in the dining room. I’ll be here to walk you at the usual time that I arrive.”

“Thank you, Lucifer,” you say kindly, a smile ghosting over your lips.

“You’re welcome,” he says your name softly, twisting meaning into the syllables and letting it fill the air.

-

Your room is shrouded in darkness, vast and consuming. Perhaps it’s because you’ve spent so much time awake in the night, that you can recognize what’s beside you, or maybe it’s your vision, heavenly eyes now able to see in the night, almost as if it were day. You aren’t sure which option brings you more comfort- that you’ve spent so long in a place that you should call home, or that parts of your angelic nature have contorted into something else.

Sleep has yet to take you into its arms. You lay awake, unable to do much else, hoping that if you’re still long enough then maybe you rest. However, you do nothing all day but read and draw in a book Lucifer had given you. The television remains in an opened box, pressed against a wall. He had attempted to attach it to the wall, but grew frustrated when he could not figure out the wiring. When you offered that he call someone who could, he just placed everything back in the box grumbling under his breath.

His pride is the reason you still rely on books and his company for entertainment. 

The scars on your back are no longer tender as they once were. They’re soft, and ticklish. You squirm against the cotton of the bed and feel a chill pass when you think of them for too long. Your arms coil themselves around you, fingertips tracing over the scarring lines. You wipe your hands on the comforter, filth still etched into you.

Your legs kick the bed, and you find yourself unable to sleep. If it were Heaven, you’d have Adam beside you. It would be hours until he finally rested, staying up until dawn peeked through the blinds in gold. He’d keep you company. Even if he was tired, he’d grumble and whine, but would continue to hold a conversation with you until he could no longer. 

Truth be told, it was rare for you to struggle to fall asleep. You had no trouble resting your weary head, but when you did, you at least had Adam with you. 

As much as other angels complained about not being given bigger tasks, you hardly minded them. You had no real power over anyone, no real responsibilities. The only real duty that you were given, was to calm Adam when he became crass- at least more so than usual. Heaven was blissful, the only worry being whether Adam would call you a crass nickname in public.

He hardly listened to anyone. He might have quieted down when a Seraphim or even Lute would give him a look, but when it came to you, he would mumble under his breath, still simmering, but at least he'd hold your hand. A chill runs through your body. In quiet moments, you can feel the weight of his wings over you, the heaviness, the softness of his feathers, how they would cover you like a blanket. 

Moments with him were plenty, never did you ever have to miss him unless he was called out. The few times you both were separated, he was bitter- snapping and complaining to anyone who was unfortunate to speak to him. and you felt pride at being the one that he wanted, being the one who could calm him. All these weeks- conscious and unconscious- is the first you’ve ever spent without him- without knowing that you would see him again. You wonder what he’s doing. The thought hurts, a sharp pain in your chest that makes it difficult to breathe. 

You wonder if he’s upset with Lute. A part of you wants him to be, to know that he did care for you, enough to be upset at another for hurting you. And the other part, hopes that he isn’t. You hope that he understood that it was a task given to her, that he doesn’t hold it against her. You hope that she doesn’t hold it against herself. You close your eyes, and your hands scratch against the comforter. 

You need to think of something else.

There has to be something else that you can think of. Something that doesn’t have to do with him. Anything at all would work. 

Mornings. 

How the sunlight would cast gold in the room, peeking between the blinds and making his wings shimmer. The warmth of the light would only encourage you to dig deeper into bed, pulling yourself closer to him. Your wings would brush under his, and they were never as grand as his were. Where yours were iridescent, and fit to your body perfectly, his shined in gold, carved by Father and molded to be fitting of the first soul to ascend to Heaven. 

You cry, and a sob escapes, whimpering past your lips. You need another distraction. 

Your wings. 

Think of how your wings were ripped from you. How Lute was the one to perform the severance and how Adam was adamant to watch. How he wanted to be there for you. You think of how you’ll never have your wings again. You’ll never fly again. There will  always be a scar to serve as a reminder of what was taken. And despite not having them, you can still feel them. You feel their weight, and in the mornings, you can feel a ghost of an ache, as if you’d slept on them wrong.

You sob, crying like a child and you press yourself against a pillow, trying to dull the cries. You can’t recall ever being so teary-eyed, so sad and lonely. Even after your creation, you were greeted with love and open arms, and past the time when you were simply an angel, you at least had Adam and Lute to keep you company.

Crying seems like a foreign concept. You never cried much in Heaven. Not out of sadness, at least. You hadn’t realized how exhausting it was to cry. You heave, whimpering and clawing at the bed sheets. Your chest is tight, bones constricting themselves around everything delicate, gold burning inside of you. When you laid in bed with Adam and spoke of your fate, and even when your wings were removed, you hadn’t cried like this. You shed tears, and you begged for forgiveness under your breath, but you accepted it until you cast out. Some nights, you wake up and you think it’s all been some horrid dream, only to be reminded when you wake to a ceiling that is not yours. 

Your door swings open, the back of it smacking against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer asks, his voice tense. His presence serves as a reminder of where you are, and where you can never return to. “Are you okay?” He’s inside your room, and the door closes with a smack the further he goes. 

You are unable to answer him through your cries, mumbling incoherently. A hand places itself over your arm, and flutters away when you flinch. He sighs your name, and the side of your bed dips under his weight. “Do you want to be alone?”

You hiccup, and after a pause, you shake your head.

“Is it okay to touch you?

You nod, and turn over. Your hands grasp and pull at his clothes, you make a note that he hasn't changed out of his daytime attire, and that his eyes sag with exhaustion. Despite it all, you need him here. You want him here. His hand cups overs, and he lets his thumb arch over the back of your hand. Lucifer shifts under your touch, unable to be comfortable in your bed. Your nails scratch against the fabric of his clothes, fisting the shirt in your hand, and you need him to stay. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, another one of his hands cupping over the corner of your head, gently stroking you. “Just cry it out,” he whispers.

You cry beside him, the touch of his clothes barely enough to keep you satisfied. Your face is barely hidden between the pillow and the mattress. You weep, unable to catch a breath, unable to think of anything more than just missing home. 

“I hate crying,” you mumble, hiccupping and hiding your face.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tracing shapes over your forearm, “you get used to it.” Your body still shakes, whimpers and other pathetic sounds filling the room. “I- Um, I remember that angels were rather touchy- always together in flocks, and never really alone, so I-” he clears his throat, and you peek up at him through teary eyes. “I hope I’m not overstepping, but do you want a-” His face deepens in color, and he squeezes your arm, unable to manage the word out loud. “Or I can get you a pillow or something?”

Your hands let go of him, and the push against the mattress. “Lucifer?” You say softly, picking yourself up. He hums in response, his eyes wide and focused on you. “Can you hold me?” You gasp, your chest tight. 

“Yes- Yeah,” he croaks. “Of course. Whatever you need- Oh!” He gasps, when you cling to him, your arms snaking around him, pulling at the fabric of his clothes. You hide yourself in the crook soft curve where his neck and shoulder meet, your dewy face kissing his exposed skin. “It’s-” you can feel his hands pat nervously at your back- “okay.” You pull him closer to you, desperate to not have him leave you. “You’re-” at the sound of another of your cries, his arms tightening around your shaking figure, hands pressed into the soft of your skin- “You’re okay. I got you, you’re safe,” he coos. 

He’s warm, and he holds you close to him, his head knocking gently against yours. Your cries soften into whimpers, gasping breaths tickling over his skin. In a room where the glow of red peeks into the room, letting glass and skin flame under a dim hue, you find yourself reminded of home. You find comfort in someone holding you, you find yourself held together by sin, stitched and handled with care. Hands are gentle against your back, the pressure against the scars enough to make you crave for more, to have him touch more of you. You let your eyes close, and you tell yourself that you’ll ask him to leave, but you need a few minutes where you can feel safe, where you can feel wanted.

[heartkyeom]

pretty party favor

kim mingyu x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

tag list: @onlymingyus @junkissed @maijunejuly @hyucks-rose @freakyfriedrice @aceofvernons @fallinwoozi

warnings: not really enemies but they know and hate each other lol, gendered nicknames, reader has vagina, reader receiving head, overstimulation, squirting, slightly fluffy

a/n: hi this is halloween-esque but not necessarily spooky. just tension between idiots which I love to write! shoutout to june giving me the title to this + getting me to finish this with her comments on my google doc <3 pls enjoy

“get in the car.”

“fuck you,” you muttered under your breath.

“what was that?” mingyu spoke up again, clearly trying to push your buttons. he’s always done this, always acted as if he’s entitled to an answer even when it was none of his business.

you stopped in your tracks to look at him. “I said fuck you, prick,” you spat out, quickly facing your attention toward the path back home. 

you were coming back from a friend’s Y2K themed costume party which unfortunately meant taking the short walk back home in a denim miniskirt, a baby tee with a stupid saying on the front, and a pair of sneakers. it was a fun night, you drank sufficiently to the point where you felt light on your feet while walking home.

sure, your feet were comfortable, but it was still an inconvenience to walk back when it was cold and dark, but you typically never encountered any trouble since your apartment was located on a quiet residential street. 

however, tonight, mingyu had other plans. you thankfully managed to avoid him the entire night at the party, so much that you almost forgot he existed for a few hours. you spent the night catching up with friends that you hadn’t seen in a while because of work, gossiping a bit too much over red plastic cups, but you still spotted him occasionally doing the same thing. 

despite your friend group’s best efforts to help you make amends, you two didn’t get along one bit. there was too much tension for them to cut through as a collective group, so they eventually let it go in an effort to keep the peace. 

“get in the car right now. cheol’s gonna have my head if I don’t take you home, especially since you were drinking. I know you were taking shots all night,” he responds with that sly grin of his, you don’t even have to look at him to know. 

“that’s not true and cheol should know better than to expect me to ride with you,” your words slur slightly, exposing yourself a bit too much. you subsequently trip over your feet on a crack in the sidewalk, losing your balance momentarily.

you hear him laugh a bit too loud at the mistake and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. of course, he saw it and he’s not gonna let you forget about it either.

“you can’t even walk in sneakers right now! get in the car, princess, seriously,” he objects. you look over and you’re shocked that he’s still bored enough to keep up with you, it’s actively starting to piss you off.

“fuck, just let me fall on the pavement and die,” you yell into the air with your head tilted back, “you’re not even supposed to care what happens to me!” you turn your head to him again with a bewildered look.

“stop before you wake up the whole neighborhood,” he warns. “you know what, enough,” you hear him shut off the ignition and get out of the car, shutting the door behind him and meeting you on the sidewalk faster than you expected.

“you’re being ridiculous,” he points at you with an accusatory finger. 

you scoff. “do you think you’re gonna fuck me? is that why you’re doing this?” 

it feels wrong the moment you say it, but what else were you meant to say? he has notoriously only been friends with girls just to have weirdly long situationships with them, never establishing a proper relationship due to a lack of commitment. he thought it was convenient, you thought it was irritating.

“what? are you fucking kidding me?” he seethes, running his hands through his hair. you’ve really done it now, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this flustered and angry at the same time. yet, it was the truth.

even when the rest of your friend group teased him, mingyu always took it without too much resistance, that’s just the kind of guy he is. 

“am I wrong? you think every girl you come into contact with wants to fuck you,” you insist, you cross your arms in front of your chest and stare at him intensely. 

“i’m doing this because you need to get home, whether I like you or not,” he clenches his jaw, not breaking eye contact for a second. it would probably scare you if you were less drunk, but you were feeling testy. 

“what happened to princess? hmm?” you smirk.

he barely lets you finish before he picks you up by the waist, doing his best to place you in the passenger seat despite you hitting his back with your fists.

“put me down!” you scream into his ear over and over until he’s somehow opened the door and clicks your seatbelt across your waist. you immediately shut up the moment he throws your discarded purse in your lap, you clutch it while looking down at your feet.

you watch him walk around to the driver’s seat and settle into the car, shifting gears before driving away from the wooded area. 

“you’re such a fucking brat, you’d rather fight me until you’re blue in the face instead of just taking the ride,” he tightens his grip around the steering wheel until his knuckles tense a bit too tight, it makes you swallow weakly. 

the next few minutes are uncomfortably tense, you don’t miss the way he sets his jaw just a little bit tighter each time he stops at a red light. you don’t have to tell him how to get to your apartment, he’s been there too many times to count. 

he pulls up to your apartment, turns on the hazard lights, and sits back in the leather seat.

“get out,” he says in a sharp yet quiet tone. you didn’t think it would strike a nerve that badly with him, but the guilt settles into your chest as you unbuckle the seatbelt and exit the car. you slam the car door and walk away, not letting yourself look back at him.

you fish your keys out of your front pocket and fumble your way inside without much effort and shut the door behind you. that probably makes the top 5 worst conversations that you’ve had with mingyu, but you won’t remember it in the morning. 

you hope not, at least. 

you don’t even have a full moment to yourself before you hear a soft knock on the door. you throw off your sneakers before padding across the hardwood floor toward the door, opening it to reveal a slightly disheveled mingyu.

“your purse,” he sighs, holding up your bag with his fingers out toward you. you stare at him for a moment before taking it.

you both exchange a look, but you turn away from the door toward the pitch darkness of your living room. 

it was an intrusive thought, the thought of getting split open on kim mingyu’s dick. 

he’d probably show no mercy since there are infinite levels of tension in your relationship that not even scientists would understand. 

it’s so stupid, but there’s probably some alternate universe where you aren’t forcing yourself to do this, you would both act like normal adults and you would just ask him to have sex. 

but, this is real life and you’re about to go back on your word not even an hour later.

“i need you to fuck me.”

“you’re drunk,” he seems to be unbothered before he starts blinking a bit too much, his nonchalance shifts into a state of processing. 

“I'm barely drunk and I know you want to, you want to put me in my place,” you approach him with blind confidence. he stares you down, no emotion evident on his face. 

“I need full consent and I mean it, I’m not touching you without it.”

“I give you full consent to fuck the shit out of me,” you deadpan, sighing as if you’re telling him off more than actually informing him. he nods silently, accepting the terms. he steps past you into the apartment and you shut the door behind him, gently locking it before facing him again. 

you walk toward your bedroom, fumbling around to turn on the lamp before sitting down on your plush comforter. 

he approaches you at the end of the bed, considering his next move as he stares at your thighs. 

he sinks to his knees, his face now eye level with your cunt. he slips his hands under your skirt to find no trace of underwear, the shock is visible on his face as he looks up at you.

“this seems like you wanted to get fucked tonight, princess,” he shakes his head and returns his focus to the task at hand, finding your clit with his thumb. 

“m-maybe,” you let out a shaky breath as he increases the pressure, making torturously slow circles on your clit. you lean your head back as you let out a few involuntary moans, mingyu laughs as you slowly give into the pleasure.

“but my skirt was long enough to cover it, who cares,” you brush off the fact and prop up your elbows in an effort to steady yourself. 

“such a naughty girl,” he collects a bit of your arousal on his fingers before lifting them to your mouth. he pushes them into your mouth and you happily swirl them around on your tongue, sucking them clean. it pulls another moan out of you, and you’re not sure if it’s from the nickname or the act itself, either way he’s making you feel so pathetic. 

“you like that, huh? you like being my naughty girl,” his voice goes especially raspy as he returns to your thighs, pressing gentle kisses on the path to your clit. the lack of pressure is sweet but disappointing, you wanted a little bit more action.

“thought you were gonna go harder than this,” you retort. you can feel the confidence die in your throat as he looks up at you. 

“you didn’t answer my question,” he scratches his nails down your thighs to your slight discomfort, “and if you don’t, i’ll be agonizingly slow,” he warns. you don’t want to be putty in his hands, but he just pulls you in so easily. 

“i like it,” you whisper and shut your eyes immediately. you put your arm over your face in an effort to hide, but he’s already up to his feet, pulling it away from your face a moment after.

“what was that, baby? what do you like?” you hear him ask you and the shyness washes over you again.

you whined and forced yourself to answer. “i like being naughty for you,” you moan, you shift your hips in an effort to get more friction, silently asking him to start up again. 

“good girl,” his words melt on your core as he settles himself onto his knees again, he chooses to keep murmuring soft praises against you and it drives you insane.

the compliments go to your head and you think you want to get drunk on his words, the way his voice rasps against your skin as if he’s trying to make sure the words never leave your flesh. 

he arrives at a faster pace sooner than you expect, making you place a hand in his hair. the harder he licks your clit, the tighter your hold gets. the resulting groan from him is heavenly, it adds an extra bit of pressure that has you clutching the sheets for dear life. you no longer hold yourself back from bucking your hips up against his face, he has to force you back down with his hands after the third time you do it.

“mingyu, please please please,” you slur out, you throw your head back to try and fight the building coil in your stomach.

“please what?” he looks up at you with a glistening mouth, eager to get back to the task at hand.

“let me cum, please,” you grit your teeth at the loss of pressure. he bites back a smile and steadies his hands on your thighs, fingers spread across your skin for balance.

“asking for permission, good girl? should I let you?”

“yes, I’m losing my mind gyu, please,” your heart feels like it’s in your throat the moment you respond.

“one question and I’ll let you go, ok? were you avoiding me at the party?” he asks it so easily, it makes you want to scream.

of course you were and of course he noticed.

“yes, I was,” you admit. he tilts his head slightly.

“thought I wouldn’t see you, princess? no matter how much you wanted to look at me?” he mumbles the words against your slit, not breaking eye contact with you for even a second.

“you never see me,” you know it’s too vulnerable, you’re pushing your luck with this response.

“I always do,” his eyes linger on you for a little bit too long, you can see the fondness spread across his cheeks when he smiles. 

it’s disgustingly charming.

you want to see more. 

he doesn’t warn you before he licks a stripe against your entrance, it makes you lift your hips again in shock. he laughs against your thighs at your response, closing his eyes for a moment. “stop trying to get away from me,” he pouts.

“force of habit,” you can’t even look at him but it’s true. this is all a little too foreign for you, your body still has some catching up to do with your heart in terms of accepting mingyu’s attention.

before you can process, the coil is tight once again and you’re desperate to cum, you don’t like the fact that you’ve been involuntarily edged multiple times now. 

your whines are the only thing you can hear and you can only say his name over and over until your thoughts no longer have a way to escape from your mouth. 

you get so caught up in your own pleasure that you’re rocking his head back and forth with your hips in order to coax your orgasm out.

mingyu, bless his heart, has latched his arm around your thigh to help you get there, hoisting your leg over his shoulder and leaning into the movements to tether himself to you.

“fuck, I’m gonna cum,” your voice thins out into a whisper as he concentrates on your clit, the clear area of interest now that you’ve spoken up.

mingyu replaces his tongue with his fingers so that he can look at you. “come on, princess, cum for me,” he whispers. the determined look he gives you, the nickname, and the relentless speed he’s moving at leave you absolutely done for. 

white spots hit your vision and you’re screaming his name, you screw your eyes shut and feel a gush of cum pool underneath your thighs and your pleasure is now twisted into horror.

“fuck, that was so much,” you contort your face at the feeling, you scoot yourself away from the mess in sheer embarrassment.

kim mingyu was able to make you squirt just from giving head during your first time together?

you’d never hear the end of it.

“it was hot as fuck, baby, I promise,” he’s grinning like a kid in a candy store, it makes you cringe but he’s still cute.

“you sure?” he's already licking your thighs clean, he was definitely sure.

“very sure, now let me clean you up. and take off your clothes, you’re sweating,” he’s slightly concerned as he finally stands up, leaving to retrieve a damp washcloth.

once you hear the water running, you’re alone with your thoughts for a minute.

mingyu clearly likes having sex with you, even indulging in multiple nicknames that were making themselves comfortable in your mind.

it was confusing yet exciting all at once, how could he break you down like this so easily?

has this always been the truth? were you always waiting for him to take it too far? or did you just have to find the courage to ask him for yourself? 

all of these thoughts return to the back of your mind as he reappears after a minute or two with said item, standing over you for a moment.

you realize that you’re still clothed and let out a small gasp to his amusement, you quickly discard your clothes on the floor. 

he finally joins you on the bed, knees caging your body to help you clean up. “good girl,” he begins to wipe you down gently, taking his time to carry out a thorough job. 

“these nicknames are so,” you trail off. he gives you a patient look, not forcing you to answer until you’re ready. 

“so new,” you arrive at the answer a few seconds later with squinted eyes. 

“i’m testing them out. nothing is permanent,” he offers. 

you don’t want him to change his mind, the idea of being his princess is viable, it becomes more realized in each passing moment. 

“well, i assume you don’t want to be in a relationship,” you watch him with your hands across your chest, suddenly a bit self conscious. 

“that would be wrong,” he doesn’t look up, he simply wrings the washcloth in his hands. 

“what?”

“I haven’t been with anyone casually in a long time, I want to be in a committed relationship.”

“then how do I fit into this?”

“I always thought you were pretty, stubborn as fuck but pretty,” he seems to recall past arguments with a scoff, “but I know when I’m not wanted, y/n. I wasn’t gonna force myself onto you,” he doesn't look up at you.

“right,” you nod solemnly. it makes sense. why try when it’s clear what the outcome will be?

“and we were always mad at each other over dumb shit, I just let that idea die. how do you feel?” he finally looks at you, all other movements cease to just look at you with those pretty eyes of his. 

“same reason, it was just mentally easier to be mad at you. better than rejection, I guess?” you’re processing it as you say it out loud.

“we’re both pathetic, huh?” he giggles and you finally let yourself go. it’s nice to finally agree on something for once, to let the air be clear of any resentment.

“just a little. god, they’re gonna lose their shit over us,” you whine, placing your hands over your eyes.

“hey, hey, we don’t have to tell anyone anything yet,” he reassures you while removing your hands from your face. “we haven’t even gone on a date, we can take our time,” he kisses your cheek in an attempt to make you smile, it doesn’t work.

you sigh at the idea of a potential dating timeline. “right. what happens when we look like we don’t hate each other the next time we hang out? the lack of tension would be almost too obvious,” you’re overthinking and he tries to quiet the fears with a peck to your lips.

“we‘ll be fine, baby,” he smirks against your lips and kisses you once more. “what if I don’t want them to know, huh? what if I want you all to myself?” his hands trail down to your chest, slowly kneading your breasts to your surprise.

you don’t fight the groan that escapes your lips, mingyu smiles knowing that he’s broken your brain out of its anxious trance.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you sigh out, he flops his head against your chest and finally takes in the weight of everything, laying next to you. 

you both take in the silence and you decide to run your fingers through his hair. he moves accordingly and lets out a content sigh at your choice.

“mingyu?” you break the silence.

“yeah?”

“i’m sorry about tonight. what I said was cruel,” you try to express yourself as earnestly as possible. it was only right that starting fresh with each other meant building a new foundation of honesty and trust.

“I forgive you, baby. you were right, anyways,” he grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your palm before intertwining your fingers together. 

“it was still mean.”

“well, I’ll tell you what, I still haven’t kept my promise of fucking the shit out of you,” you blush at him remembering your words. “so let’s do that instead of going back and forth, ok? I promise I’m fine,” he cradles your face in his hands and you’re acutely aware of how calm it makes you feel.

his eye contact still makes you a bit nervous, but nervous in a way where you want him to keep looking, you want him to keep accepting you with his sweet eyes. 

“okay,” you finally feel more relaxed at the sight of him, the tension leaves your face and he notices it immediately. 

you’re broken out of your trance when his phone rings. he’s clearly annoyed until he sees who it is and flashes the screen toward you.

you smile and your eyes widen. 

it’s seungcheol.

he answers the phone while stroking your cheek with his hand. “hey, yeah, I got her back home. I don’t know why she’s not picking up your calls,” he responds in between pauses and looks at you with a knowing smirk.

you feel your cheeks heat up again and you flip your head into the pillow. your ass is now exposed, a costly mistake when you feel his hands travel over your skin. you hear mingyu “mhm” and “yeah” his way through the rest of the call while occasionally squeezing your ass, it was terribly cocky of him.

“okay, talk to you later,” he hangs up and you hear him place his phone on your nightstand.

“hey, pretty,” he leans down to your ear and you groan.

“oh god, I didn’t text him,” you sigh at the idea of getting a lecture from seungcheol.

“it’s fine,” he flips you over with a short grunt. 

“it’s not fine,” you pout to the point where he can’t help but pinch your cheek.

“I just covered for you and I still want to fuck you, unless you still need convincing,” he takes his hand from your face and places it over his erection. it feels too big under your hand and your heart starts racing.

“shit,” your breath hitches. “okay, go for it.” 

“you’re so fucking cute,” he kisses your forehead before stripping down.

“I am?” you catch your breath at the sight of his chest.

“yes, and I’m about to enjoy every single second of this.” 

[yukkireo]

how bachisagi fuck their fists inside the facility while staying bitchless. cw: bachisagi masturbating, filthy thoughts, cum tagging.

isagi: he's proper for the most part and can keep his libido at bay, he cares more about football than anything so when he does get horny, he feels agitated and all that pent-up frustration turns into anger.

his level of arousal matches the amount of goals he can make. one score would be enough to prompt him an orgasm as a reward. two goals puts him in a frenzy where he thinks he deserves to tug harder on his cock. isagi purposely scores three goals during practice because having a really high ego before pumping on his cock sends his body into overdrive. his god complex kicks in and he doesn't just feel deserving of a release, he owes it to himself to pump every last drop and empty his balls.

isagi would go to the bathroom, feet heavy, strides spacious, freshly covered in a thin layer of sweat, adrenaline still running in his veins. he doesn't bother to cup his cock, he goes straight into choking his shaft and wringing it, teeth clenching at the dry friction before spitting obscenely onto his palm and smacking it back on his cock.

he'd have his back press flush against the wall of the bathroom stall, furiously fisting his cock back and forth, watching the head disappear in his hand and poke out at every flick, muscles tightening. he doesn't know he's cumming if not for the visual aid. he's on the edge for so long, he was on the brink of cumming since he took his cock out.

he's still hard and he gets even hornier because fuck, he can last for so long and stay this big and his stamina is just insane, he could fuck a pussy for hours— no, destroy it completely and he'll still be able to keep at it, his heartbeat is in his ears as he tugs and tugs, lungs heavy, panting. "fucking take it, take my cock." he chokes out, furiously stroking. "ahah, you're so wet with my cum." between his fingers' sticky, gloopy cum his cock drooled out and his hips snaps into an erratic stutter. "fuck, gonna blow a big one— fuck, all this load in your cunt. gonna fuck my cum into your womb with my cock— cumming, 'm cumming."

bachira: is a shameless pervert who likes to mark his fucks even before coming into blue lock. he has a fetish for cumming outside, he doesn't care so much for creampies as much as he likes cumming on girls to mark them. which is exactly why he has this obsession to blow his load on walls, watching his sticky cum cling to the wall, it's so fucking filthy and disgusting, he's grown addicted. he masturbates every day, making sure to mark a different stall every time. he explodes on the door on the off-chance somebody might be able to notice it.

he's messy, bachira is really fucking messy and since no one's around and watching him, his mind just wanders as he presses his palms against the walls on either side of him as his thick, hard cock drags across the surface of the bathroom stall, he's addicted to the sensation of the cold, smooth surface of the stall and the soft, warm feeling of his jersey shirt, cock trapped between the wall and his tummy. he wants to see how high his cum can tag the wall so he keeps one of his eye open, jaw slack, looking fucked out with a hazy look. he's such a whore, bachira whines— beady precum leaking. "let it all out, haa— can't hold it in." he'll have his head against the skin of his forearm that's propped against the wall in front of him, licking the sweat from his upper lip. he continues fucking his fist until his cock is shooting cum, he gets louder, hoping somebody outside fucking hears how absolutely wrecked he is from just his hand milking him dry. "oh, s'much." yes, yes. he'll come back tomorrow and defile another stall.

[corruptionasart]

I followed for video game corruptions. Don't think I've seen much of those of late.

damn sorry i'll make sure you get a refund

Anyway i'm also gonna go ahead and lump this in here since it's related:

So I'll forgive people for either coming in late to the party or just not paying attention to how this blog has changed over the years but I've spoken several times in the past about how rom corruption over time has become really boring to me. That's why over the past few years I've posted less and less of it.

Back when I started doing this stuff and really committed to it back in like 2016-2018 it was great, I started this blog as an excuse to do more of it, playing retro games and breaking them was, and honestly still is a lot of fun. Unfortunately I made the mistake of running a queue which meant I needed things to fill that queue which meant I was essentially turning art into content, and over time that took its toll and I burnt out hard on it. There was a point where basically all my free time was spent on some aspect of running this blog, whether it was playing the games or going through recordings to make gifs or tagging posts etc.

Over the past couple weeks actually I've been going through all my old ShareX screenshot folders (btw i wholeheartedly endorse sharex it rules and i donate to its patreon) I've been collecting all the screenshots I've made of rom corruptions (somehow I hadn't done this before) and what I've noticed is exactly what I noticed all those years ago, it's kinda all the same.

You might disagree with that but again I've been seeing this stuff for like 8 years now and there's only so many times I feel like I could post something like that before it gets stale, the same goes with the gifs and videos. Again, I do enjoy making that stuff but I just feel like I personally feel like I need to make a change.

I'll get into the AI part of what I said this morning in a following post but I should be a bit more clear that the collage stuff I've been doing and anything else that I plan to do in the future isn't meant to be entirely about showcasing ai art or glorifying it, it's just another piece of the puzzle. I mostly made the post about ai stuff mostly because I wanted to see what the reaction would be in this community to that specifically. I wasn't expecting the "anything that isn't rom corruption is off-topic and shouldn't be posted on this blog" contingent. I may very well make another blog just about the ai stuff because I think there are things I could talk about with it with regard to pushing against the tide of garbage and making something new with it, idk yet.

THe last thing I want to say regarding rom corruptions specifically, though, is that it's interesting to me that despite the fact that I've posted the link to the corruption wiki multiple times now and people clearly do have an interest in this stuff that hardly anybody is out there posting this stuff either here or anywhere else online (at least outside of the Vinesauce community, which I feel goes for a very different vibe in what they do.)

The tools are out there, they haven't really changed all that much for years apart from being supported for more modern systems, and yet nobody's posting anything.

Maybe I should make another proper tutorial on my whole process, try to push harder to get people to make stuff.

Sorry if this response is kind of incoherent, I've been called away a lot in making this, I'll try to make the next few posts shorter

[huskynotwolf]

The Watcher’s ‘Pet’

—by TheCrazyHusky

Angst and possible violence, viewer discretion is advised

(Appreciate it if you reblog and tag #fuckyouwatcher and/or #eyesandearsbutcursed on the reblog! Hehe. This is a test run I did for howling stars au, so no need to take it seriously)

Martyn groaned. Someone was in his room.

He half expected them to be Cleo, given that her old roommate was moving out of his room after realising his name wasn’t Winter. In fact, he’s been going on, living life as someone named Winter for a year already with the winners. Then, it’s twelve at midnight. No way Zombie Girl’s awake.

Footsteps. Startled, Martyn jerked awake, pounced from his bed and onto the floor and grabbed the nearest weapon. He knew that long pole wasn’t going to do much damage, but if he swung it at enough velocity he could break a few legs (Pearl had tried this after she refused to give his sword back to him; she ended up staying in her bed for weeks).

Instead, in front of him was something he hated the most. A Watcher. Those little idiots would throw the Lifers and Winners around constantly, game after game. And that includes Grian.

“Oh my.” The Watcher murmured. “I didn’t think you would be so…handsome.” They made a strange purring sound, which confused Martyn. They dare barge into his room then say he’s cute?! Only Scott’s allowed to say that!

“I don’t think so. And you better get out of here unless you want a broken skull. I could do more than just win games and lie,” he growled. The Watcher only smiled, masking their glee. “Oh, but you’ll be perfect. Perfect for something I’ve been planning. Especially for you.” They offered.

That made the coral-overgrown man pause. Uncertain, he gripped his stick tighter. “You better not throw me in another game. Moon’s gonna be mad.” He tried with as much ferociousness as he could muster, which, according to Scott, only made him cuter. Mistake, then, he thought to himself.

Suddenly the Watcher lunged. They knocked his stick out of his hands and pinned him to his bed. The stick clattered on the floorboards and rolled a distance away. “Oh, Moon doesn’t control me. And neither does you.” They sneered, slipping their hand over his throat. He hissed, then twisted sideways, trying to wriggle out of their grip. However, they managed to sit right on top of him so he was crushed under the weight of a full-grown Watcher. He grunted in surprise as the weight crashed on him, making him collapse onto the bed. Worst of all he hated it. He hated the feeling it gives him: it made him blush, as he only did it with Scott. His fellow Mean Gill was only allowed to play with him this way, and if any one else tries they’ll answer to Scott’s dragon avatar.

But he wasn’t here to defend him now. Martyn was on his own. And he was losing.

“W-what do you want? Haven’t you taken enough from me?” He growled, struggling to free himself from the Watcher. They grabbed his flailing left hand and studied it, every finger and bone. Then he gripped it hard, then leaned into my face.

“I want your soul. Your life.” They said menacingly. “You were the Watcher’s favourite, someone who was always mentioned. Of course, this is an honour. Becoming post-immortal, with the cost of your soul. Jealousy is a great power, a power that pushes you forward.” They moved the hand they had on his throat, to his cheeks and pinched them. Martyn winced.

“B-but…” he gasped, realising he’d been holding his breath the whole time. He struggled to breath while simultaneously trying to get away from the Watcher as fast as possible. Obviously that did not happen. The Watcher knew all of his plans.

“Give it up.” They said. “Give him up.” They smiled, knowing they’d hit a sore spot. Martyn paled when they said that, the colour draining from his face. “You-you can’t threaten to take him away!” He cried, barely able to suppress the panic and fear that was building in his stomach. “H-he’s my friend! He’s the only proper one friend I have since you took—took Ren away from me.” He gasped, choking on his words. Tears began forming on his eyes as he mentioned Ren. His beloved King had been taken away from him after Pearl’s game, and he never saw him again. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

The Watcher, like all others, of course, was completely ignorant of his feelings. However they did feel satisfied from the feedback he was giving. “And does anyone care? No.” They snapped. They tapped a piece of red coral growing out from his neck, then watched as Martyn tried to squirm out of their hands. “L-leave me a-alone.” He said between efforts of slithering out of their grip. The Watcher, still directly on top of him, shifted and swiftly moved a hand over his eyes. Sleepiness quickly washed over him, making his eyes heavy.

“No,” he muttered, barely audible. He didn’t dare close his eyes, not knowing whenever they might do something to him. Something he didn’t like at all. Fighting back the drowsiness that tugged in his head, he made one last attempt to escape. He tried pushing the Watcher off his stomach where he was sitting, but they didn’t budge. They seemed comfortable, in fact, to see someone suffer. (That’s the upright definition of a Watcher, though, isn’t it?)

“Scott-“ he gasped, clawing at the bedsheets. “P-please. Save me.” He begged, panting, drawing air. “I-I need help. Please,” he begged, while they watched, seemingly amused. “Oh, he can’t hear you. Don’t bother wasting your breath.” They smiled, unnerving Martyn. He shivered, then weakly murmured, “he won’t abandon me. He-he’s my friend.”

“But is he?” The Watcher asked. That one comment left the man speechless. He gaped at them, offended and hurt. Before he could snap any resort back at them, they grabbed a piece of cloth and jammed it on his mouth, temporarily gagging him. His eyes widened and he struggled to spit it out. They just shoved it deeper into his mouth the more he tried to remove it. “Mmm! Mmmmmm mmm mmmm!” He screeched, muffled by the makeshift gag they made. They waved his unintelligible screaming away and gripped both of his hands, holding them so tight he thought they would be ripped off his arm. At least he hoped that won’t happen.

The Watcher began chanting. He struggled, but an invisible force held him firm and tight to his bed, unwilling to give over to him. Purple swirls of glowing light began forming by his wrists, and the more they spoke as the spell goes on, the beams of light began solidifying. At first they resembled wristbands. Then thicker bracelets until Martyn figured out through his woozy brain that those weren’t bracelets but cuffs. Why would they want cuffs?

They went on, and a long, thick chain formed, connected to the cuffs. However, Martyn was too dazed to do anything. The drowsiness they inflicted made him sluggish, unable to resist and fight back. He whimpered, watching as the Watcher finish their casting. The cuffs and chains solidified completely, and they glowed purple. Grian will definitely ask why he got that thing. A whine rose in his throat.

Suddenly the door burst open. Both him and the Watcher snapped towards the sound. He suspected it was Scott, who might have heard his telepathic messages, but instead, Pearl barged in, dual-wielding her sickles. She saw the Watcher, let out an unholy screech and launched at them. Startled, they disappeared in a poof, and his hands fell back by his side. She ended up landing on Martyn’s lap.

Disappointed, she turned to glare at the Watcher’s hostage. She immediately noticed the cuffs and knew what was wrong. She sighed and removed his gag, and he coughed. “Hurrg,” he moaned. She rolled her eyes. “What happened?” She said, tired. “Explain these,” she pointed at the cuffs using her sickles.

Instead of replying, he fell over and passed out.

[nie7027]

{{I've had this draft saved literally since April 18th 2019 but I didn't post it back then because I wanted to finish the super5 headcanons first... which i of course havent done.

But I think it's finally time I post it.

I reread it recently and I don't think it's as spoilery of other wips as I had initially and thought and its related to the other stuff I'm gonna post soon so why not use it as a preview for it?

Anyway it finally is here. I hope you enjoy this tiny list of headcanons}}

Mob psychobook headcanons

These could actually apply to any social red but Psychobook is the one i know besides Tumblr (and no, none of them have tumblr...maybe just Seri)

Teru's

Teru's used to be the typical popular kid psychobook where used to he the typical popular kid psychobook where he posted pics of the parties he went("Crazy night guys, thanks for inviting me!), his soccer matches ("Another victory for Vinegars soccer team. You are welcome~") and trainings(even some from his personal training when it didnt end that bad), the food he ate at the new trendy coffe he went and the obligatory selfie every couple of days that will make his notifications blow up everytime with likes and comments

Now he sometimes still does those but he posts mostly pics of nice sights he finds on his bicycle routes, pics of him hanging with his friends/new family or the lastest fuck up Reigen did

He, Shou and Tome are invested in a meme competition. Whoever makes Mob laugh the loudest wins. Sadly they have to be with him so he can see them.

Rarely Terus posts a pic of him & Mob (or Mob alone) with the emoji equivalent of a gay keysmash and when he does it drives crazy the whole alumnae of Vinegar middle school, everybody wondering who is that bland looking guy and what Teru meant by that.

Mob's

Mob's used to be empty but now it's filled with pics Tome posts of their karaoke outings, pics where the body improvement club tag him and Terus, shous and tomes memes

But he rarely uses it and doesnt get to see them. Still he likes the milk memes teru found (do those even exist?)

Thats why he doesnt know he has basically become the body improvements star. Captain musashi and the others tend to photos of him with inspirational quotes (warrio male kind of) in the club page to attract new reclutees

After terus mysterious post a swarm of Vinegar students tried to add him as friend

But Mob thinks they are internet weirdos and ignores their invitation

It's actually Dimple who uses it more

Ritsu's

Ritsus used to be th pristine psychobook profile proper of a student council member. He had added the majority of the school and he made posts of the schools next event, resolutions the council had reached after their last session or answered any question any student could have but was to shy to personally ask.

His most personal post where the seldom book quotes he posted from the lastest book he read and liked.

Everything changed with Shou

The students didnt know who he was but suddenly this random kid started to tag Ritsu in even more random posts(most of them hamster related...Ritsu liked all of them?) and post pics of him AND RITSU doing the weirdest things you could imagine

Theres a pic of Ritsu with the most ridiculous susprised face(thats the most expressive people have seen him?? Whats going on?) in front of a microwave in flames. The fact shou edited it with a caption saying "And he didnt believe me eggs could explode" didnt help

Theres another of them hangin at the tallest part of the city (people dont undertsmad how is that even possible? You cant even acces that area)

And theres even a blurry pic that looks like they are running away from a police car

Shinji, who knows whats Ritsu is truly capable of, likes each of those pics

Everybody in Salt middle school is confused. But the only thing they get is Ritsus "Sorry" to Kamuro when the council president makes a blank comment in the infamous police pic.

They quickly recognize Shou as the kid that sometimes flies(yeah FLIES) besides Ritsus classroom or sneaks in the school

Shou's

The only reason Shou made a psychobook profile was to keep in contact with the espers that helped him during the domination arc

But he quickly realizes how useful it is to annoy Ritsu when he is bored

Besides the memes and Ritsu pics, his psychobook is full of interesting facts of different animals and reblogs of drawings from artist he follows and tutorials

As Mob he was invaded by a swarm of vinegar students once he appears in one of Terus pics. He accepts all of them the same way he accepted Ritsus classmates. It ends well for him because that way his drawing are seen by many peoplea and he receives lots of likes.

It takes a while but he finally unblocks Seri one day. Seri likes each and every thing he posts and makes encouraging comments on his drawings.

Serizawa's

Seri had a profile during his isolation days where he added many "friends" (random internet weirdos) with whom he talked about the things he liked and the media he consumed

Once he rejoins society with the Spirits and such cre he makes a new personal profile

He only has his family, the spirits and such crew, his school friends and the super5 added but thats all he needs

He follows many cooking and baking pages and once he learns to cook he saves the recipes he wants to try

He doesnt know if he cried more the day Shou unblocked him or they day Teru put him as his dad.

Minegishis

Minegishi only has the super5, Mob Ritsu, Tome and his coworkers added as friends

He follows many pages about plants and how to take care of them and pages that post downloadable audiobooks for Shimazaki

He rarely posts but he likes all the posts where he is tagged.

His elder coworkers tag him in lovely pictures of flowers with inspirational quotes. He likes those too.

The other super5 make fun of him for this but they secretly like them, especially those that talk about being a good person.

He follows many trolling pages too but never reblogs them. He doesnt want the other to know where he gets some of his humor sense.

Hatori

Hatori follows mostly memes pages, specially those about programming because he can "relate"

He say he understands them. (He doesnt)

He almost fell for the "delete system32 to make you computer faster" joke but his coworkers stopped him. He passed it as him messing around

Shibata's

Shibata follows personal trainers and healthy foods pages

He and Seri swap recipes they find and think the other might like

He saves exercises routines and tries to convince the other super 5 to try them with him.

Specially Hatori, he needs them.

He is only succesful when he finds those routines based on fictional characthers

It doesnt last much

He follows the body improvement club page. He actually sends some of the quotes that end up in some of the Mobs pics.

Shimazaki's

Shimazaki doesnt have a psychobook per se

It's a bot that hatori made to post "uwu" ":3" or "nyas~" every once in a while

The profile pic is the photo they took of Shimazaki wearing the prank glasses

Sometimes the other super5 post photos of their hang outs

"Its our register of Shimazakis progress!" says Hatori

Sometimes it receives messages from internet weirdos and most of them go along the lines of "Weren't you the guy that kidnapped the prime minister?".

The others are horny texts.

They delete all of them.

Tome's

Tomes psychobook can be considered the normalest of the spirits and such crew.

Even though half of her posts are cospirational thories and supposedly aliens sightings

Apart from that she has the normal amount of friends ("Seriously guys, why do you have every random you find added?") and posts a regular amount of pics of her hangouts

Besides the memes. Teru and she share LGBTQ content they find interesting

Seri somehow is the first to know about the lastest news of the videogames they follow and tags her on them

She edits Terus posts of Reigen fuck ups and turns them into memes. The super5, Ritsu and Dimble(using Mobs profile) always like them.

Its on psychobook where she organizes the telepathy club next reunion

She has been nagging Mob and Take to use their psychobooks more so they can see in time what they are planning to do

Takenaka's

Take has enough with the whole wind reading thing. Good luck trying to convince him to make a psychobook profile.

Reigen's

Since his birthday during the separation arc Reigen decided to completeley get away from his psychobook seeing as how little those persons cared for him

But he forgets to delete the app

So one day his phone cant stop blaring with notifications and when Reigen picks it up to see what the hell was going on

He had messages and messages of exfriends congratulating him for his son and saying things like "Wow Reigen, you had it very closeted" "we didnt know you were so private" "who is the lucky mother?"

Teru had put him as his dad

Reigen was having an existencial crisis and needed some comfort so he started searching Seri

Only to find him crying because Teru did the same to him

They ended togeyher as a crying mess sprawled over the couch. Only Dimple got to see them like that

So writing my fanfic "Sunflower" made me think of these headcanons but i couldnt post them then because i hadnt finished the super5 headcanons and didnt want to spoil some things. As you can see this finally shows what Ive been saying of "College funds", "Sunflower" and the "super5 headcanons" taking place in the same universe.

Really, i wrote down a timeline of how these things overlap and can tell you what the s&s crew were doing while shimazaki was fucking around or what the super5 were doing while the crew celebrated terus birthdays.

[burnadicarwoz]

Hello tumblr. I have a question for those who want to help me unscramble my minds inner machinations.

The reason these 6 are lined up is this. Why do I want to either know them or be (cosplay, dressup) as them??

Ok rant incoming, tldr I've never been so obsessed with characters before, or ones that seem to resonate with me so strongly, so I wanna know why I know wanna dress up as all of them and kinda be them.

(Somethingelseyt is here since I wanna be the demon boi and listening to his help song took me back to an abandoned phase in my life, so yeah. Thx for reading and sorry for all the tags :)

(explaining him since he's the only one here with an actual human attached, rest are fictional so)

Main question done, now for specifics. Basically from maya to majima (top-bottom, left to right in terms of obsession) I want in some way to dress up and kinda be them, due to how they all connect to me majorly. Especially maya, she got me looking at buying clothes I wanna be that so much. (I've never worn thigh highs before why do they now look comfy)

I am not used to this however. So I need to know, is this a sign of something? Is there a theme running through this? And most of all how the hell is miku and bocchi here (as a guy who (wants to but) has never watched bocchi the rock;

or engaged in anything voccaloid related but still love hatsune mikus fucking great silly amazing character that I really like (to be specific since it chances from person to person, the innocent, silly, kinda person to dance with a leek miku, I do hope that makes sense and that I'm not going crazy here fuck-)

So yeah. 3am schizo post? Kinda. Genuine? Yeah, somehow. Is the tagging for this gonna be fucked? Hello voccaloid and disco elysium fans, there's your answer. That's all, proper now. Any help is appreciated and have a nice night.

[alieinthemorning]

can you make a short story of the reader getting really stressed with work and ais notices and try’s comforting them and giving them cuddles please?

Little Things Help | Ais

Content: Fluff, Switching POVs, Cuddles & Snuggles, Literal Sleeping Together, Written Before Game’s Full Release, Modern AU

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don't forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work's concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

It was exam week at the Senobium and you had been pouring every bit of yourself into studying. Rising early and sleeping late. You had even gone so far as to record your notes and listen to them as you sleep to maximize your productivity.

Whatever you could do, you did it,

but because you were so focused on that, you had failed to realize other important things. Like taking care of your hygiene, eating and getting a proper amount of sleep.

Ais, however, was easily more observant than you, so when he had come to visit you, he immediately could tell something was off.

First, he had to let himself in with his own key instead of you greeting him with a kiss.

Then, there was the state of your home. At the very least, he hadn’t been cleaned in two weeks.

And finally, you. Hair unkempt, clothing comfortable but obviously overworn and your smell.

But he commented on none of it, simply giving you a peck on the temple before leaving you as you were.

He worked from the rooms farthest away from your bedroom first, cleaning and straightening things up for you. He assumed that you wanted to clean, but the mess stressed you out and instead just compounded.

He didn’t blame you.

Once the other rooms were done, he reentered your room to assess the situation.

Clothes on the floor, bed undone, trash on the floor and curtains drawn. Despite the mess, your bed didn’t look like you had spent much time in it.

“Okay, so I don’t have to change the sheets…” He nodded to himself, as he began collecting your clothes.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that…” You murmured, eyes flicking back and forth from him and your work.

He just smiled and continued, so you said nothing as you returned to your work.

Ais had been awfully quiet since he’d shown up, didn’t say a word, and yet here he is cleaning.

You glanced at your phone, slapping a hand over your month as the time stared back at you in the face.

He had been over for 3 hours? And you hadn’t said a word to him!

Glancing back at your cracked door, you bit your lip. Surely you could take a bit of a break? At least so that you weren’t being a terrible host and significant other.

But just as you stood up, holding back a groan due to your aching muscles, Ais returned.

“Oh good, you’re up. Come with me.” You raised a brow, but listened nonetheless.

You were surprised when he had led you into the bathroom, gesturing to the bath, which was steaming and ready to be had.

You bit your lip. Did you really smell that bad? Enough that he had to run you a bath. How embarrassing—

“Before that pretty little head of yours starts going—I did not make you this bath because you stink, I did it because you deserve it. Picked up a bit, ran a bath—I’m gonna wash your hair too—you know, little things to help.”

You smiled, heart melting. How did you end up so lucky, you’d never know.

“Now go ahead and do what you gotta do before getting in the bath, leave your clothes outside, I’ll put’em in the wash.” He said as he once again pecked your temple. “Oh—you want pajamas or inside clothes to put on after?”

“Inside clothes please.” He nodded, then left you to it.

Grabbing a towel, you quickly stripped out of your strong smelling clothes. You grimaced as you left their clothes outside the door.  

“I can’t believe I let it get this bad…” You sighed, as you grabbed your toothbrush.

Ais took his time cleaning your room. Opened the curtains to let in some natural light, cleaned up all the trash, put your clothes in the wash and made your bed for your upcoming nap.

The only thing he didn’t touch was your desk. He knew you had a system for things, and you hadn’t cleaned it up before you left, so he’d rather not mess with whatever process you were in the middle of.

After a quick scroll on his phone, answering a few texts from Vere and Leander, he made his way back to you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as he laid your clothes on the counter.

“A lot better. Thank you.” You replied, eyes blissfully closed.

Ah, you were falling asleep and fast.

“Alright, Sparrow, let me wash your hair and then we can take a nap.”

“Fine…”

You were like putty in palms, letting him move your head this way and that. Large hands, gently against your scalp, almost put you back to sleep if he hadn’t been talking to you about the most mundane things.

Like how things were going at his tattoo shop. Vere’s and Leander’s antics. Even a little update on Mihn and Kuras.

And then he was done, helping you out of the tub and cleaning it as you drowsily moisturized and put your clothes on.

He gently guided you to your freshly made, very inviting bed. You laid down first, making grabby hands when he didn’t join you.

“Ais…” You whined.

He chuckled. “I’m coming. Just let me change first. You know you’d hate me late if I got into the bed with my outside clothes on.”

“Well—yeah, you’re right.”

He quickly changed into a pair of sweats and a plain tee, then finally joined you, perfectly slotting against you.

“Next time things are getting too hard to keep up with, just call me, okay?” Seeing the frown curl against your lips had him cutting you off before you even spoke. “And before you apologize, don’t. As your partner, this is the bare minimum of what I can offer. I want you to lean against me. Can you do that for me, Sparrow?”

You hesitate a moment before nodding. “I’ll try.”

And for the third time that day, he kissed your temple. “That’s all I can ask for. I love you.”  

Grabbing the hand that was closest to you, you kissed his fingers, knuckles then palm.

“I love you too. So much.”

This kinda got away from me lol (really wasn't expecting to write 1000+ words but here we are).

Kinda forgot that I like writing domestic things.

And fluff lmao

Also sorry of the constant POV switching was confusing! Just kinda…that's how the story wanted to be written haha.

Anyhow, I hope that the person who requested this enjoyed and thank you for requesting!

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist | 500 Follower Event

[broodybuck]

Title: Rolling in the Deep

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: E

Tags: 18+ explicit smut, summer camp AU, no powers AU, pre-serum Steve, top Bucky, bottom Steve, public sex

[ao3 link]

Bucky Barnes is the talk of the camp this summer. He's so pretty, both the girls and boys like him. Steve understands. When he first saw those bright blue eyes, dark wavy hair, and rosy pink lips, his knees practically caved in.

The thing is, Bucky's already a man. Not a boy like Steve. Even well into his teenage years, Steve can't make a muscle form in his scrawny limbs. He's small, has poor lungs — bad health in general.

But Bucky, he's already filling out. He's a few inches taller than Steve, has stubble that covers his entire jawline, and a body that's like a sculpted work of art.

Steve salivates every time he gets a glimpse of the man's smooth skin down by the lake. It's the reason Steve's spending so much time by the water. He actually hates swimming, is shit at it, he only moseys around the lake each morning to catch a peek at Bucky.

Cause yeah, Steve kind of learned the guy's schedule and Bucky goes for a swim every morning. And see, it's okay because Steve knows nothing is ever going to happen. He's well aware Bucky's so far out of his league it's ridiculous. Which is why there's no harm in watching these morning swims. Steve's just indulging in his little fantasies. It's innocent... at least until he gets back to his bunk.

So to say Steve is surprised the day Bucky notices him is an understatement. He should have saw it coming since they're usually the only two out by the lake this early in the morning.

Bucky emerges from the water and Steve shamelessly watches every drop of water run off his gorgeous body. Except this time, Bucky's headed straight for him. Steve's lying on a lounge chair a few feet back from the water.

"Hey man," Bucky greets him.

"Oh, hey," Steve sits up frantically, feeling like he's been caught.

"What're you doing?" Bucky asks.

"Oh uh, just sunbathing," Steve lies.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him.

"With a shirt on?" Bucky points.

Steve looks down at his attire.

"Well, I burn pretty easily."

"Hm," Bucky says like he's deciding if he wants to believe him or not. "That why you're always out here so early?"

And shit, he has been caught. But he noticed him... every time, Steve thinks. He's immediately flattered and terrified.

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to intrude on your time," Steve stammers.

He jumps up from the chair about to sprint back to his room when Bucky stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I wasn't saying you had to leave."

Steve turns back and shakes his head.

"I'm sure it's weird that I'm always out here when you're trying to get a swim in."

"Actually, I've been wondering when you were gonna join me," Bucky says.

Steve blinks and tries to make sure he's not dreaming. But no, the more he stares the longer he sees Bucky smiling at him. The longer he feels Bucky's hand on his shoulder cause shit, he's still touching him.

Steve glances down at Bucky's hand and can only gulp loudly when Bucky moves closer. His hand trails down to Steve's elbow so softly it tickles.

"So, you gonna join me?"

"I um, can't really swim," Steve says.

"I can show you," Bucky croons and it sounds so delicious, Steve's knees go weak again.

The next thing Steve knows, he's in the middle of the lake with Bucky Barnes, the hottest guy at summer camp.

Steve has ridden his shirt — after Bucky insisted. Now every time Bucky tries to show him a proper technique and Steve wobbles sideways, Bucky catches him. His fingers press into Steve's bare skin and it makes him shiver a thousand different ways.

And Bucky keeps getting so close and touching him even when Steve's not falling over. And dear god, Steve can't take it. He's getting hard.

It's not long before Bucky notices, his thigh — of all things — grazes his boner and when Bucky feels it, a sinful grin wraps across his face.

"Sorry, I..." Steve apologizes immediately but can't think of an excuse that's not the truth.

"Don't be sorry," Bucky says and brushes the back of his hand down Steve's face. "I told you, I've been waiting for you to join me."

Steve stares a little shell-shocked because since when is Bucky interested in him? Bucky only smiles at Steve's shocked expression and gets closer. Both hands hold Steve up under his ribs, he slides a thigh in between Steve's legs and Steve has to resist the urge to whimper.

"It's Steven, right?"

Steve blinks, he knows his name?

"Steve is uh, fine."

"Steve," Bucky corrects with a smile, "Have you ever done stuff with a guy?"

"Yeah," Steve's voice cracks.

Part of him wants to tell Bucky he's never done it with a guy as hot as him. He's only had one boyfriend before who was a skinny nerd just like him.

"So you know what you're doing," Bucky purrs.

"Sort of."

"I can show you," Bucky says again, his grin growing wider, and then he cups Steve's ass with both hands.

Steve yelps, embarrassingly, he wasn't expecting it. And his arms wrap around Bucky's neck on impulse. Bucky holds him close.

"I wanna show you, Stevie," Bucky breathes into his neck before kissing him there. "I've been watching you every morning too."

"Really?"

"Yeah, baby," Bucky kisses down his skin. "I shouldn't even tell you the things I've been thinking about doing to you."

"You can tell me," Steve says weakly.

Bucky picks his head up to smile at that and then kisses him hard on the mouth. Steve sinks into the kiss, squeezing his legs around him, as his boner presses into Bucky's stomach.

Bucky's fingers slip under the waistband of Steve's bathing suit and pull it down. Steve unwraps his legs and lets his suit fall to the bottom of the lake. Bucky pulls him to his chest. Steve hooks his legs around him again. He gasps when Bucky skims a finger down his crack, teasing his hole.

"Sorry, I—" Steve starts.

"Sound so sweet," Bucky finishes and it catches Steve so off guard, he's not prepared when Bucky nudges a fingertip inside.

"Uhmmnn."

Bucky hushses him, "Gonna make you feel so good." He edges the finger in a little more before he adds, "I've done this a few times."

Steve can't help but laugh a little. He imagines Bucky has sex all the time with anyone he wants and yeah, Steve's totally okay with being one of them. He can't believe he gets to have Bucky's fingers working him open. In the middle of a lake nonetheless. This shouldn't be so hot.

Steve is steadily whimpering by the time Bucky has three fingers inside him. He can feel Bucky shifting to shove his shorts down. And Steve shivers with anticipation. He's about to have Bucky Barnes's cock inside him.

Bucky presses the head against him and Steve's so fucking ready for it, he nearly begs but then Bucky kisses him again. And it distracts Steve so well, he moans into Bucky's mouth.

"Fuck," Bucky huffs, "Need this, baby. Tell me you're ready."

"Yes, fuck yes."

Bucky pushes the tip in and Steve already groans. Bucky's big, oh god he's really big, Steve thinks as the man starts pushing in one inch at a time.

"It's okay," Bucky says when he's halfway inside, "It'll fit, baby."

"Fuck," Steve slurs as Bucky bottoms out.

Steve feels so full, his eyes roll back for a moment. Bucky waits a moment, holding Steve steady on his cock. He locks eyes with him.

"You okay, Stevie?"

Steve nods and then tries to move, but he barely manages a wiggle out of his hips with how thick Bucky feels. Bucky chuckles.

"Don't worry, baby. Let me do it. I'm gonna fuck you so good," Bucky says.

And he does. He lifts Steve's hips to guide his ass up and down the length of his cock before he starts pumping into him as well.

It's not long before Steve's reduced to pure moans. And he's never been great at lasting so he gets dangerously close within minutes.

"Wait, fuck. I'm so close, shit," Steve babbles.

Bucky kisses him without stopping. Instead, he ramps up the speed and fucks him even harder. He shoves Steve's ass down to meet every powerful thrust. Steve has to break the next kiss to moan again.

He clings on, burying his face in the crook of Bucky's neck as he feels the last bit of self-control slipping away. He comes, crying into Bucky's neck.

Bucky hasn't slowed down. He grunts now, his grip nearly slipping as his movements falter.

"Fuck, fuck," Bucky groans and it's so hot to hear Bucky like this — to hear him losing it when he's inside Steve.

"Fuck," Bucky moans. He thrusts as deep as he can, holds Steve's hips down to the base, and fills him with come.

Their labored breathing becomes the only sound filling the air. Steve picks his head up and looks at Bucky. He smiles tiredly.

"Best fucking summer ever," Steve says.