#i know they're so silly bowl

[wheeboo]

seventeen and saying “I love you” for the first time

PAIRING. seventeen (ot13) x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, slight angst?, headcanons/scenarios, established/implied hidden relationship, idol au WARNINGS. some kissing, consistent terms of endearment, just absolute softness dude. WORD COUNT. 3.4k

requested by anon: hi hiii i love your writings and i see the reqs is open. so how do you think svt would say 'i love you' for the first time? like, they're people who's being supervised all the time and very busy, so they're pretty hesitant about whether the relationship will work out or not but then he realizes that it means so much to him after some time.

notes: i hope i manage to capture ur request well aaaa i’m not confident. for this i wrote a lil scenario under each member instead of the usual long ass descriptions, but i thinki veered off the request oops and they get more silly as you read more LOL. sorry this took such a long time and if it seems repetitive! i started running out of ideas alksjderj

choi seungcheol

“Y/N, you don’t need to𑁋”

“cheol, I insist,” you bring your hands to his shoulders, directly him to lay down on the bed. “just rest up, please. let me cook for us tonight, okay?”

seungcheol could only watch as you disappear into the kitchen, coming back in with a steaming bowl of soup. the constant practice and performances ultimately made the stress hit him at once. and you being you, took this as the opportunity to take care of him.

you sit down at the edge, carefully lifting a spoonful of soup and before bringing it to him, grinning at the satisfied hum that leaves his lips.

as you continue feeding him, you ramble on about your day, and he could only listen. it’s these moments he’s grown to cherish where the stresses of his other life dissipate and he lets himself be taken care of, but these burdening feelings for you lingers. 

you’ve constantly assured him that taking care of him was a way to show that you want this relationship as much as he does, despite all the consequences. it always brings a certain flutter to his heart, almost like a hug he’s always needed. he’s known the feeling for a while now.

he doesn’t realise you’ve finished talking as he sees you stand up, but he’s quick to grab your hand. 

“wait, uh,” he starts, and you see the hesitation flicker in his face for a moment. pursing his lips together, he looks back up at you with nothing but adoration. “you know that I love you, right?”

you blink, nearly dropping the bowl from the way your hands grow limp at his words.

“well,” you smile shyly. “now I do.”

yoon jeonghan

“angel? what are you doing?”

“me?” you ask as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious you were the only person in the room. “just folding your laundry.”

jeonghan can’t help the smile to his face as he enters into the bedroom, placing himself down next to you at the edge of the bed. he could lay down if he wanted to; he finds his body exhausted from rehearsal. but he doesn’t want to lay down yet, at least not without you.

“what do you say I drop by your dressing room before your performance?” you ask him with nothing but hopefulness. 

he lifts a brow. “are you sure? don’t you have work tomorrow?”

you smile at him, folding up his last shirt. “nope. called in sick so I can attend your stage. thought you’d need me to charge you up with energy, you know?”

jeonghan’s heart does a particular leap. for nearly every performance that you visit him at, he finds himself continuously clinging onto you for good energy and support. he does it out of spite, simply because he loves the feeling of your body, your warmth, your love against him, like a constant reminder that you are there, and you are real.

“I think I’d love that very much.” he sits closer to you, snaking an arm around your waist once you place his folded shirt down, pulling you closer to him.

and he knows he’s done for when he hears those giggles leave your mouth.

so he leans in close, whispering something in your ear he has always wanted to say for the longest time now.

“but not as much as I love you.”

joshua hong

no matter what day it was, joshua always finds himself waking up in the mornings before you do. even after an exhausting day of rehearsal the previous night, he still wakes up before you.

his eyes flutter open as he peers in your direction, a soft smile crossing his face at the sight of your chest heaving up and down rhythmically. he doesn’t want to disturb you, but you’re just so darn cute and beautiful, and the rest of the day is fortunately free for the two of you. 

“sweetheart,” he lets a finger poke lightly at your nose, smirking to the way it crinkles from his touch. “wake up, remember it’s my day off today?”

“mmmh,” you grumble, playfully batting away his hand with yours. “ten more minutes.”

joshua knows he can’t get himself to resist you, so he lays back down in bed directly across from you. he doesn’t fall back asleep, instead only lets his eyes wander admiringly over your features, and he thinks he can wake up like this next to you for the rest of his life, even with his busy career. 

he knows the consequences when it comes to love, but he’s willing to love you to himself all he can.

leaning in, he presses a tender kiss to the top of your forehead.

“I love you.” he mutters quietly, and he catches sight of the subtle lift at the corner of your lips.

wen junhui

you find jun napping soundly on the couch. or so you think he is, because the moment you approach up to him, you find a pair of arms lodging around your waist and pulling you into the couch, a surprised yelp leaving your mouth. 

“jun! oh my god𑁋what are you𑁋”

“you’re finally home, my little blanket~”

“you are ridiculous,” you murmur annoyingly, but end up naturally relaxing in his arms anyway like you always do. pressing up against him, you let your head fall to the crook of his neck, where it seems to fit perfectly. “long day today?”

you feel the rise and fall of his chest, a deep sigh leaving his lips. 

“just tired,” he responds. “but better now that you’re here.”

you smile against his skin. “you know you count on me for anything, right?”

there’s some silence, a silence thick with unspoken thoughts, but it’s mainly jun who can feel it. he knows he can, knows he can tell you anything that comes to his mind and that you’ll listen. it’s just... a bit terrifying being this intimate, this in love with you knowing it can jeopardise his career. but he’s already in deep. he knows he is.

“can I tell you something?” he asks, voice laced with nervousness.

he feels you nod in his embrace.

taking in a deep breath, he pulls back to be able to see you.

“I... I love you,” he confesses, feeling the heaviness lift off his heart. “been wanting to say that for a while.”

and if it was possible for your heart to smile as well, nothing stops you from kissing him.

kwon soonyoung

“would we still be together if I was on a five-year long tour?”

“mhm.”

“what if I had to move countries?”

“of course.”

“even if I turn into a tiger?”

“surprisingly, yes.”

a pause.

“...would we still be together if I wasn’t an idol?”

“a million times yes, soonie.” you grab his soft face in your hands, giving a gentle squeeze to his cheeks. “I can assure you we would still be together no matter what.”

that was all the reassurance he needed. soonyoung can’t help the excitement bubbling in his chest as he’s quick to lean in and pepper your face with kisses, causing chuckles to elicit out your lips as you fall down on the couch behind with your boyfriend hovering above you, staring down at you with loving eyes and a goofy, lovesick smile.

“gosh, I love you so much, Y/N,” he mumbles against your lips. “and I’m gonna tell you that for the rest of the night.”

jeon wonwoo

“no, no, what if someone saw us? I should have been more careful, I’m so sorry𑁋”

“Y/N,” wonwoo’s voice is firm and demanding, and you make yourself shut up. “it’s okay.”

“but𑁋”

“darling,” he grabs your hand into his, letting the other drift up to cup your cheek softly. “we’ll be okay, I can promise you.”

“I𑁋but what if this ruins your career?” you ask him, feeling the way his fingers are caressing over your knuckles. it calms you down just a bit. “what if me accidentally holding your hand just...”

wonwoo sighs and leads you over to the couch where you both settle yourselves down next to each other. he knows the probable consequences of getting caught, but he cares more about you than what some stupid news dispatch claims. they can say anything, and he’d still be willing to protect you more than himself. 

“don’t be scared, okay? even if we were caught...” he hesitates, lips forming a thin line as you wait for him to continue. “it still doesn’t change the fact that I want to be with you, because I love you, and I want this. I want you.”

you feel your lips quiver, some streams of tears running down your face. you can’t get the words out, so you bring him in your embrace for a warm hug, hoping to convey how much you love him as well.

lee jihoon

“babe, this sounds great.”

jihoon just smiles proudly, posture leaned back in his chair as he watches your head bob up and down to the melodies and the sound of his beautiful vocals traveling throughout his studio. you have a hand at the tip of his knee, giving him gentle squeezes each time you got more into the music.

if only you knew that you were a source of inspiration for too many of his songs. too many that he could count.  

“thank you,” he says sheepishly. “I managed to whip it up in two hours and was thinking about bringing up with the others.”

“if I love it, I’m sure they will too,” you reach over to grab his hand ressuringly. “and I’m not being biased, I’m serious.”

there’s a particular shift in his grin that you notice. it feels more... fond, moreso admiration even though you should be the one admiring him for this. though jihoon has his challenges in voicing his emotions, sometimes you can just tell from his face.

“okay, I should head home,” you stand up, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “call me later, alright?”

“text me when you get home safe,” he tells you, helping with grabbing your belongings before walking you to the door. once you’re in the door frame, he lowly mutters out under his breath, “...I love you.”

you catch it, but just barely, yet you unconsciously respond with, “I love you too,” before turning back to him with a look of shock and wide eyes. “wait, what?”

xu minghao

a yawn leaves minghao’s mouth as he inputs the code to his apartment. but when he steps inside, he’s immediately met with the familiar aroma of food lingering around him coming from the kitchen. when he walks himself into the kitchen, his eyes grow wide.

“Y/N?” his voice makes you freeze as if you were caught committing a crime, letting his gaze fall to the dining table. “what’s all this?”

“shoot, I didn’t expect for you to come home early,” you scratch at your head, placing down the dish in your hands before walking up to him. “I... uh, tried cooking some of your favourite foods. it was supposed to be a surprise.”

minghao just smiles and approaches up to the dining table with you cowering behind him nervously. his eyes scan over the array of dishes meticulously prepared with love and care, feeling like a fresh wave of home hitting him.

“you know you didn’t have to grow through all this trouble for me.” he turns back to you.

“I know, but I do,” you tell him with a heartfelt smile. “it’s just... a way to show how much I care when you’re gone, since you always come home tired.”

his face only softens. stepping up to you, he places both of his hands firmly at your waist, and he feels you tense up for a split moment before finally relaxing. brushing back some stray hairs from your face, a grateful sigh leaves his lips.

“I love you,” he tells you, suddenly feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “thank you for everything you do for me.”

kim mingyu

“gyu, get off me.”

“no can do.”

“but you have to go to work.”

“you are more important than work.”

you haven’t had your morning coffee, and your puppy of a boyfriend won’t get off of you, finding most of his body sprawled on top of yours so you’re basically flattened to the bed. at least he had the decency to give you some room to breathe and move, but just barely. 

he’s clingy, but not this early in the morning𑁋well it’s usually after you’ve had your morning coffee, but it’s clear you haven’t yet and he’s been glued to you since the moment you woke up. you feel his lips meet the skin of your face, planting soft kisses on your cheeks and forehead to try and coax a smile out of you.

“you’re... suffocating me, gyu.” you squirm just a bit, before his arms circle around you, and you find himself laying right next you on the bed.

“sorry,” he nestles himself up against you. “just don’t want to leave you.”

you run a hand through his messy hair, peering down wonderingly at the way he’s cuddling himself against you. “is everything okay? you’re not usually this clingy. well, you are it’s just𑁋”

“if I say it, will I get a kiss?” he sits up in bed, gazing at you with those desperate eyes that you just have to cave in.

you sigh. “yes, you big boy, I’ll give you any kiss you want.”

mingyu bites at his bottom lip nervously, knowing he has to get it out or else he can’t take it anymore. it’s all that ever clouds his thoughts whenever he takes a single glance at you. he knows it all: the consequences, the hate comments, but the only thing that could break his heart would be to separate from you.

and so he leans in, his breath grazing against the skin behind your ear.

“it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone,” he whispers. “but I love you.”

lee seokmin

“seokie?”

immediately, seokmin takes his attention of his phone to turn towards you, a mixture of worry to his face. he sets his phone on the bedside table to give you his undivided attention. 

“what’s wrong, sunshine?” he asks you, already opening his arms for you to settle in.

you give in, allowing the protection of his arms encircle around you.

“nothing, it’s just...” you glance up at him. “do you think you can sing me to sleep?”

for some reason the simple request was enough to send seokmin’s heart into overdrive. nothing but a wide smile crosses his face as he nods, allowing you to settle back down on the pillow as he props himself up on his elbow next to you.

he starts to hum a slow lullaby, containing a familiar melody of a seventeen song that you recognise. his voice carries an undertone of affection, his words unspoken yet deeply felt. he watches the way your eyes flutter to a close as he begins to reach the end of his lullaby. if it was possible and if you’d let him, seokmin knew he could do this for the rest of his life. he wants to use his voice to not only bring joy to his fans, but to convey the love in his heart. 

at the very last line of the song, he leans in close to be able to whisper in your ear. 

“I love you so much, sunshine. dream about me, okay?”

boo seungkwan

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” there’s a mixture of surprise and a hint of panic in seungkwan’s voice as he notices you standing at the entrance of the rehearsal room. luckily it was only him and his members in the room.

“I was in the area, so... I brought you some food,” you hold up a bag from behind your back. “wish I could have brought more for the other guys, but... yeah.”

his eyes widen from your thoughtfulness as you reach an arm out to transfer the bag from your hands to his, and he swears he can feel his heart swell beyond his own chest. 

you peer behind him to the other guys laughing and minding their own business, while seungkwan in front of you seems completely frozen in time. there’s a blush to his cheeks that you notice and reach out to pinch, making him come back to reality.

you give him a smile. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 

but as you are about to turn around, he exclaims, “wait!”

and when you look back at him, he feels his tongue go dry. he’s been rehearsing this line for the past few weeks𑁋in front of the mirror and everything𑁋but your gaze on him always makes those words land right at the tip of his tongue, unable to come out.

“uh...” then he steps up closer, glancing back towards the guys before back at you. even though it may not be the right time and the right place to say this, he does anyway, “I love you, thank you for the food.”

you can’t help the chuckle to your lips as his face turns even redder, and the kiss that you place to his warm cheek doesn’t help at all. 

vernon chwe

“hey, babe.”

“hey.”

it’s the only exchange you and vernon share before he drops himself on the bed, letting his head rest in your lap, a contented sigh leaving him. naturally, you run your fingers through his hair. you can tell that he’s tired from today.

you and vernon have always had the ability to see how the other feels without words. he can see a quiver to your lips and tell you are frustrated, or you can collapse in his arms and he’ll let you hold him while he’s doing something else to recharge.

but he’s been too quiet lately, you’ve noticed, only exchanging the simple hello’s, goodbye’s, and kisses to each other’s lips without saying anything more since he had to rush work. it’s been troubling you, but him laying in your lap has relieved you... sort of.

“everything okay?” you ask him. “you’ve been... awfully quiet today.”

“yeah, just... work, you know?” he answers, but you can sense the hesitation in his words.

you think for a moment, before asking, “want to talk about it?”

vernon pauses, and you feel like you can physically see him thinking. he sits up from your lap, criss-crossing his legs together before turning around and facing you.

“um, you don’t have to respond, but uh...” he rubs the back of his neck meekly. “...would you freak out if I told you that I love you?”

you stare at him blankly, or lovingly, you don’t know, but you feel your heart doing jumps inside your chest and it’s starting to hurt. 

“I’m freaking out from how long I’ve waited for you to say that.”

lee chan

“I love you, Y/N,” chan announces... to the mirror at himself. “or should it be like, ‘I’m in love with you’ or ‘I want to spend the rest of time’𑁋agh, that sounds so cheesy.”

he brings his hands up to his face frustratingly. why is it so hard to simply say how he feels about you TO you? he’s known how he feels for a long time, even with the other members constantly telling him how he has to be careful and all that, or how something like this could make or break his career, but chan know they’re just looking out for him. 

he’s been torn between his career and your relationship, knowing both are equally important to him. but the longer he’s been with you, the more this feeling bubbles inside of him.

“I’m in... love with you,” chan tests. “I love you with𑁋”

“chan?”

“𑁋oh gosh!” chan yelps out, turning his body around and noticing you through slightly open doorway of the bathroom. 

you furrow your brows, eyes flicking over your boyfriend’s forced smile. “are you okay? I thought I heard muttering.”

“yeah, I was just... rehearsing my speech,” chan pauses for a second. “...just in case we win today?”

you roll your eyes. “cute,” then approach up to him, fixing some of his strands of hair with your finger. “I wish I can make it to your stage to support you, but I know you’ll kill it anyway.”

you tell him something about your work, but chan only keeps his eyes fixated on you. and as you were about to leave, he swiftly grabs your hand.

“Y/N,” chan starts, and you see him noticeably swallow. “you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you turn back to him, intrigued. “I sure hope I do.”

“okay, and since you mean a lot to me, I know you’ve been my number one support,” he continues, feeling all the words spilling out. “and you’re just... so pretty, so funny, you always make me smile, and I think that... I love you. not think! I do... love you.”

you could only stare at him, wide-eyed, pinpointing the vulnerability in his own eyes, and you feel your heart swell enough to bloom a smile on your face.

planting a kiss to the corner of his lips, you utter out, “I love you too, chan.”

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao​​

[sanguineterrain]

about a boy - e.m.

Summary: You've never had a boy in your bed. You're not sure what you're meant to do with one.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x gn!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings/tags: none i don't think? mainly fluff and an overthinking reader (they're so me)

divider by firefly-graphics

There's a boy in your bed.

"M&M?"

You turn your head. Eddie holds the bag of candies to you.

"Okay," you say, and take a blue M&M.

Eddie smiles, about fifteen M&Ms in his own mouth. His attention returns to the screen. You have no idea what's playing.

A boy is in your bed, and he's put a movie on, and now his thigh is pressed against yours, lean and warm.

Eddie's socks are green and have tiny yellow stars on them. He's pulled them over his jean cuffs to keep the cold away. Not that it matters when he has a sleeveless Metallica shirt on.

But Eddie doesn't seem to get cold, anyway. You went for ice cream last week even though it had snowed the night before.

Eddie had paid for your ice cream, which isn't something to look too into. Steve's paid for your ice cream before, because Steve's a nice guy. And Eddie's a nice guy too. So maybe nice people pay for ice cream. And that's all.

Your eyes trace the dip of Eddie's belly, the slice of skin that peeks out between his waistband and shirt hem. His exposed arm and neck is sprinkled with freckles and you can see the edge of the demon tattoo on his breastbone.

Your heart races. That's wrong, isn't it? Looking at Eddie like that? Hoping he'll give you more?

You don't know. You've never had a boy in your bed. There's no guidebook.

Eddie laughs at the screen. You relish in his swelled cheeks and glimpse of fanged canines. You love Eddie's smile; bright and all-encompassing. You can't help but be pulled into his orbit every time you're around him.

You ought to give Robin something for introducing the two of you. A fruit basket, or maybe Vickie Summers in a gift box.

Need curls deep in your chest as you watch Eddie sink further into your pillows. You wonder if he can feel your eyes on him. That would be embarrassing. But maybe he'd be flattered that you're looking at him; that you can't help but.

He's touchy. Affectionate. You're really not, but Eddie takes it in stride. He gives you little half-hugs instead of his usual squeeze-the-soul-out-of-you ones. He bumps your shoulder or simply walks beside you, respecting your space.

And funnily enough, through all that, you've begun to wish Eddie would touch you more.

"'M gonna get more popcorn," he says. "Y'want something else?"

You turn your head in a vain attempt to make it seem like you haven't been mooning over him like a lovesick calf.

"No, no, um, thanks. Thanks."

You cringe at your clumsy mouth. Eddie's oblivious, hopping off the bed and disappearing into the hall.

Are you even allowed to want more? You and Eddie are friends. Maybe even Good Friends, especially after the 'murderous monster tries to swallow Hawkins' crisis died down.

But you don't hang out like this. Where Eddie can see all the Polaroid pictures of trees you thought were good reasons to love the earth and of your mom and of the deer you saw once, and your sky blue wallpaper with clouds painted on it. You wonder if he thinks you're childish or silly.

Why does he even spend time with you? Are you the only one free? Was today a non-Hellfire day and that's why Eddie had agreed to come over? Nothing better to do?

You haven't the slightest idea what's happening in the movie. You should pay attention because Eddie might want to talk about it afterwards, and he'll be cross if you don't know what he's talking about.

Except, that doesn't really seem like Eddie. Still. You've never had a boy in your bed. You don't know if they expect you to pay attention to the movies they play.

You chew on a cuticle. Eddie returns in a couple minutes, climbing onto the bed with his knees. He offers you the bowl of popcorn. You shake your head.

"Everything okay, sweet thing?" he asks.

Oh, don't you just melt over that. You feel like the yellow M&M between Eddie's fingers.

"Yeah, f-fine."

You stare at the foot of space between you. Once, you'd dared to lean on the shoulder of a boy you didn't like that much. Your head hadn't stayed long on his shoulder, and afterwards, you wished you'd been struck by lightning.

What if this is like that? What if Eddie sneers at you and shuffles away. God, you can't handle that. You like this boy in your bed so much, it frightens you.

"This guy, the one in the raincoat." Eddie points. "He's one of my favorite actors. I like the way he talks. You ever get that? Liking the way someone talks?"

You look at him. Eddie looks at you. He's trying to pull you out of your head. He thinks something's worrying you. You're so anxious all the time. And Eddie knows that, so he tries to ground you. You withdraw and Eddie will call out to you and ask you questions. He always sounds lovely. Sometimes, you try to gather the courage to ask him something back. But the words remain lodged in your throat.

"Yeah, I get that." Be brave, be brave. "I like the way you talk."

You wait for lightning to strike.

"Really?" Eddie asks, sounding genuinely curious.

"Uh-huh. You have a nice voice."

Nothing. Not even a rumble of thunder.

"Sweet thing, you're gonna give me a big head," Eddie says with a grin.

He's not teasing you. Once upon a time, you might've thought he was, because it seemed like that's all people were capable of. But Eddie's not. He thinks they're nice, the words you say. You want to say more nice words. You want to keep this boy in your bed.

You also want to close this distance. Be a permanent planet in Eddie's orbit. Be brave.

You stare at that tiny foot of space between you again. You're probably being too quiet and still, and Eddie's probably worried you're stuck in your head again.

So before he can coax you out again, (because he cares about you. He cares about you, and you're just going to have to get used to that, alright?) you scoot an inch.

And another inch. And another.

You move at a glacial pace. You don't think Eddie's picked up on your little scheme. How fiendish you are, attempting to cuddle with the boy in your bed. Wicked!

Now, you're so close you can feel Eddie's body heat. His shirt looks soft and worn. You wonder what he smells like.

You move closer. Now, your chest is touching Eddie's side. He looks at you.

His eyes are dark like the blackest parts of space. If you do this and fail, those eyes might just swallow you up.

You listen for thunder, but the skies are clear.

"What's goin' on, pretty?" he murmurs.

"Do you like me?" you blurt, helpless in his pull.

Eddie's brows lift. He blinks, cocks his head.

"'Course I do, sweet thing."

"No, like." You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, then open them. "You like me enough for a movie, but do you like me enough to let me put my head on your shoulder?"

"Is that all?" he asks, eyes dancing. There's stars in them. "I like you so much, I want your head on my shoulder forever."

Cinnamon. Eddie smells like cinnamon.

You no longer wish to be struck by lightning.

"Oh," you breathe.

Eddie hums and gently taps your head with one finger.

"That what you've been thinking so hard about?" he asks.

"I've never had a boy in my bed," you say.

"'M honored to be the first."

You nod, jittery with hope. "I'm glad it's you."

And then Eddie eases you into his side. It's perfect. It feels like you're young and don't know any better. It feels like you'll never find anything else like it.

Eddie bows his head. His curls tickle your cheeks and shroud you from the rest of the world.

"And will you kiss me too?" you ask.

"As much as you want, pretty."

You think you can get used to having a boy in your bed.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Bleach Men Taking Your Baby to the Grocery Store Headcanons

author's note: yes the premise is random but it's also very cute and perfectly in line with my recent onslaught of baby fever. also, the banners in this post were created by the always amazing @actuallysaiyan!! thank you for the gorgeous banners, babe! 🩷🩷🩷

pairings: kensei muguruma x reader, byakuya kuchiki x reader, grimmjow jaegerjaquez x reader, renji abarai x reader, ichigo kurosaki x reader

warnings: children ages 5 and younger and grimmjow's parenting lmao this is mostly fluff and some mischief mixed in from the babies

Kensei is definitely the tough parent of the two of you, and he relishes in that fact

But goddammit do those baby eyes make him waver

As he carries little Mila into the store, he tells her they're only there for necessities

No candy, no sugary cereals, only what you've tasked him to buy for dinner

Despite being only three and a half, however, Mila has a pretty good idea of how to get her way with Kensei

It's gotten slightly less effective since the pacifiers have been removed from her arsenal, but anything that cracks her dad's tough exterior is remarkable as is

It starts off innocently enough, though soon the way she sings her little song and bops her head around becomes rife with intent

"Daddy, can has hug?" She blinks up at him, holding her arms up

Either he's willfully choosing to fall into the trap, or Kensei is merely blind in the face of his precious girl

"Of course, baby." Kensei picks her up from the cart and kisses her wonderfully chubby cheek, leading the cart behind him as he continues through the store with Mila hooked on his hip

Mila curls up, humming as her eyes scan the shelves for something she wants

"Hold Momma's list for Daddy, okay?"

Mila's little fingers hold the list carefully, and soon Kensei is at a crossroad

"Broth. What kind of broth?" He mutters, fishing his cell phone from his pocket to call you

As usual, it turns into a bit of a squabbling match. He thinks remembering every little detail is silly, and you think you've made this dish so many times he should know you need chicken broth

Kensei is sufficiently annoyed by the time the phone call ends, and Mila strikes then

"Daddy, can has kiss?"

"Yes, baby." She gets a kiss on either cheek, and the kiss she gives his cheek right back is just about the final nail in the coffin

With Kensei holding her, she's able to reach the shelf and snag a little box of animal crackers

"Daddy, can has this?"

Played by the fucking toddler again!! That's three times this week!

"... Don't tell your brothers." Kensei sighs, hanging his head in shame

It's not all bad though; he does get another sweet kiss from his princess

Byakuya is a strict but ultimately fair father

Little Jasmine has grown up under his watchful eye, though through that she's certainly learned just how many of his limits she can press and how to get around them

Going to the grocery store is rare, and even more so if you're not present for the journey

But it's vacation time, and you're busy setting up the cabin for your family's stay, so Byakuya has been tasked with gathering enough groceries to make it through dinner and the morning's breakfast

Byakuya holds Jasmine’s hand and they walk inside together, Byakuya using a tissue to pick up one of the small hand baskets. There's no telling the last time this thing has been sanitized!

“What would you like for dinner tonight?” Byakuya asks the five year old, and Jasmine hums thoughtfully

How can she end the first day of this vacation with a delicious banana split?

Appealing to her father's tastes will increase the likelihood of success, and her father is quite fond of spicy foods…

“Can we have curry?”

The light in his eyes isn't missed by the girl, and she can practically taste an ice cream sundae with a waffle bowl already

“You're becoming more accustomed to spices, I see.” Byakuya hums and begins to survey the store's offerings, whereas Jasmine is mentally preparing her list for dessert

“Daddy?” Jasmine dials up the sweetness in her tone while Byakuya examines the various cuts of chicken on display

“Yes?” He hums

“Can we have a treat tonight?”

“What sort of treat?”

“A surprise treat. Please, Daddy?”

Byakuya pauses. He's no fan of sweets, and in general sugar is limited in the Kuchiki household

But she did say please

“Mm… I suppose.”

Byakuya doesn't meet your eyes when he and Jasmine return from the store with more ingredients for ice cream sundaes than dinner and breakfast combined

He is such a sucker, but he's happy to be played when he receives his banana split with a chocolate syrup drawing of his beloved Wakame Taishi from his darling daughter

Renji tries his best to be a strict father, but his determination wavers frequently. He wanted for many things as a child, and as a parent he doesn't wish to push that same feeling on his child as long as he's capable of providing a warm, loving home

Not to mention, that damn two year is old is just so cute it makes his heart melt at the mere sight of the toddler

“C’mon, honey, gotta get some soup for Mommy.” Renji murmurs as he carefully takes little Rin from his car seat, carrying him into the store on his hip

“Why?” is Rin’s favorite question right now, and Renji’s eye twitches a bit

“Because her tummy is upset.”

“Why?”

“... I don't know.”

“Why?”

“I don't know!”

“Why?”

Renji gently pinches his son's lips between his fingers. “Shhh… Quiet time.”

But of course, the moment he lets go, Rin is back at it again

“Why?”

“Because now Daddy has a headache.”

Rin, as gently as he can while simultaneously not managing much grace in the act, pats his father's sunglasses that sit atop his head

“All bedder?”

Renji's lip practically wobbles at the sweetness. “Yes, Daddy's all better. Thank you, sweetie.”

Rin rests his head against his father, playing with the Renji’s chain while he surveys all of the varieties of soup, Renji occasionally pulling the chain away from the baby's open mouth

Rin whines after his third attempt to eat the necklace, so Renji quickly grabs the first can of chicken noodle soup he sees and makes a dash for the checkout. No baby meltdowns in public, for the love of God

Renji gently bounces the baby, pleading softly with him to calm down. It's not working very well, however, and these damn checkout lines aren't moving at all!

Desperation wins and Renji's grabbing a lollipop before he knows it, tearing the wrapping off and popping the sucker into Rin’s teeny mouth

His plan to calm the baby works, and by the time he's actually able to check out and purchase the soup, the small pop is already gone and the tantrum is starting to blossom again

And just as Renji gets the baby strapped back into his carseat, he checks his phone to see a text you sent twenty minutes ago that practically sends his eyes popping out of his skull

Can you pick up a pregnancy test too?

He glances over at the toddler, and can practically see the boy as a big brother already

Even with a fussy baby in round two of the long lines, Renji's smile doesn't waver and he just kisses and coos at the hopefully soon-to-be big brother

Grimmjow is an interesting parent. Much like how every day with a four year old is a mystery, every day with Grimmjow is a deep dive into the unknown

So when sending the man and his mini-me to the grocery store, you're not quite sure what they're going to come home with. Hopefully it at least includes the items on the list, otherwise dinner is going to be very different from what you've planned

“Oi, keep up!” Grimm looks over his shoulder, the four year old having been distracted by a vending machine

“Want snack.”

“Too bad. Let's go.”

The toddler’s stare is a little too lead paint-y for Grimmjow's liking

“Zen.” Grimmjow looks on, unimpressed as he fishes a coin from his pocket. “Fine, brat. You win, you get a snack. I win, I get a snack.”

That gets the boy to smile, clapping his hands as he jumps in excitement

Grimmjow smirks. “Heads I win, tails you lose.”

The coin is flipped off of Grimmjow's thumb and he catches it easily, Zen waiting with bated breath for the results. Does Daddy win or does he lose??

Grimm sucks his teeth, shaking his head and tucking the quarter back into his pocket. “Heads I win. Tough luck, kid. Maybe next time.”

Zen pouts, watching his father slip a dollar into the vending machine and press the buttons for a honey bun. “Aw man…”

“C’mon.” Grimmjow opens up the snack, taking a big bite and grabbing the front of Zen’s coat, carrying him inside of the store like a handbag

The boy can't help but giggle as he looks up at his father; he loves air jail!

“You're in jail. Stop laughing, fuckin’ psycho.” Grimm shakes his son a bit, hiding his own laughter into the next bite of his honey bun. He's a hardass, but that baby's laugh is precious and melts him like ice cream on a sunny day

Heads turn at the way Grimmjow carries Zen, but Grimm is highly unbothered by such judgment. His kid is happy and healthy, and anyone that thinks otherwise can kiss his ass, for all he cares

“You got the list?” Grimm looks down at Zen, the boy fishing out the neatly-folded post-it note you lovingly tucked into his jacket pocket

Grimmjow perks a brow as he reads off the ingredients you've listed. “Say, kid—” he looks down at his son. “Whaddya say we ditch the list and get some pizza instead?”

Zen claps happily at the idea and Grimm grins menacingly, crushing up the grocery list and tossing it on the floor as he hoists his boy over his shoulder, stuffing the last bite of the honey bun in his baby's mouth whilst flipping off a scandalized woman at the checkouts

Growing up with two younger sisters was good for something after all, Ichigo thinks as he wrangles his twin girls through the parking lot with relative ease

The three year olds are stubborn and independent, having insisted they walk instead of having daddy carry them! But they still want to hold his hands, of course

why no he is not melting like a lava cake, why do you ask?

The girls gasp at the sight of a shopping cart with a racecar on the end that's the perfect size for two little ones!

“We don't even need a cart.” Ichigo deadpans, though it's in one ear and out the other as the babies pile into the little racecar, turning the steering wheels and beeping the (thankfully noiseless) horns

He feels like an idiot but as the dutiful father he is, Ichigo complies with his girls’ wishes and pushes the cart into the store

Chubby fingers point as little voices call out for candies and trinkets, and Ichigo's quick with each of his responses

“No.”

“I said no.”

“No ma'am!”

He's definitely cleaning their ears out when they get home, because clearly they can't hear him! Why else would they ask for things a million times over, hm?

“Daddy always say no.” Indigo pouts, her sister nodding in agreement. All they want is some candy!! Why is Daddy so mean?

Ichigo sighs in frustration as the aisle he needs to go down is absolutely packed, and he's stuck with this behemoth of a shopping cart. Settling it at the end of the aisle, he kneels down to make eye contact with the girls

“Stay put; I’ll be right back.”

Ichigo quickly rushes down the aisle, weaving between people to get to the pasta section

Now… If only he could remember what shape of pasta you told him to buy

Indigo and Imani look at each other, covering their mouths to hide their mischievous giggles

Those Push Pops they were eyeing are still nearby, and Daddy isn't!

As the tag team they are, Indigo and Imani spring into action, Indigo rushing to get the candy while Imani (who turns up the cuteness to a ten!) rushes down the aisle to her father

Ichigo frowns and picks up Imani, scolding her for leaving the cart

It isn't exactly effective, however, as the baby eyes and the cooing let her off the hook easily

When they get back to the cart after Ichigo remembers which pasta you've requested, he sets Imani back into the racecar

Indigo slips a blue Push Pop into her twin's hand, the two of them sharing a conspiratorial smile

They almost get away with it too, though when Ichigo's strapping them into their car seats he notices the lollipops

“Stop stealing!!!!”

These girls will surely be the reason he takes medication for his blood pressure, and he dreads the day when they become teenagers!

[waldau]

little things — jeon wonwoo | 1,497 words | fluff

(or, three things that remind you wonwoo's another person like you, and not just one of the most popular idols in the world)

sometimes i shell walnuts for my family because (incoherent sounds) (something akin to peeling an orange for people you love) (they love walnuts more than i do)

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

you know for a fact that jeon wonwoo is a superstar.

he's extremely popular. he travels the world for his work. you're not the only person in the world who has a crush on him or is in love with him. but you are the only person who gets to have him like this — watching him do the dishes while you're sitting on the sink counter and kicking your feet, wearing his hoodie.

you both share your household chores, but he's made sure you don't touch a single spoon or bowl because of all the cooking you do. and you're definitely not going to complain when you get to watch him work, his muscles flexing as he meticulously dries every dish he's washed.

he's currently talking about something mingyu did in practice but you're not really paying attention to his words. you're just...watching him.

he's used to it at this point in your relationship, but he still gets flustered sometimes, like he is now. you can tell by the way his head is bowed and there's a small smile on his face, and there's no doubt he's blushing, if he's going to let you look at him.

"take a picture," he says without looking up. "it'll last longer."

when you don't reply, he looks up to find you staring at him in no doubt a lovesick manner, and you're right. he is blushing, and you're filled with the sudden urge to drag him away from the dishes and kiss him silly.

"did you hear a word i said?"

"no," you say easily, finding no point in trying to act like you were listening. you're more enthralled by the fact that one of the most popular idols in the world is washing dishes in a kitchen he shares with you. dishes that are a result of an impromptu baking session at two in the morning because neither of you could sleep.

it makes you feel small for some reason, so you just scoot closer to where he's standing.

"tell me again?"

wonwoo shakes his head. "mingyu would be happy to tell you—" he cuts himself off with the most uncharacteristic, un-wonwoo sound you've heard in your life. you don't think he's ever made that sound before.

you jump off the counter to witness wonwoo wiggling his arms like those floaty things in car dealerships, like he's got a spider on his arm or something.

you're almost too afraid to ask if it is a spider because it's always wonwoo who chases away the insects in your house, but all he does is show you the sleeves of his sweatshirt. they're wet and dripping water onto the floor. you can't help but let out a little giggle despite trying your best not to.

"it's your fault," wonwoo says, pushing his sleeves up and wincing.

"excuse me?"

"your fault for sitting there and being so pretty. looking at me."

it's not often that wonwoo's what you'd call sappy, especially with his words. you hold his face in your hands, taking in the blush that's deepened when he realizes what he's said out loud. who knew your boyfriend could sing and dance for hours on end and do stuff like bungee jumping only to be defeated by wet sleeves?

"i'll do them if you read me something to sleep."

"deal."

you get startled awake by the sound of a rhythmic tapping. wonwoo isn't next to you, either. your hand reaches out to the most threatening thing you can find to defend yourself with, but you're not sure your bedside lamp is an ideal option.

"wonwoo?" you call out, hoping it's him and no one else.

the tapping sound stops immediately.

"i'm outside," he calls out, and you let out a sigh of relief. slipping into wonwoo's hoodie, you make your way to the living room, the marble floor underneath your feet cold enough to sting.

wonwoo's sitting on the floor, seemingly unbothered by the cold. when he spots you, he opens his arms wordlessly to let you settle down into his lap. he runs cold, just like you do, which gives you all the more reason to cuddle him.

"sorry, sweetheart," he says, kissing your cheek. "i didn't mean to wake you up."

"you didn't," you say, not entirely untruthfully. you'd been half-awake before you heard the sound of whatever he'd been doing in his living room. it's then that you realize there's a hammer next to his feet, a newspaper spread out before him, half filled with...walnuts? the other half of the paper has empty shells.

"what..."

"you said we ran out of walnuts yesterday, so i went to the farmer's market when you were at work. they taste really good. we should go together this week."

"...just because i said the salad could use some walnuts?"

"just because."

you turn to hide your face , blaming the early hours of the morning for all the mushiness you're feeling. your boyfriend, who has practice in a few hours, and needs his sleep more than you do, is sitting on the cold floor of your living room shelling walnuts for your salad like there's nothing else he'd rather do.

"you're too good to me."

"i'm just perfect for you," he grins, and you respond by tousling his hair till it's a mess of your liking. it's not long before you've learned how to shell them without hurting your thumb, wonwoo feeding you a stray walnut every now and then.

wonwoo's gaming setup is grander than you expected one to be. it's probably because you weren't really familiar with gaming apparatus before wonwoo, but it's also probably because he just really loves gaming.

it's not just a gaming pc with a fancy keyboard and the usual gaming chair — it's two huge screens next to each other, lighting underneath the desk and in front of him so it's good for when he needs to stream himself, as well as the usual clutter of his desk. you can tell he's as passionate about it as he is with the important things in his life.

not to mention the little polaroids of you and him, him and his friends, and some cats he's photographed strung up together that came about when he pulled you in one afternoon and asked you to help him decorate the place a bit better.

even though it's not your cup of tea, you really enjoy watching wonwoo game. he knows and likes it just as much as you do. you know wonwoo's down for teaching you whatever game you want to learn whenever the two of you are free, but you'd much rather just watch him be so focused on trying to level up. it's kind of hot, really.

there had been this one time you pulled up a chair to watch wonwoo game with seungcheol, hoshi and vernon. he spent a good chunk of time explaining the rules of the game to the others because they'd never heard of it before, but he lost his train of thought halfway through the game and kept giggling sporadically.

you really had no idea of what had been going on, and wonwoo had to take breaks in between, laughing and explaining the unfortunate situation of vernon blowing up his character again and again, repeatedly promising it was a mistake and not something he was doing for laughs.

after that, wonwoo bought a pair of earphones just so you could listen in on conversations with his friends when it wasn't a professional livestream. hearing hoshi swear repeatedly was just as funny as trying to stop yourself from laughing loud enough to alert the others of your presence.

the thing is, wonwoo's always tried to make space for you in his life in whatever little ways he can, and you're reminded of it when he lets out a soft curse, fumbling with something in his hands.

it's those same earphones you use when you sit with him and watch him play. you haven't gotten the time to use them recently, because of your busy schedules, so it's a pleasant surprise to see them in the outside world, in the walk you're currently on. but they're tangled up so badly that wonwoo isn't able to undo them.

you take them from him with his permission and untangle them quite easily. maybe you should get back to using them more often with him.

"wouldn't headphones be more convenient, though?"

wonwoo looks at you like you've asked him why it's not okay to call yourself a tiger.

"then how am i supposed to listen to music with you?"

oh, you think.

jeon wonwoo might be a superstar. he might travel the world for his work and have people in love with him to some extent, but to you, he's your boyfriend. your wet sleeves-fearing, walnut-shelling, earphones-owning boyfriend. which is simply a lot of words for the best boyfriend in the world.

[mossmotif]

more on gamer!shoko because she's on my mind...

she's got this tell that she doesn't become aware of until a few of her viewers start to pick up on it. when you walk into her room while she's streaming shoko almost always immediately mutes her mic just in case you aren't aware that she's live and also just out of general respect for your privacy. this means her viewers are left in silence for a little bit.

shoko's handcam, however, remains on during these small interventions, and it never fails to miss the way she fidgets anytime she's speaking to you. they trace along the fabric of her mouse pad, mess with the cords on her desk, or simply pick at the cuticles of her thumbs. they're these small, meaningless movements that shouldn't mean anything to strangers, or even to shoko herself. but they become hard to miss when the routine to them is so obvious.

a fan makes a silly post about it. the type with over the top slow motion to highlight her movement and a cheesy song to match the tone of the text overlayed on the compilation: "shoko getting nervous whenever her roommate walks in the room"

the amount of views it gets is ridiculous. the comments are ridiculous. and most of all, the feeling in the pit of shoko's chest is ridiculous.

her hands all of a sudden feel very disconnected from her body. she stares at them through the dark, holding them in front of her face and watching their outline grow fuzzy the more she strains her eyes. the glow of her discarded phone only seems to mock the honesty of their use, illuminating them briefly with each notification before fading back to nothing at all.

traitors, she thinks briefly. but then what was there to betray? none of these people knew what they were talking about.

the sound of dishware clattering breaks her attention. her hands fall back to her chest as she rolls out of bed and makes way to her door.

the sight of you in the kitchen this late doesn't alarm her. the air is laced with the smell of almond extract, the aroma tickles her nose as she watches your back and the way you drag your palms along your apron. an imprint of flour and egg is smudged along the battered fabric.

there's a video playing faintly in the background, something you're only half paying attention to. the noise comes from your phone, which has been propped up against a mixing bowl and unmistakably has its own set of stains in the shapes of your fingerprints along its corners and screen. the evidence is dyed a hard grey. an odd choice for frosting, most likely a mistake of yours while trying to find the perfect shade or hue. shoko can't help but be endeared by the mistake.

she stands there for some time. she forgets why she left her room all together, thoughts still so embarrassingly stuck to the tackiness of her online life and the speculations surrounding it. the room begins to break off in fragments.

what did she come in here to prove? her right hand wrings itself into a fist as she debates whether or not the smell in the air is actually oozing itself out of one of her distant dreams. the one where her lips cut the sweetness of yours.

there she would only be a mouth, nothing that could grab, prod, grope, or take. ideally, all of her would disappear and she could unlatch—without a palm smacking against her open mouth—and let herself melt into you like powder.

"shoko?" you're turned toward her with a piping bag in hand. "i didn't know you were awake."

she pushes through a shard, letting the movement of your arms pierce her as she attempts to focus her gaze on your eyes. you place the piping bag onto the kitchen table like it's a puzzle piece. there are old burn marks on your left forearm; they're small and hold different shapes.

"i was going to try and catch you off guard but i ended up spacing out," shoko lies.

one of the scars stretches in this curve she particularly enjoys tracing against anything she can get her hands on.

you move to grab something and the healed skin expands.

shoko tucks her hands into her pockets.

"rude," you reply. your voice has turned into something comically dry.

"i'm sorry?"

"right." you approach her with a spoon in hand. "taste this for me?"

a spoonful of raw batter pools itself into the form of the silver, yellowed and suspiciously lumpish looking.

shoko looks back at you, brows lifting themselves through an uncertainty she hopes you find amusing enough to not find too offensive.

"what is it?" she questions.

"just taste," you push.

the spoon edges itself towards her lips. you guide it toward her slowly, almost as if to not startle her, all the while, your figure has breached her space. you two stand nearly chest to chest as shoko hesitantly opens her mouth for you. the hand you have cupped beneath the spoon to prevent any messy spillage brushes the skin of her chin just enough for her to feel a spark at the end of her fingertips.

she swallows. you step back to watch all of her, eyeing anything tucked away.

"good?" you question her silence.

shoko looks away, tries to focus on the video still playing in the background, recognizes the faint familiarity of her own voice over the chime of a game she hasn't booted up in months, untucks her hand from her pocket to wipe at her lips, and feels you mold the simple self inflicted connection into something viscous.

"good," she answers.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 24

part 1 | part 23 | ao3

cw: alcohol, throwing up, brief reference to canonical character death

"Oh, my god!" Robin barks, nearly throwing herself off-balance again with the force of her laugh. "This is too good, man. You truly cannot escape your babysitting duties."

"Can I help you?" Max seethes.

Help him? Help him? "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She gestures to the guy she's holding onto, some fluffy-haired kid with a cut-off vest covered in safety pins that Steve sort of vaguely recognizes as one of Eddie's friends. Oh, shit. Is Eddie here finally? Has he seen him?

"Wait, where's Lucas?" Steve asks.

"Who cares?" she bites back.

The guy gives a nervous chuckle and loosens his grip on her waist. "Uh-h. Did you say babysitter?"

"He's not actually, Jesus. I'm fourteen; I don't need a babysitter. And he was just leaving, anyway, right?"

Her glare feels like a slap. Girl's got daggers in her eyes, holy shit. It's like she's hoping some of El's powers magically transferred to her; like she's picturing him flying ten feet into the air and landing with a splat on the far side of the concrete, and he doesn't need this. He did not come out tonight to be bullied by a teenager. "Okay, that's it, I'm taking—"

"—me to the punch bowl!" Robin interrupts, putting her hands on Steve's chest to stop him from grabbing Max and hauling her back to the car.

"Robin, what—?"

"Yep!" She shoves him hard, pushing him to the edge of the dance floor. "Silly me, just dying of thirst, ha ha. Okay, cool, see you both later!"

—

"What the hell was that?" Steve demands when they're safely on the far side of the pavilion.

"An intervention."

Oh, my god. May he never hear the word 'intervention' again in his life.

"Un-ruffle your Mother Hen feathers for two seconds and think, would you? One: it would look really, really, seriously weird for you to be seen dragging a dead jock's kid sister kicking and screaming to your car."

A dead jock’s kid sister. Jesus, tipsy Robin has no tact.

"Two: you said we were going to go out and have fun and get, and I quote, 'very drunk.' Take your babysitter hat off for one night. She's a high schooler, and this is a high school party."

"Yeah, I know," he sulks. Doesn't need the reminder that he's technically past the age limit.

"Okay, so then let her have fun! It's not like you weren't out drinking and smoking by her age."

'I'm always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct.' Goddammit. Steve needs another drink. "I just don't want her to do anything dumb and get hurt."

"She won't. We can just, like, keep an eye on her from a distance, right? Let her come to us if she needs anything."

"So we should just act like your parents?" Steve snorts.

"My parents are amazing, thank you!"

"Your mom offered me mushroom tea once."

"Like I said: amazing."

Steve huffs a laugh, flips his hair out of his eyes and snags a handful of tortilla chips. "Okay," he says around a crunchy bite, "so what's the third thing?"

"Third thing?" Robin asks. She’s not even looking at him anymore, her eyes eager and distracted as she scans the crowd.

"You're biting your lip weird, there's clearly a third thing."

She turns to him, and the smile springs free from its containment, spreading all over her flushed, ecstatic face. "Vickie just showed up."

—

Steve’s hammered.

Whoops.

Didn’t mean to do it; feels a little bad about it as he tips his head up to the sky and all the stars go raining in bright streaks across his vision. Reminds him of the ceiling at Starcourt, nauseous and spinning under a swirl of bright fluorescence. He hopes Rob’s flirting is going well.

He meant to get politely drunk.

A socially appropriate amount.

But then Robin ran off to flirt with Vickie, and Steve was doing his best to just lay low, steer clear of Max and maybe find a way to casually run into Eddie if he could find him, when he spotted the girl he went on that disaster of a date with instead and realized his options were either: stay there by the beer coolers while she came over with her new date and subjected him to the most painful small talk of his life, or retreat to the dark edges of the party with as much booze as he could carry, so.

He's slumped on top of a picnic bench downwind of the bonfire, bad ear ringing, belly full to bursting, trying to remember when one beer became… more than one beer.

Five?

Six, maybe?

Fuck.

“‘M gonna puke,” he confesses to the splintered wood beneath his feet; to the pine bough overhead, the smoky fire at his back.

“Wow,” someone says, an amused lilt to their tone, and Steve knows that voice, he—

Oh, no.

Ohhhh, no.

Now? Really?

Steve whips his head around, opens his mouth to ask ‘Eddie?’ and barfs all over his shoes.

—

part 25

tag list part 1 below the cut, let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @aliea82 @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bookbinderbitch @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @kingelyx @lifeisacrisis @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @phoenixtheone @questionablequeeries @runninriot

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hey girlll I love ur writing. Can u do like a tangerine taking care of a pregnant wife or girlfriend. I’m not sure if u already did one I couldn’t find it but thankyouuu 💖💖💖💖💖

hii honey!! thank you! ive done hcs but realised ive never actually written a fic about it??? (I think) thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

BABY BRAIN.

tangerine x fem!reader — fluff

word count. 443

"Can I get you anything while I'm out here, love?" your husband calls out to you from the kitchen - his head poking out to see you in the other room.

You're in the living room, slumped in the armchair, too big to move —or so it feels— your thirty-week-old baby in your belly making you feel like a whale.

"Just a tea, please, honey," you reply, looking up at him from across the way. "Oh— and you know how you do those really cute little heart sandwiches? Can you make me one of those, please?"

He smiles, nodding. "Anything else?" 

You take a moment, trying to figure out what your body wants. "Can I get some pickles, too, please? Just in a little bowl— only a few."

Tangerine lingers in the doorway, anticipating you have more to say. 

"... and an ice lolly. I'm feeling dizzy again," you pause, trying to figure out if you've already eaten them - your baby brain making things difficult to retrace. "There should be a new box at the bottom of the freezer," you say, speaking hopefully. 

With Tangerine knowing your nausea has returned, he leaves his spot in the kitchen doorframe, walking over to the freezer to fetch your frozen treats. But then you hear a quiet 'fuck', the sound almost disappointed.

He walks back into your viewline, softly shaking his head. "They're all gone, darlin'."

It was silly how much those words upset you. It was the only thing you really needed - the sandwiches and pickles coming from a place of want. 

Your lips turn down into a frown, the bottom one almost wobbling. "Did you check all the drawers?" 

He hums, making his way closer to you. "I did," he nods, taking a seat at the edge of the coffee table - sitting in front of you. 

"Even the top one? Sometimes I hide things in there," you say quietly, trying not to get emotional over an ice lolly. 

"I did, darlin'. I checked them all."

You pause, your expression begging not to cry. "Can we get some more?"

Your husband fights off a smile, trying not to upset you any further by him finding it all so endearing. "Course," he nods, standing up. 

He presses a kiss into your forehead before moving out into the hallway - collecting a pair of shoes for you —ones that only required to be slipped on—

He assists as you put your shoes on, him crouched down, doing the work for you. And when you go to stand, he slips his hand into yours - helping you up. 

"Can we go to the drive-thru, too?" 

AAHHHHHHHHHHHH NOT OKAY🥹

[dadsbongos]

Idk if u do anon requests given ur rules but I am a scared lil guy when it comes to sending ppl asks. I know you don't need to feel obligated to write it, but I wanted to share my silly little musings with someone at least, if you don't mind ^^

My brain doesn't want to shut up about the idea of a monster reader akin to Anansi's goatman joining the Touden party with malintent, only to be intimidated out of their plans by the fact the party constantly eats monsters. Despite them wanting to run, they're stuck there because the party will realize they've been infiltrated and probably eat them like all the other monsters if they find out.

i absolutely love anon requests! they are so lovely to receive i just kind of write depending on my current interest at the moment

3.4 k words / warnings - gore right off the bat, reader goes through psychological horror at the hands of laios touden, laios forcing the party into extreme situations

summary - that time laios domesticated a monster and everyone was mad at him. ~~~

You’re starving. You’re parched. You’re dizzy.

A woman is screaming in the corner, her eyes bulging from her head and hands clamped over her gaping mouth. Knees wobbling before she collapses to the ground, palms scraping against the floor in a final ditch effort to save herself. She screams louder when your head slowly rolls -- slanted eyes still on her frantic form.

Long fingers scoop from the bowl of a half-foot’s gut, you cup shreds of meat and stringing firm, warm innards to your mouth while maintaining focus on the woman.

No matter how much you eat, you’re starving. No matter what you drink, you’re parched.

The only solace you find in hearty meals is that the pressurized ache behind your skull fades, and with it goes the dazed sensation. You can walk firm and tall. You can stretch out and speak.

You can speak, “Come… here…”

She freezes. Wide eyes scrambling over you. Chest twitching with hyperventilation, “We gave you the half-foot! What else do you want?!”

Swallowing chunks of gummy flesh trapped in your teeth, you speak again, “Come… Now… Come…”

“No, please,” she whimpers, snot and tears dripping, “Please, please, please!”

She rocks onto her back, tumbling around to her feet and sprawling for a weapon. She finds one the big man used, she holds it up and her arms shake under the weight. She doesn’t pose a real threat that way -- she hadn’t lifted a finger to help the group fight.

Rising onto two feet, you tower over her and reach out, cupping her face with both hands. Thumbing the fat on her cheeks and pulling her ears, you croak,

“Mine…”

. . .

A red dragon used to plague this floor, you don’t hear him anymore. You feel confident to venture from your cave for more meal.

Recently, the hunger has gotten so bad you’ve begun drooling over yourself. Despite not caring for your appearance, the feeling is bothersome. The sensation of saliva-matted fur around your muzzle reminds you of the vacancy in your stomach.

Bravely creeping from the lulling warmth of your cavern, you come into the open grass and watch dire wolves nose at Barometz stalks. Unripe, ruby fruits shine under leaking light from higher places. Gold bounces off the fur of ripened fruits. You’re sure they’ll be harvested soon. Your only derision with unripe Barometz fruits is the smaller lamb. Even then, you cannot complain when the wolves more than make up for a lack of meat.

Just as you set to slide down the mossy wall, a red blur hastens toward the middle of the field. Large, pointed black ears twitch which gives you pause. The pale skin you can make out and thick cloth stresses to you that it's a human, but those ears and the hunched posture tell otherwise. Either way, it will have meat.

A man approaches, rushing behind the red blur, his tin shell clinks as he runs. He’s yelling. He can speak.

Long, gold hair and blue furs run after him -- two more men after the blonde woman. A group. A group made of thick bodies, sans the weird-looking red one and the child. No matter, they can fill your shriveled intestine while you divy the thick ones.

Or perhaps just the stout one could fill you. His broad frame is swollen with muscle and he looks well-kept: strong and lively.

Just the thought of cinching his fat thigh makes you swallow another well of spittle. As the wolves close in, the red and blue ones cut from the group, and you merely watch. Dead meat is still meat. If one party kills the other then all you have to do is interfere before they start eating their game.

The tin man gets low, on all fours, before yelping and barking like a rabid beast. He snarls and flails -- startling away the few wolves straggling behind.

After robing, you slide down the crag only to hiss as jagged rocks snag new skin. Spending so much time in your natural form makes the transition to a new face that much more difficult to acclimate to.

You’d lick up the thin blood trails if the three remaining bodies weren’t now gazing at you in shock.

The furthest away, the brown-headed child, scowls at your very presence. While the tin man seems to be fighting back an eager approach.

“Who are you?” the child bites from the back of the pack, eyes narrow and harsh.

An axe’s glint draws your attention to the stocky one. He’s raised his weapon against you.

Flashing yourself a downward glance, you confirm you’re in a human form. Are humans more distrusting the lower they venture?

You open your mouth, then think better of it, pointing to your throat and shaking your head.

“Mute, huh?” again, the child speaks before casting the tin man a look. His instant deferral makes you wonder if the tall one is the leader. Then the child looks to the short one, “Senshi…”

If that’s a secret code among them, you cannot make it out.

What do you look like?

Who did you last steal?

You mask another cursory study of yourself as a frustrated huff and sniffle -- the woman. The healer woman. These all seem to be men, and men are usually softer when you take the form of a woman.

You sniffle louder, frowning and covering your face.

“Ah,” the child stumbles back, “Senshi!”

“What?” the short one gruffs. So that must be its name, not a code.

“Do something!”

“Did you lose your party?” the tin man approaches instead of ‘Senshi’. His face is gentle, nothing but patience written in the low lid of his eyes.

Pathetically, you nod.

“Laios!” the child hisses. Is that another name?

“I’m Laios,” the tin man instantly confirms, then gesturing toward the child, “That’s Chilchuck. And this is Senshi,” his brows draw, “How’d you get down here by yourself?”

How did you meet this woman?

Wiping away cold blotches in your waterline, you point upwards before dramatically slamming the hand downward.

“You fell?” Chilchuck sounds suspicious.

Oh, well. Womanly charms (tears) can’t work on kids, you suppose.

“It’s possible,” Laios defends.

“If there was a faster way to get us down here, don’t you think I would’ve taken us through there?”

The pair glare at each other with Senshi a silent third party, though his axe remains raised. Abruptly, a sickening growl cracks through the air. Borderline blood curdling in the low, raw gurgle seeping from your stomach.

Manufacturing embarrassment, you cup the pouch of your tummy and shake your head apologetically.

“Are you hungry?” Laios asks redundantly, then offers a hand. His smile is just as soft as it had been moments ago, but something about its serenity ignites your brain.

A tingle races down your spine. Breath sputtering a moment and guts coiling unpleasantly. You can feel sweat bead your forehead regardless of the chilly breeze.

You haven’t felt like this since you first opened your goopy eyes to the dungeon’s lower levels. Like he’s about to spear you through the chest. Like he’s twice your size.

Blinking free from your stupor, you nod clumsily and take his hand. It's warm. Yours is clammy.

“Is this a good idea…?” Chilchuck looks up at Senshi, wringing his hands.

Before you can properly hear Senshi’s response, Laios is already pulling you towards the cavern that red blur darted out of. He climbs in first and pulls you in -- Senshi politely avoids looking up while following after. You sit between Laios and Chilchuck in the cavern, watching Laios’ hands skim over the large, unripe Barowitz. Without considering the action, you find yourself licking your lips as he leans his face against the fruit. His cheek puffing out.

Suddenly, his gaze is honed on you again, “As soon as Marcille and Izutsumi are back, we can start eating.”

You nod excitedly. Once the other two are back, you can release and consume. A group of five is sure to satiate you at long last. You’ve never seen such a large collection of bodies. You won’t ever have to eat again after this meal.

Your excitement is tempered when you catch a glimpse of Chilchuck in your peripherals.

Child. A child is down here?

Don’t humans usually put the lives of their young before their own?

You point at Chilchuck, hoping the child will relax once you demonstrate some maternal instinct. Mothers want their kids to eat, right? It sounds right. Your maker always watched you eat before diving in Himself.

“Chilchuck?” Laios murmurs, “What about him?”

Instinctually, your mouth opens again, only to clack shut again. You tap your lips then point to him again. Then you drag a finger through the smatter of dirt and dust along the cold floor. A risky move to write, but you’ve practiced well enough to pass.

EAT FIRST

Laios raises a brow at you, “Why would he eat first?”

CHILD

Laios smiles wider than even before.

Chilchuck scoffs, an overt anger filling his tone, “I’m not a child! How ignorant are you?!”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Is he just a very short human like Senshi? But how is he so slight? How are his ears so big?

What is he?

Before any response can form from any person in the tunnel, the blue and red ones creep out from the darkness. Laios stands and approaches the pair. Blonde woman, the variety that has pointy ears -- you’ve seen lots of them down here -- continuously glances at you. She murmurs to Laios while the red one is leaning against her.

It stands on its hinds like a human, it groans like a human, it looks like a human sans the tail hanging between its legs and ears pointing upward. It's skinny, whatever it is. It was fast, looks like it has a useful face to steal.

You watch the group jabber amongst themselves, with the woman heatedly berating her fellow man for taking you in. Despite her harsh words, Laios’ face never falls: whether he’s truly so forgiving or just thrives off negative attention you’re unsure.

“I just have a good feeling,” his eyes pierce through you, and that tickle up your spine returns.

“Oh, good,” she grumbles.

“In any case, we’re all hungry,” at the prompt, Senshi moves towards the Barometz and steadies a hand against it, “I wanted to harvest a Barometz, but all the ripe ones were taken by dire wolves.”

Senshi punctures the fruit’s skin with a blade, cutting along the circumference, “Let’s see if we can cook it.”

Once halved, the side not supported by Senshi’s hand slips open with the premature lamb limply collapsing to the floor. Gelatinous bones jiggling against rock.

The thing with fur leans forward, “There’s a little sheep in the vegetable!”

“Aah! I can’t!” blue one grimaces, covering her face while Chilchuck gags, “For completely different ethical reasons, I refuse!”

You quirk a brow at her interjection -- food is food, no? They can dole out the fruit and get plump before you finally soothe your own aching gut. You’re almost tempted to rip back tight, uncomfortable skin and end the woman’s misery when Senshi’s voice calls to you.

“First cut up the Barometz ribs into whatever size proportion you want. Season them, sear them, add wine over top, cover the pan, and then braise them,” you watch as he casually defiles a creature he cannot understand, sizzling it and burning away faux fats.

You’ve never seen humans that bite back.

No matter how harmless a Barometz is, you’re in shock to see him searing up what is technically a monster.

“Next, boil the remainder of the fruit, peel off the skin, and cut it into chunks. Add some garlic and simmer it all together. With the sauce finished, you take that, pour it over the meat and… it’s ready!”

Barometz Balut.

“This helping’s yours, cat girl. Go on, take it.”

“What’s all the weird-looking stuff?”

While Senshi and ‘cat girl’ are locked in a debate, the man hands the woman in blue a serving as well. Her lips are stretched downward, her brows knotted towards the center of her forehead.

“Come on, Marcille, you’ve eaten Harpy eggs before. This should be easy!”

Harpy… eggs. Their young? What benefit does a Harpy egg provide? There is no meat. To eat that is to consume a beast simply because they can.

“That was out of desperation! I didn’t like them!”

She consumes despite it being unfulfilling? That, truly, is eating solely to prove it possible.

Your hands shake at your sides at the thought.

“That’s not true,” Laios denies.

“Okay, fine, they were… ugh. They were fine!”

“It’s okay, we all liked them. I think my favorite has been the red dragon, though,” Laios is positively beaming at you now.

The red dragon. He’s why the field’s warden has gone missing. Your shock is not lost on any of the group.

When your horror is evident, Chilchuck and the woman -Marcille- shoot forward while waving their hands around. As if to physically bat away any unsavory accusations.

“It was seasoned and cut up!” Chilchuck shouts, “We didn’t even eat all of it!”

Marcille nods rapidly, clutching the wood slat of food to her chest, “Yeah, we only had a little bit compared to how big it was!”

They scavenge the young and waste a beast as magnificent as the red dragon?

“We ate it because it ate my sister,” he’s still smiling.

A raucous chorus of his name is shrieked in protest.

Your breathing spikes, now certainly slick with sweat and chest thudding -- forget finally ending your hunger with them, how could they squander the red dragon? How could they still starve after eating such a large monster? Your palms find the floor, eyes flicking to the opening of the cavern.

When your gaze returns, Laios is staring at you. Wide amber eyes melting through your facade -- he knows, he must. How long has he known? Why not kill you as soon as he figured it out? Why lure you in?

The red one -Izutsumi- tilts its head at you, nose twitching. It smells the influx of sweat and dread.

You shoot up, opening your mouth for a husky growl, “Away… get… away…”

“I knew it!” Laios stands, “Oh, wow, I thought goatmen were extinct!”

He’s going to slice you open and they’ll eat you for fun. They won’t finish you. They’ll leave you for your maker to find.

“Goatman?!” Chilchuck wails, “You invited a goatman into the party?! Laios, I could strangle you!”

He’d kill his own ally?!

“So cool, though, and so far pretty harmless. I’ve heard they can be domesticated by feeding them brains every now and again.”

“Brain…” you shiver, flailing back into the wall, “No… Brain… No…”

Laios turns to Senshi with a preppy little smile, “It’s not an exact match, but the Barometz has something akin to a brain.”

These things are demons. No wonder your maker wants to devour them all.

Why eat a brain? You’d have to destroy the skull for that, and you need to keep the skull intact to steal a human’s face.

Senshi shrugs and hacks open the lamb’s skull with a loud crack, making you flinch back and yelp.

“First, chop the brain into four parts, season with olive oil and sprouts. Roll the brains in egg and wrap with bread. Normally you’d use crumbs or flour, but we’ll have to make due. Then fry in the pan with more oil over medium heat until…”

Laios snatches the brains from Senshi to shove onto your lap,

“It’s ready!”

FRIED LAMB BRAINS.

Senshi watches you carefully from beneath the shadow of his helmet. Meanwhile Marcille and Izutsumi are poised to attack with Chilchuck lingering in the very back. Those three are only additional to the presence of Laios, who looms above you with sword in hand. Eyes fiery with exhilaration, though he’s visibly ready to cut you down should you try escaping.

Your stomach echoes through the cavern. Drool pools and oozes through the gaps in your teeth, it smells good. So, with truly no other choice, you bring the fried brains to your mouth.

Oddly sweet, the juices are warm and electric on your tongue. You let out a soft hum and shovel more of the brains back. Again, you hum. You tip the wood slat and scoop all the meat down your gullet, licking the excess juices up and even sweeping crumbs into your mouth.

By the time your meal was picked clean, you felt something entirely new.

“Full…” you look up in amazement, wide eyed at Laios, “Full…”

A small hand cracks against Laios’ silver back, Chilchuck shouting in sharp, throaty tones that are completely unfamiliar to you. Laios frowns and murmurs about being sworn out in a foreign tongue.

Then Izutsumi yanks away, whipping her head back and forth, “Reeks in here!”

Chilchuck points at you, though is still glaring up at Laios, “And it smells!”

“Goatmen smell like goats,” Laios frowns.

Marcille hesitantly hangs a loose, thin blanket in front of you -- it takes you a moment to realize human skin is peeling off you in chunks. The faint scent of copper growing into a heavy, rotten stench of open carcass as you shed the woman’s skin. You’ve never prematurely ejected before. Normally, once you wear a person’s face you’re stuck there until it withers. Or you peel it off.

The smell gets so bad that Chilchuck and Izutsumi huff and storm to a neighboring hole in the cliff’s rockface. Marcille has to press her nose into the crook of her elbow, the sheet shaking as you stretch free from the woman’s body.

Unbeknownst to you, there is a silent battle between Marcille and Senshi. Until Laios, of course, breaks it.

“Why are you two glaring at each other?”

You rise to a stand, watching Marcille cast you a set of distrusting eyes before seething, “What should we do about it?”

“It ain’t doing anything wrong.”

“It’s a monster!” she turns suddenly towards Laios, “Didn’t you say all monsters are dangerous?!”

“They are,” Laios reaches towards his sword, squeezing the hilt and eyes sunken to the floor, “but it’s not like we were in real danger. Goatmen are pretty harmless in human forms.”

Marcille makes a startled groan behind clenched teeth, hands jerking out towards you.

“Fed goatmen are completely docile,” Laios reasons, “They only kill to eat. They’re more like an animal than a traditional monster.”

“So how do we know it won’t kill us when it gets hungry again?!”

Laios’ eyes seem to burst alight with stars, “Because we’ve fed it already! Before they were endangered some people would go down into dungeons just to domesticate and breed them for the surface. Once you prove yourself formidable and trustworthy, they’re pretty unwilling to try fighting you.”

“It can talk,” Senshi adds, “We can’t kill it just because.”

Marcille’s face goes red, a frustrated sigh leaving her lips, “It barely talks.”

You were taught words by your maker. He speaks with more clarity and ease than you do.

“It still talks,” Senshi doesn’t budge, “It ain't attacking either.”

For a moment, you contemplate killing these people.

Immediately, you’re repulsed by the mere thought. To see their soft faces and warm bodies torn open and to be smeared with their insides is so undesirable you heave. Brain rushing up your throat before you can swallow it down.

“Marcille live,” you caw, the woman looks up at you and you repeat yourself at her blank stare thinking she misunderstood you, “Want Marcille… alive…”

“Aw,” her coo is uneven, lips twitching in a way that, if you were better at reading people, would make you think she doesn’t trust you, “That’s actually kind of… nice?”

“I read they were loyal but I didn’t think the bonding process was so fast,” Laios marvels. Reaching out to lay a hand against your snout, he beams -- this has been a close second beast he’s dreamt of meeting. Number one still being a minotaur.

He’d been content to keep this interaction a daydream, since goatmen were thought extinct -- but look at you! Never had he thought something mythed to descend from demons could be so docile, and so…

“So cool…” Laios is boiling over with pure ecstasy as you tip your head down to fit more comfortably into his palm.

Senshi gathers the group’s remaining bags and announces he’ll re-settle camp with Chilchuck and Izutsumi. Although there’s a bonus pep in his step as he ponders jotting this whole day in his journal.

[braxlrose]

silly and weird tom hcs

a/n: the last ones got deleted for some reason so I'm making a new one!

• this mf steals your food all the time. hes always munchin on something so if you have something that looks good, he's taking it. especially if it's watermelon. he loves watermelon 🍉

• he doesn't tell anybody, but he gets his nails done. he gets pedicures and manicures and loves it so much. you found out one day when he kept going off and not telling anybody where he was going. so you followed him and saw his finger and feet soaking in water 💀

• when you walked in you were trying so hard to hold in a laugh and he was so fucking embarrassed when he saw you. you thought it was extremely ironic because he always called mani-pedis "girly"

• now you two go all the time, and you're way better at making excuses than he was.

• he got high on edibles and thought his feet weren't attached to his body anymore so he started screaming 💀

• over indulges on gushers when he's high

• you guys know those Chinese finger traps? Idk if that's what they're called but you put two fingers in them and they're like really hard to get out of. he LOVES them for some reason, he thinks they're so much fun

• he loves the snow so much, and especially loves snowball fights. it's so much fun, and he also gets to wear extra layers of clothing because of the cold

• during the winter, he gets a bunch of different kinds of hot chocolates and when anybody asks what he's drinking he swears by it that it's black coffee 💀

• he loves watching futurama and says that he strives to be bender 💀 (have yall seen the new episode? I actually really liked it, ik a lot of people said they didn't but I did.)

• gets on his knees while begging (not sexually 🤨) and will even fake cry. he's a master manipulator 💀

• when you guys go to the beach he's always asking you to come play in the water with him

• for any reason if you guys happen to be at a hospital, he goes and looks at all the little newborn babies. they're so cute and he gets all smiley just looking at them.

• he loves romance movies. mf will deny it till the day he dies when anybody asks but you've seen his collection of vhs tapes and dvds. plus bill even admitted tom cried during The Notebook.

• he tries to balance random objects on his head while walking to see it he can do it. he'll add on a object every time he does it.

• he's weirdly amazing at solving Rubix cubes?

• he loves making balloons animals and he always makes the sword ones. he will literallt sword fight with anybody.

• he eats bowls and bowls of cereal so he can get to the prize at the bottom of the box. (I full-heartedly believe he's a little kid at heart)

• he tries to make home-made pizza but ends up burning it 90% of the time.

• he's extremely ticklish on his armpits, stomach and feet and will literally die laughing if you tickle him

• he also loves kids cartoon movies like fox and the hound, Anastasia, Mulan, James and the Giant Peach, etc.

• he loves slap bracelets and has an entire collection of them.

• it wouldn't be the first time you've caught him dancing and singing to Britney spears.

• tom loves everything bathes. on camera he says he prefers showers but in reality he likes bathes better. With candles, dimmed lights, bath salts, face masks, etc.

• do you guys know that episode of Friends where Monica convinces Chandler to take a bath and he ends up loving it and shit? he's just like that. if you don't know what I'm talking about here's some clips.

clip 1

clip 2

• he tried on one of your thongs one time because you dared him to wear it the whole day.

• you also dared him to get his legs waxed and he ended up doing it and he was crying the whole time

• he loves those little stories where you add in words to them. I can't remember what they're called but it asked you for like an adjective, plural noun, verb ending in ing, etc. etc. (I hope yall know what I'm talking about, I think it starts like a m or something someone tell me please 😭)

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam @5hyslv7 @killed-kiss @memog1rl @80s-tingz @billybabeskaulitz @victryzvv9 @banshailey

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

📚inch resting bits from the march twst manga updates📚 (octa, savana, & 4koma!)

***Manga spoilers below the cut (with an emphasis on the Episode of Octavinelle, since that's my favorite dorm!)***

The 4koma manga has dropped! Again, it centers around the daily lives of the NRC boys and is shown in a 4 panel gag comic format.

In the illustration above, we see the main cast with Grim's beloved tuna cans~

This month has comics about Ace going to a supplementary lesson (to learn how to manipulate brooms to do his chores) and Leona attending his art class. The comic depicts Leona, Idia, and Rook in the same art class though we're not sure if this is true in-game yet. However, the comics do carry over the continuity of Ace and Deuce being in Trein's class so maybe the art class thing is also true of Leona?

From the Episode of Savanaclaw manga: I KNOW WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN AWE OF DIASOMANI'S PRESENCE BUT ALL I'M THINKING IS THAT DIASOMNIA HAS A MOB STUDENT WITH A BOWL CUT 😭

I'm also really fixated on how this mangaka draws her lashes and hair, they're always bangers every time 💗

Ruggie "bleh" face... Also???? That full page of him using his UM... and the visualization of the wildebeests racing with him like the people in the crowd, very Lion King.

I like that the manga really shows us more emotional and intense moments the game cannot depict due to its limited assets. Here, we see the aftermath of Ruggie using his UM on the crowd. Even with Azul's magic-enhancement potion, Ruggie has taken a great physical toll from spellcasting. Falling to his knees, panting... This will make it hurt more when Leona almost poofs him to sand later 😭

These panels remind me of like. Scar looking on from up high while the hyenas do his bidding. Ruggie's expression... it's so full of a desperate kind of hope has he gazes up at his "king".

From the Episode of Octavinelle, we get to see Leona post-OB and recovering in the infirmary. Side note, I really love how the mangaka adds these cute little faces to let us know who is speaking in certain text bubbles. The little faces make some of the cutest expressions; just look at that cheeky chibi Leona head!

Here, Ruggie is telling everyone about rumors that Azul and the twins purposefully prevent their clients from fulfilling their end of the contract so they can reap the benefits. I like how the scene shown is a boat tipping over (with the twins implied to have flipped it). Nice callback to the boat scene in The Little Mermaid!

We have another The Little Mermaid reference here, where Floyd shares his UM with the gang?? The hypothetical man here reminds me of Prince Eric, especially in that white shirt and appearing as though he is drowning.

Guys... Azul's been taking modeling lessons from Vil-- I really like these more quiet and contemplative moments of Azul; plenty of those are featured this month.

asdbhlfdbaifyoaiygoeia I WILL NOW ALWAYS ASSOCIATE AZUL THINKING HARD WITH SITTING IN THAT CHAIR... There's so many shots of him seated here...

Yuuta continues to be my favorite manga!Yuu so far by diligently tidying up Leona's messy ass room for him... asfvkyadvfialf Grim looks so goofy helping out, that tower of clothes is half his size...

FLOYD'S FACE IS SO siLLy HERE TOO (this is the scene when Ruggie recalls seeing his eel form during a P.E. class where they swam). The mangaka really decided to summon his gremlin energy here...

Aaaaah, I love this shot; it sort of parallels Azul and Leona... It also makes me realize the difference between how Leona's hair is in Octavinelle vs Savanaclaw (due to the different mangaka). In Octavinelle, his hair is usually a solid black with white highlights but in Savanaclaw there tends to be a subtle gradient/screen tone on Leona's hair.

Anyway, twins Twins TWINS

GOOD WAY TO CLOSE OUT THE OCTA CHAPTER, EXCELLENT WAY TO CLOSE OFF THE OCTA CHAPTER IN FACT 🫶 Can you tell I love the Tweel parts/j

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Googles

Debut: Webkinz

What a cute silly plush duck! Right? WRONG! Goose? INCORRECT! This is no duck. This is no goose. This is no animal we have in our world. This is a Googles, and you have never seen anything like it!

Webkinz, as you likely know, is one of those 2000s Virtual Pet Worlds, with the gimmick of buying a real plush animal that would allow you to play with that animal in the game. And I mean animal! For the most part these are all actual animals, or at least variants of them, like a dog with a watermelon color scheme, or a lion with a flower petal mane. There are also some mythical creatures like dragons, which, yeah, it makes sense. Of course kids would want to have one of those as a virtual pet!

Then there are the Zingoz, original little monster guys who get whacked with bats by bigger monster guys. I guess they're a little weird considering the setting, but "shape with face and limbs" is not on its own Weird. I have no feelings on Zingoz.

It is Googles that fascinates me so much! All of these real animals, some fantasy creatures, a few minor goofy monsters, and yet, there is Googles. They have ducks and geese in the game. This is not one of them. It is the mundanity of Googles that fascinates me so! Of all the things to be an original trademark species, they decided on a Kind Of Different Duck, and I delight in that.

But there IS a reason for Googles! A point of origin! It would have been FUNNIER if there wasn't, but it's ok. It still is nice and makes me smile.

In the 1980s, GANZ, the company that would go on to make Webkinz, released a series of funny little flat plushes, including this ducky one! And that name on the tag... that's Googles! From what I can tell, this whole series was known as Googles, and included other species, like dogs and walruses, but these duck-billed bowling pins were the most popular.

So for Webkinz, they decided to revive one of their old, beloved plush creatures, bringing Googles to new generations while not telling them about its origins, making this silly fowl a strange, mundane mystery! And THAT is all you need to know about the taxonomy of Googles.

At least, that's what I thought until I found out about this official animated music video for babies, that repeatedly refers to an individual Googles as a PLATYPUS. Platypus?! Where's the TAIL? That's one of the most important features to represent! Their bills certainly are broad, but I assumed it was just a stylization thing. And if platypus, where are their forelegs?

I do not accept this answer. I do not think I will ever find a satisfactory conclusion. I admit defeat, Webkinz Animated Music Video From 2010. You have bested me.

[oneforthemunny]

Mafia!eddie, fluff, orange theory

tweaking this a little from a tiktok trend bc they're set in the early 90s.

"Babe," You hum, flipping through your latest issue of Cosmo.

Eddie hummed in response, lazily walking in from the kitchen, Zeus and Lucifer trailing him. "We only had peppermint. Is that ok? I still brought honey for you-" Eddie hands you the small cup and saucer, careful with the steaming cup.

"Thank you." You coo, pushing the coaster towards him. Lips brushing sweetly, his hands found your jaw, cradling your face into the kiss.

Eddie smirked, forehead pressing to yours sweetly before he stood. "Before you sit," You started, a little hesitant at the request. "Could-" Your eyes cut down to the magazine, there in bright orange, the little challenge. Fun and silly, ask your partner to bring you an orange, if he does- he likes you, but if it's peeled? He loves you.

Eddie blinked at you, brow lifting in question. "Um, could you bring me an orange?" You asked, shrinking into yourself. You really weren't sure why, why you were so nervous, it was silly. You knew Eddie loved you.

That was why he nodded, walking right back into the kitchen. You skimmed over the article again, eyes flicking back from the text to the kitchen at every small bustle and clank.

"Just one?" Eddie called, a little muffled from the wall.

"Yes!" You called. "Please!"

Eddie's heavy boots fell against the marble before he appeared, holding a small bowl of oranges- peeled, separated, placed in the bowl for you. Your heart swelled, positively giddy. He'd passed, he passed the test and he didn't even know it.

"Here you go." Eddie handed you the bowl sweetly, setting it beside your tea. "I didn't know if you wanted it for the juice or not, but there's some- what?" Eddie was cut short, pulled nearly on top of you on the couch.

Your lips catching his hungrily, cradling his head with your hands, pushing him closer and closer into you. A sloppy make out on the couch, Cosmo thrown on the floor, legs wrapped around Eddie's torso as the tea grew cold. He wasn't entirely sure why oranges made you so horny, but made sure to keep the kitchen stocked with them.

[luveline]

i love how you write roan 🥹🥹🥹 what if she sees reader upset about something (sad song or movie? not something super serious) and she cries because you’re sad and she doesn’t want you to be

ty for ur request ♡ fem!reader

Eddie lavishes like a king in the corner of the new couch. This is the life, he thinks, the sentiment strengthened by your foot warming under his thigh and Roan's entire body stretched out in his lap. 

He tucks her hair out of her face and presses a soft kiss behind her ear. He loves movie nights. A bowl of jiffy pop popcorn with extra butter and milk duds cools to his left, your body screwed up in a shape to his right. You're so endearing he's stopped being surprised by it, and Roan's his eternal love —he has the perfect girls for company every single day. 

"Eddie?" you whisper.

He and Roan both look at you. "Yeah?" 

"Does the–" You cover your mouth so Roan can't see. "Does the mommy seahorse die?" 

"You've never seen this movie before?" Roan asks. 

You drop your hand. "Well, I thought I did, but I guess I fell asleep last time?" You speak with your face turned toward them but your eyes on the TV screen, horror dawning in the pinch of your brows. "No way. No way!" 

What follows is a few long minutes of absolute silence as the movie progresses. The mommy seahorse, who's been sick the whole movie, says goodbye in a burst of colour. Eddie isn't sure if he loves watching something this sad with Roan this small, but he supposes she'll feel much worse than this as life goes on. Still, he hugs her nice and tight in case she needs it. She's been known to cry at movies: she cries every time the Part of Your World song plays in The Little Mermaid. 

Eddie's cried a couple of times with her. 

He's a little surprised when she tears up, though. Looking down at her with pursed lips, Eddie rubs the length of her arm, silky pyjamas cold under his palm. "It's okay," he whispers, pulling her to his chest. "Don't be sad, Ro, it's just a movie." 

Roan shakes her head, her shoulders shaking as she crawls out of his lap and into yours. You let your knee drop to accept her. Eddie's slightly offended until the TV screen goes white and the tears running down your cheeks shine in clarity. 

"Baby," he says with a snort. 

You laugh yourself as Roan sniffles in your lap. "Hey, what's the matter?" you ask her. 

"You're crying," Roan says. 

"You're crying." You sniffle and wipe her cheeks with your thumbs. "We're silly, huh?" 

Roan isn't perturbed by the movie, it's your crying that's affecting her. She does as you'd done, wiping your cheeks dry with her hands before enclosing your shoulders in short arms. "Don't cry, mom. It gets better at the end of the movie. They find the starstone." 

You sniff and laugh, your foot shifting from under Eddie as you fold yourself around Roan, almost protectively. "Are you crying 'cos I'm crying? Princess, they're just movie tears. I'm a softie." 

"She's a huge softie," Eddie says, lost for what to do besides sit there and watch. 

"Are you okay?" Roan asks. 

"Baby, I'm fine. It's only a sad movie. I'm okay, I promise." You smile widely. "See?" 

Eddie decides nobody is in any real emotional distress, grabbing the popcorn bowl. "You know," —his words stagger as he gets distracted digging for milk duds— "we should start watching other stuff if you guys are gonna fall apart. You're gonna have headaches and I'm gonna have to take care of you both. We could watch one of my tapes–" 

"No, dad," Roan says firmly. "No way." 

"Which tape? I love you, Eddie, I really love you, but I can't watch your bootleg of Live in Irvine again this week. I'm all Metallica'd out." 

"Hey." He holds his hands up. "Whatever." 

You and Roan share a guilty laugh. "Maybe I could watch it one more time," Roan says. 

"You just feel bad for hurting my feelings." 

Roan shakes her head, dark hair bouncing around her cheeks. "That's not true, daddy." 

He puts the bowl of popcorn on Roan's play table and leans back, arms over the backs of the sofa with forearms hanging down, cool. He raises his eyebrows at his pouting daughter.

"I– I actually like Metallica," Roan says, an arm behind your neck, her cheek brushing your cheek. 

You make a pleased humming sound and nuzzle your cheeks together. "Me too." 

Liars. "So we can watch it tonight?" he asks. 

You whisper something in Roan's ear. 

"Um, no. Y/N's too sad from the movie. I think you need to make her feel better, with, uh…" You whisper again. Roan's eyes widen with understanding. "With The Little Mermaid!" 

"Oh, awesome, so we're gonna cry all night?" Eddie asks. 

He gets up to put it in the TV. You drag yourself to his side in the corner of the couch and the three of you smush together into a bundle of warmth under a big throw blanket. When Roan cries during Part of Your World, you shush her and dry her cheeks affectionately. Eddie can't help laughing. He loves you both, but you're such gigantic softies it's unreal. 

"Would you still fall in love with me if I could speak?" you whisper. On screen, Prince Eric tells Ariel she can't be the one after all, her voice taken by the evil sea witch. 

Eddie can't see your face, his head resting on yours. Each word you speak vibrates up. "Of course I would." 

"My pick up lines were half the selling point," you argue. 

You're a flirt sometimes, he'll give you that. "I'd love you even if you had a fish tail instead of legs. Eric doesn't know how good he's got it. I'd miss your voice." He draws a short line down your arm with his marriage fingertip. "But you'd still be my Y/N." 

"That's Disney cheesy," you say with a scoff. 

But. You weasel your arm around Roan's front to hug him, too. Gentle, you press a kiss to the slope leading down from his neck. His flirting was cheesy for sure, and it worked like a charm. 

[konigsblog]

Hi! This is my first time asking something :D 

Do you do anything, not nsfw? And if so, what would some random könig headcanons you agree with? Like habits and stuff you’d think he’d do? (does that make sense lmao)

If you just do nsfw you could make them nsfw headcanons.. Or just combine both aha

**HII.. i do write for sfw and fluff, as well as angst it's just not really requested as much as smut :) but here, hope you enjoy this!!! 🌙

silly könig headcannons

⭒ mentions of weed use, fluff.. 🌷🎀

⭒könig who prefers cats over dogs. they're quieter and calmer, has a ginger cat called ‘spice’ that's fiesty to new people. he loves the animal to death, and hands it to his oma when he's on deployment.

⭒i've mentioned this before, but i feel like könig was in a band as a kid, just a school one. he played the drums and was pretty emo in his teenager years...

⭒he sleeps in the weirdest positions. he'll either wake up with his body contorted into different ways, his arms above his head and across his chest with his legs intertwined with eachother.

⭒he's an easily jealous person, always top of his classes and getting 100% on his tests. his mother always wanted the best outcome for her son, so she was shocked when he decided to join the kommando spezialkräfte instead of becoming a doctor or a lawyer.

⭒has 100% attempted to get up but fell because his legs were stuck and tangled in his bedsheets.

⭒gets second hand embarrassment far too easily. he's cringing on the inside when someone does/says something stupid.

⭒absolutely hates the summer. it's horrible; everybody's sweaty and stinks, missions make him want to peal his skin off. definitely prefers autumn/winter.

⭒his favourite food to eat whilst sick is soup, a special homemade soup him and his mother made together while growing up. her own special recipe that he only teaches to his closest of friends.

⭒loves late night conversations. they're so deep and understanding, chatting for hours 'til your jaw hurts and the sun his peaking through the curtains.

⭒either drinks black coffee, really bitter. or drinks the most sugary coffee ever, no in-between. (tell me your opinions)

⭒is a morning person. gets up early and has his breakfast, something quick and easy, like toast or porridge (oatmeal), has a morning shower 'nd everything. (i love adding salt to my porridge/oatmeal)

⭒hates when people say germany and austria are the same. will definitely have a whole rant about the differences 'til you understand fully.

⭒smokes weed a lot, pretty much an addict. he says it's to calm his nerves down but he gradually started doing it more and more often. a stoner fs.

⭒enjoys movies, a lot. he loves sitting down with a blanket beside him, covered in orange cat hair. will probably make a bowl of popcorn to eat whilst watching, but ends up eating it all before he's even 30 minutes in.

big, bear hugs. we all know that the big, brute and towering man gives amazing hugs, but he really wants to lay atop of you, to cage you with his warmth.

⭒has a tendency to over share, rants sometimes while pretending to be confident, finding anything to talk about before feeling a bit uncomfortable with what he'd said.

⭒isn't shy. it's my biggest pet peeve when people make könig out to be someone shy, scared, ect.. he's not shy, he's socially anxious, but that doesn't make him quiet. he either puts on a front and pretends to be confident with a cocky, loud personality.

⭒absolutely adores milk. he drinks like a gallon in two days, that's why he's 6’10.

⭒enjoys mint chocolate chip ice cream, hates strawberry, especially if they have chunks. (self projecting)

⭒enjoys doing the dishes, finds it satisfying. until he touches food and gags.

⭒avid banana hater, the texture to the taste, everything about it makes him feel ill.

⭒listens to music for hours, usually something rock or heavy metal, loud music in his ears and the loud explosions gives him some hearing damage.

⭒usually smells woodsy, fresh cut trees and vanilla.

⭒germaphobe. doesn't like being near people when they're sick and will avoid them, probably because he gets sick too easily, despite having a strong immune system.

⭒isn't a very emotional person, he has sympathy for others but can't express it through tears and emotions. he's cold and aggressive to the recruits, blaming them for his issues because he struggles taking blame and fault for situations and needs a punching bag.

⭒owned a fish when he was around 7, cried because it died. turns out it was alive and he saw it swim down the toilet. never got another fish again, traumatized.

⭒doesn't like being told he's in the wrong, will refuse and deny it 'til he's forced to either apologise or end the friendship.

⭒curly ginger, or wavy ginger, you can't change my mind.

⭒doesn't really understand tiktok that much, or instagram. not really something that he's interested in, but occasionally uses twitter for like 5 minutes.

⭒has anemia, or iron deficiency. takes a couple naps a day because he doesn't like taking his supplements.

these are all i could think off 😵‍💫 tell me your personal headcannons!!

banner credit; @cafekitsune

[raven-ovs]

On This Night Of Ritual | Papa IV x f!Reader

Summary: On Lust, and Love, and all the sweet emotions in between. Copia and his partner choose to spend their night in a special way, expressing their devotion to Satan and to each other through the pleasures of the flesh.

Content: ~6.5 words, 18+ MDNI, established relationship, religious imagery, ritual sex, body workship, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, soft, they're in love love

Ao3 link - Full art

🥀

You shiver in anticipation, pulling the robe tighter over your chest, your eyes flitting around the bedroom. Your shared bedroom, you remind yourself, little bits of your own style scattered around, mingling with his, a quiet reminder of how your lives have intertwined since he asked you to move in with him.

The fabric feels soft against your bare skin, reassuring. He gifted it to you for this occasion specifically.

You glance down at your bare legs framed by the rich blue silk, a sigh escaping your lips.

Faint sounds of him getting ready reach your ears from the en-suite bathroom. A thud followed by a muttered curse makes you smile. He must be just as nervous as you, even though you've both agreed to this. You've talked about it so many times, fantasised about it, dipped your toes into it without fully committing.

But now... You're ready. Or at least, you want to be.

The bathroom door creaking open snaps you out of your thought, and you look up to find a very flustered Copia making his way to you.

He looks stunning, to say the least.

Divine.

He's wearing a silk robe as well, matching yours. His is in a deeper blue, though, and has golden embroideries all around its lapels and cuffs. It fits him.

A familiar warmth settles low in your belly at the sight of him, all your anxieties starting to melt, replaced by a much more intense eagerness.

You can spot a few lines of his tattoo, barely hidden by the robe tied loosely around his waist. His facepaint is pristine as always.

"Hey," you smile tentatively, searching his eyes. The white one almost seems to glow in the faint candle light of the room, and its magnetic pull only gets stronger as he steps closer. It's mesmerising.

"Amore," he whispers back as greeting, the mattress dipping when he sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Everything's ready." You gesture vaguely around you, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine as he looks around as well.

The crimson red sheets underneath you, the candles burning on every free surface of the room, the little bowl of red paint waiting on your nightstand.

He nods in approval, and you see that flicker of excitement in his gaze that always makes you swoon, until he jolts up, genuinely scaring the shit out of you.

"Copia, che cazzo!" you exclaim, only getting a dismissive "sorry" in return before he's padding off to the other side of the room, mumbling to himself.

"Shit, how could I forget? Eh... Just gotta... Where the hell did I put it?"

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, but don't comment further. Silly rat man.

How you love him.

A pleased little "ha!" follows, and before you know it, soft notes are filling the room, coming from his record player.

Oh... Right.

He's back at your side in an instant, and his grin tells you that he's waiting for a reaction from you. And that this is meaningful to him.

You listen carefully to what sounds like religious music at first, the sort of solemn hymns that you used to hear echoing in Catholic churches, a long, long time ago.

You're confused, until you begin to make out the words of this first song. They're definitely not Catholic.

It sounds like a Ghost song, but not quite... It's softer, more intimate in way, despite still having a grandiose feeling to it. A bit of an oxymoron, just like the man in front of you.

"Unreleased," he chimes in, filling the gaps in your thought process.

"Hm?"

"I... wrote this. Some time ago. Never released it." he explains, a vulnerable note to his voice that you don't fail to notice.

"Oh." You take another moment to listen in silence, feeling goosebumps raise on your skin as his rich voice reaches your ears from the recording. *Oh.*

"Copia... It's beautiful. Why didn't you release it?"

A shrug, dismissive. You nod, realising that it'll be a story for another time.

You both have a plan now, and you want to get through with it.

The music is just an unexpected, yet perfectly fitting addition.

“So…”

“So.” He gives you one of his lovely smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his cheeks, you assume, turning pink under his facepaint. You melt on the spot.

You've come up with it together, this… ritual you're about to do, if one might even call it that. It's a mix of you two, really. Your beliefs, your journeys, your shared faith. A manifestation of your devotion, for each other, and for your Lord, Satan.

You return his smile, and adjust your posture, sitting cross legged in front of him, a silent confirmation that you're ready, that you want this.

He mirrors you, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it and then folding his hands in his lap. The gray strands at his temples stand out in this light, and you love it.

So… There you are. First step. Soul gazing.

You scoot a little closer, trying to get comfortable before your eyes meet his. You sigh. Focus.

This part is all about building connection, stating your intentions, tapping into the right mindset.

“Our Father who art in Hell…” You hear him whisper, his low voice taking on that edge he has when delivering a sermon during Mass, but more muted, just for the two of you. You glance down when his inverted cross catches the light, shimmering in the middle of his sternum, then your eyes return to his as soon as he starts speaking again. “Guide us through this journey. Let the worship of our bodies be a token of our devotion to You. Watch us sin, and rejoice.” A pause, a breath escaping his painted lips. “Nema."

“Nema.” you repeat, your voice small compared to his, but no less firm.

You already feel the hypnotic nature of this exercise, your breathing slowing down the longer you look into his eyes, trying to sync to his. The mismatched green and white of his irises draws you in, and you can see every emotion playing out on his face, just as he can do with yours, you think.

His soul… Can you really see a person's soul, through their eyes? What does it even mean, soul? As a child, you were taught that your soul would be damned and cast to Hell if you sinned, but you don't believe in any of that anymore. It's not you, and it's definitely not him.

What you can see in his eyes is an energy, burning bright. It's the same energy you see when he's singing to his fans, when he's eating his favorite dish, when he’s petting his rats, when he's making love to you. Now that energy is focused, though, and it's all on you.

It makes your breath hitch, but you immediately school it back into the slow rhythm you two have built. In… Out… Again. Again.

His pupils are dilated, be it from the darkness or from arousal, you cannot tell. Most likely both.

You're not sure how many minutes pass like this, but it doesn't matter. Not when his hands reach forward, nimble fingers gently tugging your robe open. You do the same to him.

Step two.

You break eye contact to take in his revealed torso, the brown and gray dusting of hair on his chest that turns into a darker trail from his belly button down. So beautiful. Yours.

His gaze almost burns your skin in its intensity, and you imagine him already painting symbols on your body, his fingertips tinged red, making you shiver and sigh with every brush. Not yet.

“Still good?” You hear him ask, his voice barely above a whisper, an hopeful light in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course.” You smile.

The music has already faded in the background of your mind by now, but you're still grateful for its presence, for the way it fills your silences between one breath and the next. With measured movements, you each bring your right hand to the other's chest, over the heart, and then cover that hand with your own left one. A deep breath, and then you’re gazing into each other's eyes again.

There's a part of you that wonders at the single minded focus he shows in this moment. He's usually easily distracted, his thoughts scattered between his endless tasks and nerdy interests, fluttering from here to there like a moth at a lights fest. But not now.

The more you breathe, the clearer you can hear his heart thrumming under your fingertips, your pinky finger barely grazing his nipple. If he feels it, he doesn't let you see his reaction. When he's thoroughly fucked you, and lets you rest with your head on his chest, that's when you feel his heartbeat the strongest. That, or when he gets really anxious, and comes to you for reassurance. When he looks at you with eyes wide, a little lost, and you place your hands on his chest, guiding him to breathe until the darkness dissipates enough to keep going.

Now it feels just as strong, a steady, reassuring rhythm that proves to you that he's actually there, in front of you. The man of your dreams. Not a figment of your imagination, but real, solid, human.

You wish you could read his thoughts right now. Is he thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him? You almost want to ask him, whisper a “penny for your thoughts” just to see one of those smiles that light up the whole room, but no… No, this is about something else. This is about laying yourselves bare for the other to see, and to love. Words are not needed for that.

You breathe in his love for you, and breathe out your love for him. An exchange. Again and again. Time passes, but again… It doesn't matter.

For the next step, you need to be bare. Literally.

You're not sure who reaches out first, who switches position first, but your next breath is taken on your knees, his hands on your shoulders, sliding the robe off of you. You let it fall somewhere behind you, and watch him kneel as well, his own robe open, splayed out from his back down to his feet like a wedding veil.

He almost looks too good to take it off, but you know it's part of the process. Both of you naked. Vulnerable.

“Sei bellissimo,” you find yourself whispering as your hands find his sides, sliding up his torso and towards his arms to start guiding the robe off. The blush you earn in response is enough to make your heart stutter, the red so vivid that it's visible even under the layers of white paint.

Copia averts his gaze, but you know he's silently preening at your words. Always a sucker for praise.

He shimmies out of the embroidered sleeves, and then the robe falls behind him just like yours did, discarded. It almost feels like unwrapping a gift.

“I can feel Him,” he mumbles, making you look at his face again.

“Who?”

“Satan. Watching us…”

“Oh.” You blink, finding that notion a bit foreign, but not unpleasant. You can't deny the buzz in the air around you, the almost palpable promise of what's coming. Your Papa knows what he's talking about, that much you're sure of.

“Is He pleased?”

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his shoulders raising a bit. Cute. “Think so. But… He, eh… He's waiting for the next bit.”

That makes you chuckle, and you find it reassuring that now, now that should be the most ritualistic phase, you’re acting more casual, connecting in the way that you're used to, that's familiar to you.

“Right, yeah.” As if on cue, you turn around to grab the little bowl you had left on your nightstand, bringing it between you two and placing it on the covers. Strategically red, yes, but alluring too. Red paint on red sheets. That will look good.

You discussed which symbols to draw and on whom. You remember his words distinctly. The way his rich voice explained to you the meanings and differences between each one, the fervour of his belief as he spoke to you of his life’s work. That had ended in a very intense, unforgettable night of sex. But tonight will be different, in a way.

“Should I, uh… Should I start?” you ask tentatively, seeking his approval.

He nods, laying his hands back against the mattress, leaving his whole front open to your view and to your touch. You know he'd trust you with his life.

Trying to rein in your trembling, you dip your fingers into the bowl, shivering at the feeling of the cold, burgundy liquid. Not blood, of course, but it does look like it. You take in a shaky breath, and let it out, and then your clean hand is cradling his jaw, tilting his head up as you lean closer.

As precisely as possible, you draw a small, inverted pentagram on his forehead. The first symbol of your faith. The stark contrast between the red and his black and white face paint is striking. Gorgeous.

Next, you draw an inverted cross on his left arm. The design matches that of your own makeup, a gothic feel to it that reminds you of the tapestries and stained glass artworks you always admire around the Ministry. He simply kneels there, watching you, embracing the solemnity of this moment.

One last symbol for him. The Sigil of Lucifer.

You take your time drawing it, your index finger sliding along the curves of his stomach. His abs tense as you pass over them, and you have to bite your lip at the noise he makes when you draw the little swirls at the bottom, framing his happy trail. Framing his cock.

You've tried not to focus on it, but it's near impossible now, knowing that you’ll be touching him soon. He's been hard since the moment you started all this, but now… Oh, by now he's leaking, his head flushed a deep red, the vein on the underside evident as his cock twitches against his belly, almost smearing the paint you've just placed there. You barely stifle a giggle.

“Don't be so smug about it,” he grumbles, his brow furrowing as he glances down at himself. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a few moments, his lipstick fading in that spot, but as soon as you're done painting he lifts his head again, an air of confidence about him that makes your cunt throb. “Your turn.” he declares, reaching down to grab the bowl and slide it closer to himself.

You brace yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his fingers dipped in red tracing lines around your nipple, drawing a pentagram of his own. You clench your thighs together, and you know he notices, but he doesn't say anything. Only smirks.

“Turn around, tesoro,” he instructs in that seductive voice of his, a voice that could bring a nation to its knees if he only ever asked. He doesn't need to, though. He has you on your knees for him, almost every night.

You do as told, and present your back to him. Your ass, actually, as you shift to place your hands on the mattress, on all fours. He actually groans at the sight, the little bastard.

You huff in reply, your head hanging low between your shoulders to hide your blush. “Don't get distracted…”

“Never, piccola.” You can practically hear his shit-eating grin in his voice, but you press your lips together, silencing yourself from further remarks. Not the time for banter, as much as you love it.

Without another word, his fingers meet your skin again. He starts at your hip bone and makes his way along your ass, drawing another pentagram. This time, though, he adds more strokes, tracing lines with practiced ease to form the Sigil of Baphomet.

He hums once done, sounding pleased with himself. You turn around again, careful not to sit on your heels any longer, not wanting to mess up the paint before it has dried. A small penance for the ineffable amount of pleasure that you're going to experience soon.

“Last one.” He reminds you with a smile, his expression softer now, more caring. You wonder what came over him. “You're being so good, baby.”

That really makes you blush, hard. You're not sure who likes praise more in your relationship.

“Ah… Grazie.” you mutter, your gaze falling to the bowl in front of you, unable to sustain his stare.

He laughs fondly and shakes his head before dipping his fingers in the paint one last time. You did his belly, so it's only fair that he should do yours too. Satan's Cross. Right in the middle of your stomach. All goes well until he draws the infinite under your belly button, his finger scorching like fire on your already over sensitised skin. You moan, unable to stop it. He winces, his hand trembling as he pulls away.

“Amore… If you keep making sounds like that, this will be over much sooner than we want.”

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. You're both more worked up than you've probably ever been, and you can't help but wonder how exactly you're going to last as long as you're meant to, edging each other to ecstasy. Satan will guide you in that, you hope silently.

You take a moment to appreciate how perfect he looks with all those symbols painted on his skin. A fallen angel, worthy to stand beside Lucifer himself.

You wipe your fingers on the sheets below you, and watch him do the same. The paint is sex friendly, sure, but you don't want to stain his whole body with it. Neither does he.

“I want you, Copia… I want you so bad.” You search his eyes, finding that same desire reflected in them.

“I'm all yours.”

That's all it takes for you to move forward, still on your knees, and cup his face in both hands. Is this what they mean when they talk about holding the world in your hands? The thought makes you grin.

“What?”

“Uh? Nothing.”

“What?”

You can't deny him when he's looking at you like that.

“I love you,” you whisper simply, hoping it can somehow convey the depth of your feelings. You're not sure, but if his smile is any indicator, at least part of that sentiment reached him.

You brush your thumbs over his temples and at the corners of his eyes as he whispers an “I love you” in return. You must have heard those words coming from his lips thousands of times, but they still make your heart flutter like the very first.

“May I kiss you?” As if you even need to ask. He hums, pretending to think about it, that mischievous twinkle crossing his gaze as he leans closer, your lips now mere inches apart.

Copia looks up at you through his lashes, in a way that looks almost coquettish, and you're unsure whether to slap him or kiss him stupid.

“Ti prego…” he murmurs, his breath fanning your lips.

Fuck, this man.

Before you can stop yourself, you've closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. You don't know if it was the synced breathing, the symbols, or just staring into each other's eyes for so long, but this kiss feels so powerful, so meaningful that it makes you swoon, and you have to grab his face tighter, ground yourself. He moans in response, feeling that same intensity.

Heat pools in your core as you feel his tongue swiping along your lower lip, asking for entrance. His arms snake around your waist to pull you closer, and could almost swear you heard a muffled “please” against your lips. You’re powerless.

The kiss turns messy the moment you part your lips and let him in, your tongues pressing against each other, lips fusing together as if you can't get close enough fast enough. You swallow each other's moans, licking and nipping until you're both panting.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your gaze falling to his kiss-swollen lips. Fuck.

“Amore…” he starts, but goes silent again when you wipe the spit off his bottom lip with your thumb, your fingers grasping his chin.

It shouldn't be like this. You should go slow, keep that energy going. But dammit, it's hard.

“Sorry, sorry… I know.” Your hands leave his face, and you breathe harshly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like before. Kinda.

“I can't get enough of you.” you admit, your fingers trailing down his chest, following the contours of his tattoo. Focus. Focus.

You always knew there was something about you, a craving that you never seemed to satisfy. You deemed it wrong for so long that it almost felt like second nature to chastise yourself. He's taught you to indulge, though. He has embraced that part of you, and that flame has grown, threatening to consume you both. What a way to die, that would be.

Still, he looks hopeful now, and his eyes are burning, yes, but so soft. So soft that it makes you think you would do anything to make him proud. Suddenly you feel calmer, and reverence replaces hunger. After all, works of art should be admired quietly, carefully, taking your time. And he's the ultimate masterpiece.

“That's it, sì…” He nods down at your hands on his torso, and soon reaches out to touch you as well. Slow. Gentle. Light as if touching the most delicate porcelain. It's almost funny, when you know that he can fuck you hard enough to make you cry. And that you can do the same to him.

Your hands wander, fingertips still stained red, even though the paint has dried by now. You do nothing to suppress the sighs and gasps that his touch elicits, knowing it emboldens him, lets him know it's okay to make noise. Knees parted, you both lean closer, breathing each other in as fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He mirrors you, you mirror him. Like a dance. A slow… Slow dance.

You let your nails scrape lightly at the juncture of his pelvis, and he groans, a deep, needy sound. You love it.

He spreads his legs some more, encouraging you, and you take in on his offer. Of course you do. You reach his taint, your touch so light that it's almost ticklish, and you can hear the thought forming in his head even before looking at his face. He's grinning like an idiot.

“You're impossible.” You shake your head, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, and then press harder on the spot, your thumb massaging his skin until-

“Oh! Fuck…” His eyes widen, the noise coming out of his mouth sounding positively sinful.

You won't be going into a full prostate massage, but you know what it does to him. Indulge, no? That's the whole point.

You keep rubbing there until he goes a little cross-eyed, and you have to stop then, worried that he'll come right then and there. You can't have that.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain his bearings. “Cazzo, amore… You can't just do… That.” He pouts, and it's the most adorable look he's given you all night, with his lips still puffy from your kiss and his lipstick smeared into a dark gray around the edges.

You giggle, but retreat your hand, resorting to stroking the top of his thigh in soothing motions. Copia huffs, running a hand through his hair to brush some unruly strands out of his forehead.

“Better?” you ask with a small, self-satisfied smile which earns you a glare from him.

His hands find your waist again, and he pulls you closer, one of your knees going between his. He leans back with one hand on the bed, exposing himself to your gaze in an almost challenging manner, his eyes roving over your body, almost as if trying to commit it all to memory. Then, his hand reaches between your legs for the first time tonight, and you're done for. You're drenched. So drenched that it actually draws a gasp from him as he dips his fingers between your folds. Satan below, how are you meant to last?

His thumb finds your clit as his eyes meet yours again, your lips parting in anticipation. “What a sight you make, piccolina…”

“Copia…” You close your eyes, trying to maintain at least a semblance of control even as he starts rubbing tiny circles around your clit, his moves practiced and precise.

He's grown confident with it. Not that he wasn't great to begin with, but oh, now he knows just how to play your body, how to make you gasp, and moan, and whimper, and scream until your throat feels raw.

You try to focus on your breath, as you're meant to, and let your hand slither back towards his crotch. It needs to be mutual.

You cradle his balls in your palm, feeling them hot and heavy in your hold, ready to burst. His lips part in a silent moan, so close to you that he could kiss you if only he leaned forward a little bit. He doesn't. So instead, you slide your fingers up and wrap them around his cock.

“Ahh-” His eyes widen, and he does brush his lips against yours then, his tongue barely peeking out. He slides a finger inside you, another step in your dance.

A stroke, all the way up to his tip, and his finger pushes further in. Your thumb swipes over his slit, slicking him up with his own precum, and his finger curls inside you, the pad of it pressing against your front wall just right. You're staring at each other through half-lidded eyes, and it doesn't feel like you're fighting anymore. You’re both breaking in front of each other, bit by bit, unashamed.

“Copia…”

“Mmmm…” He leans in properly, and your mouth finds his. It's wet, and just as messy as before, with him licking past your lips, and you sucking on his tongue. That makes him growl. The sort of noise that you sometimes beg him to make. Deep, and feral, and so fucking hot.

You clench around his finger, desperate for more, and he seems to sense your need, sliding a second one inside you with almost no effort at all. Your left arm rests on his shoulder, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull back to look into his eyes again. They're almost pitch black now. Two pools of pure Lust, surrounded by thin crowns of green and white.

You stroke him faster, the slide made easier by his own arousal. “Cazzo, ahh…”

“I'm… I need you. Fuck, I need you. Please…”

Your words snap him out of his pleasure fueled haze, and he blinks at you before glancing down between your bodies. So connected and yet so distant. It's not enough. His fingers pull out of you with a sloppy sound, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“Shhh… I know.” He reaches down to grasp your hand, stilling it with your palm against his tip. Your fingers intertwine with his, and for a few precious moments, you move together, your thumb rubbing along his frenulum as he guides your palm back and forth, your slick on his fingers mingling with his own. He whimpers, actually whimpers, resting his forehead against yours. And then he's pulling your hands away, to your disappointment.

“Amore, please…” You watch him pull away, and rearrange himself so that he's sitting with his legs in front of himself instead of kneeling.

“Come here, piccola.”

You scramble towards him, eager, and straddle his firm, perfect thighs. “Like this?” you ask. He shakes his head.

Last step.

He reaches for your hips, squeezing affectionately, and guides you up. “Oh…” You know what he wants. What you both want. Yes. Oh, yes.

You reach down, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. The way he twitches against you is almost enough to make you come.

“Breathe, yeah?” he reminds you, even though he's pretty far gone himself.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He waits for eye contact, for your nod of consent, and then slowly, slowly pulls you down, breaching you.

“Ah- Fuck… Fuck…” It's agonising, almost, how good it feels.

You have no idea how much time has passed since you started, but it feels like hours. Hours in a constant state of arousal, each sense heightened, bringing you higher, until every touch feels like pure bliss. Pure, damned bliss.

“A-amore… Mmmm.” He holds your hips in a death grip, and you can almost feel the bruises forming, knowing you’ll smile at your reflection tomorrow when they'll remind you of the night you had, of the pleasure you shared.

He bottoms out, your ass meeting his thighs, and you've never felt so full. Physically, yes. But not only that. You're in tune with him, your chests rising and falling in sync, even as your breaths grow laboured. You can't look away from his eyes, not for an instant. You're one.

No more words are needed then. There's just him, and you, an “us” that feels more genuine than it ever has.

You breathe, and breathe, feeling the pleasure building despite you both staying still. A thought strikes you then, that Satan actually is watching, and that he's letting that energy build more and more. How could it feel so good otherwise?

You shift forward, angling your hips so that his tip can press against that perfect spot inside you, your arms circling his neck. His hands unclench from your hips, and he hugs you. Properly hugs you. His arms around your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. You close your eyes, sighing. You can practically feel his heartbeat inside you.

It's intimate, more than you think you can bear. But it's with him. Him, whom you've loved for years. Him, whom you've admired for even longer, silently, from afar. Him, who’s yours. Your Papa. Your Copia.

It's intimate, and raw, and a little scary. And perfect.

You stay like that for as long as your bodies allow, your walls clenching around him in a vain attempt to get some friction. You hug, and breathe, your nose buried in the crook of his neck. And then, you start moving. A slow roll of your hips, a timid rock up of his. You gasp in unison, stars sparkling under your closed eyelids.

It wouldn't be so bad, dying like this, so wrapped up in each other. And if you did things right, you will die soon. A wonderful little death, or a few, maybe.

The rocking of his hips soon grows more purposeful, and you feel him pressing deeper, where he belongs. You moan against his neck, your lips parting to mouth at his earlobe.

“Ohh… Oh, please…” He squeezes you tighter against himself, snapping his hips up until you feel like you're going to pass out from the pleasure.

“S-shit. Slow down. Oh, Satan… Slow down.” you pant into his ear, not wanting this to end yet.

Not yet. You're greedy like that.

He groans in frustration, but eventually stops moving, just in time. You pull your head back to look into his eyes, finding him with his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed. It reminds you of when he's trying to poke the straw into one of his juice boxes. You giggle.

“I love you… So damn much, you know?” you whisper, your voice rough from all the moaning, and shaking with the effort of still holding back.

“And I love you. Ti amo.” he whispers back, just as wrecked at you.

“Ti amo.”

And with that you're moving again.

It builds much faster this time. It's exhilarating, and it goes straight to your head. You're both overstimulated, your bodies quivering. And yet… More. More, more. Satan, please, more.

You don't want to stop. And that fire spreading in your core tells you that you can't stop. Not now.

“Amore- I can't… So close…” He seems to voice your own thoughts, and you nod desperately, struggling to keep looking at him with your eyes rolling back at his every thrust.

You brace your hands on his shoulders, and ride him as you've done countless times before, but with more purpose now, more focus, and with hours, fuck, hours of buildup. You start out slow, lifting yourself up almost all the way, and sinking back down, your thighs burning.

He's holding on for dear life, and you can see it clearly. His chest is heaving, his eyes unfocused, his lips parted, a flush spreading from his ears and cheeks all the way down to his chest. Debauched. And yours. You're sure you're not doing much better.

He grabs your hips again, and makes you speed up, the litany of moans escaping his lips telling you that he's past reason. Like a destructive tsunami, it can't be stopped.

You cling to each other, and it builds, and builds, and builds. And oh, the edging worked, because the more you move, the surer you are that you’re going to touch Heaven, only to fall down past the crust of the earth after, down right into the pits of Hell. You'd be welcome there.

His moans and yours mingle in a symphony of your own, and an outsider could almost think that they're in time with the music still playing in the background. That you're part of that music now.

You climb higher and higher, and wonder for an instant if that is how the people of Babel felt, as they got closer and closer to God. But you're not looking for God. You have your own piece of divinity right in front of your eyes. The love of your life.

“Ahh- Ah!” your love cries out, and you feel him tense beneath you, rocking his hips as far up as they'll go, burying himself fully inside you as his eyes roll back into his head, and his orgasm hits him. You feel his cock kicking inside you, his familiar warmth flooding your core, and you hold him tighter, hoping to prolong his high.

You're right on the edge yourself, and he's still twitching in you when he reaches his hand between you two to rub your clit. Just a few strokes, and you're joining him.

You press your mouth against his still open one, muffling your scream, and clamp down around him, your walls, your whole body really, pulsating with ecstasy. It's all consuming.

He gasps sharply when your climax seems to trigger another one from him. Unlikely, but even if it is just one, it lasts an ungodly amount of time. Thank Satan.

You keep grinding down on him until every last ounce of pleasure has been pulled from your body, and you're left drained, completely. You don't really know how many orgasms those were. Maybe one, maybe five. Who cares, when you're practically about to pass out on top of him.

Copia pants against your shoulder, sounding pretty close to hyperventilating. But then it dies down, the euphoria, leaving just buzzing static in your minds, your ears ringing, your hearts still racing.

“That was-”

“I think-”

Your voices clash, and you end up laughing, his cute little chuckle in your ear making your heart do a somersault.

“You first, amore,” you prompt, pulling back a bit to meet his gaze. He's a whole damn mess, but you know you look the same.

“Eh, just… That was… One of the most intense experiences I've ever had.” he mutters, sounding back to his usual self, not the agent of Satan on earth, just Copia.

“Yeah. It was… A lot.”

“Mmm.”

You smile at him, but then that smile splits into a full on-grin when you watch him making a face and shifting his legs under you. You know what that means, yet you ask anyway. “What?”

“‘M sticky…”

It's true, you can feel his seed dripping down your inner thighs as he goes soft inside you, but it doesn't bother you, it never does.

You roll your eyes, but still gently lift yourself off of him, wincing when he slips fully out. You miss him already. He flops down on his back over the mattress, and you join him, draping yourself against his side, your arm around his waist and your head resting on his shoulder.

Sometimes he likes it too, staying inside you, letting the feeling linger. Sometimes that turns him on again, and he fucks his seed deeper into you, until you’re both completely exhausted. Other times, he just wants this, and you love it just as much.

“Shower?” you offer.

“Hmm, in a bit.”

“Alright.” You tilt your head up to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. It always makes him shiver. “I think He liked it.”

“Huh?”

“Satan, He liked it. I could feel it, I think, near the end…”

That makes him peek down at you, a hint of a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “He likes you.” he tells you in that rumbly, sultry voice that never fails to make you weak.

“Well…” You avert your gaze, blushing, and fix it onto the inverted cross resting over his chest, your fingers coming up to toy with it. A reminder of the power that this man holds. Your man.

He hums, clearly not pleased that you looked away from him, and you feel his hand cupping your cheek, covering half of your face, really.

“Your Papa still demands your attention, topina.” He pulls you up to him, guiding your face towards his so that he can kiss you, nice and slow, almost languid, the way he kisses you when his mind is still floating in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Want me to wash your back, Papa?” you whisper against his lips, and he smirks, making your stomach flutter. Maybe the night is not quite over yet.

“If you'll indulge me…”

“I always do.”

The moment after, he’s dragging you to the bathroom, his eyes sparkling with teenage-like excitement. As if you didn't just go through a whole damn sex ritual.

But you do indulge him. You always do.

You'll just have to remember to put off all the candles before collapsing back into bed, loved like only he can love you.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you a bill x reader where reader is essentially just kaidou from saiki k, they are really persistent about being strong but are really weak. Bill finds it funny asf and just constantly fucks with reader but they never admit that they're scared or that they're weak

I know I’ve been a bit slow with requests but that’s because I’m on a bit of a decline in my mental health lately but I promise to get to each one in due time.

Bill finds you amusing to say the least, your false bravado and confidence made for quality entertainment that he hasn’t had in a long, long time.

‘You’re pathetic kid! It’s hilarious, not for you obviously, but for me it’s like I’m watching a game show go horribly wrong with all the contestants getting grievously hurt.’ Bill cackled from his spot, sipping his drink through a silly straw, as though he didn’t just sent an army of human sized fire ants to chase you for the fun of it.

‘I’m not pathetic!’ You squeaked, becoming flustered at how high pitched your voice sounds, before clearing your throat and crossing your arms over your chest in what you thought was a cool and casual manner. ‘I’m not pathetic, I was…luring them into a false sense of security before I best them all up.’ You added as bill raised his nonexistent eyebrow at you, making you feel as though he was seeing through your bullshit with ease; Which he did.

‘Right, I’m sure you were sweets. You had them on the ropes or running for the hills or however that saying goes.’ Bill drawled, unconvinced as he took in how you skittishly looked over your shoulder as though you were waiting to get ambushed by the ants. You were giving Bill so many new ways to taunt you to the brink of insanity without trying so hard, while not making an attempt to build a backbone with how quick you were to cower in fear from whatever he summoned as you ran away as fast as your legs could carry you.

You never know a day of rest with Bill taking the piss out of you that your entire day felt as though it was straight out of the horror movie.

Your bed? It’s now become an Elderich monster that was trying to eat you alive as you scream like a little girl as you bolted out of it faster then the human eye can see and into the kitchen where Bill was, wearing a hot pink apron that read:

You’re a acute-y

‘Oh hey sport, I was just making breakfast.’ He chirps as he watched you walk over to him, looked in the pan, only to reframe from screaming at the top of your lungs when you saw that he was cooking live worms, crickets and woodlice

‘Oh that’s…that’s lovely bill…they look delicious.’ You said unbelievably as you felt your appetite leave you for the rest of the month.

Your favourite mug? It’s now become a ceramic cockroach that kept flying too close to your face for your own liking as you tried to keep distance from it, only to end up tripping over your sofa and face planting the floor.

‘I almost had him!’ Your muffled voice called as Bill eat his bowl of deer teeth.

‘Sure you did kid, I’m rooting for you and all that sappy human stuff.’ Bill replied as he threw more deer teeth into his mouth/eye? Before dressing himself in a hoodie that had your frightened face on the front. Seriously you were a hell of a fun time for Bill! You made everything easier for him and that’s what he liked most, when he didn’t have to put as much effort into anything at all.

Bill knew you wouldn’t admit that you were scared or anything less than brave and tough, which only made things even more funny for Bill as he’d throw stranger and more weirder things just to see you run away screaming bloody murder, probably trip over thin air and then and only then would Bill get bored and magic away the monster while you tried to calm your racing heart.

‘Kid you’re killing me here, just admit that you’re a scaredy cat with no backbone and we’ll be done here.’ Bill said one day after you almost got burnt to cinders by a zombie dragon.

‘Never! To admit defeat in the face of danger is for the weaker man, and I am not the weaker man!’ You exclaimed, only to wince when you pulled at a particularly sensitive part of your body and slowly sat back down on the chair.

Bill pats your head as though he were patting a demonic puppy. ‘You sad, stupid human.’ He sighs but in reality he was coming up with more things he could use to torment you in the future, for now however he had literally ran out of ideas, so you were safe…for now.