#i’m actually gonna scream and cry and die | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

digwhatudug · 2 years ago

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twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

20:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you.

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen.

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on.

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour?

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time.

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through.

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened?

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s.

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now.

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks.

Eddie’s phone number.

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone.

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it.

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant.

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out?

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer.

EDDIE: Excuse me?

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone.

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them.

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers.

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh.

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke?

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that.

EDDIE: Debatable.

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two.

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke.

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant?

This time, he plays along.

EDDIE: I don't know, what?

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight.

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom.

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny.

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD.

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face.

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do.

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me.

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out.

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying.

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are.

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings.

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him.

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you.

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful.

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene.

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.”

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him.

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.”

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?”

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.”

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you.

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains.

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent.

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips.

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,” you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

He didn’t believe you.

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.”

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb.

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.”

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.”

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.”

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.”

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.”

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated.

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.”

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs.

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.”

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.”

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.”

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists.

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him.

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught.

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you.

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?”

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?”

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.”

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move.

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred.

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip.

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him.

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to.

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts.

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now.

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy.

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them.

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking.

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly.

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in.

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down.

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks.

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers.

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?”

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you.

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?”

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance.

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply.

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.”

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on.

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack.

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on.

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.”

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin.

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning.

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory.

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember.

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control.

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him.

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you.

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it.

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days.

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.”

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.”

“Yeah? Only for me?”

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him.

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned.

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?”

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.”

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.”

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down.

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said.

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.”

“Why?”

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release.

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.”

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed.

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.”

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need.

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed.

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain.

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers.

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.”

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!”

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat.

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him.

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm.

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said.

Loved you.

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done.

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

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#i actually feel fucking hysterical right now #i’m gonna do something disastrous #i’m gonna be on the news #i’m feeling so much at once #i wanna cry i wanna vomit i wanna scream i wanna die i wanna live i wanna run around in circles while foaming at the mouth #it’s like you’re simultaneously trying to kill and resuscitate me #oh my GOD #i need to sit down #fic fucking rec #FAVORITE FAVORITE FAVORITE #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

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theliving-radio · 4 months ago

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Hi :D I've read your Big Brother Malleus headcanons and I love them a lot. I don't know if you take requests but... I've been wondering on what would happen in the following scenarios:

Reader gets involved in a mishap during class and gets turned into a little kid by accident. While Ace, Deuce, Grim, and the teachers try to find a way to fix this, Reader starts crying and screams that they want their Big Brother.

Angsty bit: someone with a grudge against the Draconias finds out that the Reader is Malleus' younger sibling and kidnaps them.

You don't need to write anything you're not comfortable with. Just wanted to share some of my ideas for when a Protective Big Brother Malleus will appear.

1) I love this idea so much, so here’s a writing short~

Professor Crewel passes the neatly wrapped up, toddler Prefect to the three idiots to prepare making an antidote.

Ace held you away from him like you would give him a some weird crazy disease from your tiny chubby self.

“Oh my Sevens… Ace, hold them properly!”

“I am holding them!”

“Not PROPERLY!”

“Mrah! Pass them to me! I’ll carry them! They’re my hench-human after all!”

“Grim, they are like the same size as you but heavier!”

“I’m strong enough!”

All three of them argued over one another, the noise from them starting to hurt your little head. And so you did the only thing you could do to get out of these idiots hold.

Cry.

It started out as a small sniffle and then increased to loud wailing. All three of your friends stop what they’re doing and go back to focus on you.

“Hey, why are you crying? It’s ok! Look, big brother Ace is here!” Ace raises you in the air and started making an engine sound with his mouth, trying to mimic a plane sound as he pretended you were the plane!

His movements only caused you to cry harder.

“Mal Mal!” Ace stops his movements when he heard you scream out for a certain fae.

“Uh oh.” Deuce also paused as he, Ace, and Grim slowly turn their heads to the classroom door as they heard the sound of loud footsteps steps running in the hallway.

The classroom door slams open to reveal Malleus in the doorway, scanning the almost empty classroom. His eyes land on you, your tiny figure crying in Ace’s hold.

Was that you? It couldn’t be…

But you confirmed Malleus’s thought when you sniffled and started making grabby hands towards him, letting out sad miserable sobs that broke his poor dragon heart.

Malleus was over to the four of you in an instant, stealing you away from Ace to hold you close to himself.

“Hey-,”

“My poor, sweet, Baby sibling. You do not need to fear anymore. Big Brother is here now.” Malleus ignored Ace, having his full attention on you.

Malleus held your small body close to his chest and rocked his body side to side, lulling you into a deep sleep. Your hiccups and sobs were no more, just the sound of your soft snores as the fae continues to hold you.

Malleus smiles down at this small baby version of you. His baby sibling, (who is an actual baby now) was adorable. You had your face squished up against his chest and your tiny hand was gripping his school jacket.

Ace and Deuce were in awe seeing the dragon fae take special care of you, how gently he handled your infant form.

Grim on the other hand wasn’t really impressed. He’s seen Malleus try and baby you before and you usually swat him away playfully, so this wasn’t really new.

Malleus turns to face the people who caused the problem in the first place. Ace and Deuce thought they were gonna die right then and there. Instead, the fae smiled at them.

“Both of you are lucky that your mishap has created something positive out of it. I already assume Professor Crewel is making something to reverse the process?”

“Yeah… He said we have to take care of the Prefect for the time being.”

“Absolutely not.” Malleus dismissed Deuce, “I shall be the one looking after my Baby Sibling. I am their Big Brother after all.”

Malleus proudly walks away from the three, going back to his dorm and to ask Lilia if he has Silver’s old baby carrier.

He knows you aren’t gonna be like this forever, but he’s gonna use all the time he has to savor this opportunity. Big Brother Malleus is gonna take good care of his Baby Sibling.

2) Now for the kidnapping bit, I wouldn’t think it would be much of angst. Just more of-

You were currently sitting in a chair.

In an office.

Inside the Royal Sword Academy.

Facing Headmage Ambrose who looked as equally as annoyed as you were.

And right beside you was the cause of the reason why you were here.

Standing beside you was a student from Royal Sword, who also happened to be a Prince, standing proudly at his accomplishment.

And what did he accomplish?

Kidnapping you apparently. You were minding your own damn business, having a nice walk with Malleus… when this asshole on a white horse came out of no where and swiftly stole you away from your peaceful walk.

Like excuse you???

“Prince Etienne, please… can you explain to me, one last time, why you brought Mx (Y/n) here?” Ambrose finally spoke up as he adjusted his spectacles, looking at the one named Etienee.

“It’s just like I said, Headmage. I’ve been hearing news about a poor, magic-less student suffering at Night Raven. Clearly, the school had to be taking care of them, right? Yet I couldn't stop my concern..." Etienne crossed his arms and closed his eyes, recounting the events on what he saw.

"So, I rode over to the school, hoping to maybe see the Prefect and how they are doing. But when I made it to the school, what do I see? This poor Defenseless student being attacked by one of their peers! He was about to hit them!"

At the time of your kidnapping, Malleus was teasing you due to the height difference and was about to ruffle your hair... but before he was able to do so, you were taken away.

Did he think Malleus was gonna hit you? Malleus would probably curse himself for eternity if he was to hurt you. Just two weeks ago, the poor idiot locked himself away when he accidentally stepped on your toe. He sent you a chest full of jewels from his own hoard as an apology!

"-so I took action! I couldn't stand by and watch another get hurt! I told my horse to pick up the speed. I was able to grab them by the back of their shirt and lift them up and onto my steed! From there I immediately rode back here and away from their attacker."

Attacker?! Malleus!?

But Etienne didn't seem to care or listen. Even when he took you away, you threw insult after insult at him, yet he did not care.

Ambrose pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long sigh.

"Excuse me, Headmage?"

"Yes, Prefect?"

You point over at Etienne, "I wish to report this student for harassment and disturbing the peace... My peace."

Etienne quickly turns to you and dares to look offended... HIM! Offended!

"Why are you reporting me?! I saved you!"

"Saved me from what? Getting my hair messed up? Being teased by a friend?"

"He was going to hit you!"

"Bullshit!"

Ambrose watches as you and Etienne bicker at each other. He sighs and stands from his desk... and that's when he feels it...

A powerful source of Magical Energy was fastly approaching this very room...

Suddenly, the Headmages' office doors slam open, and the room is illuminated by a bright flash of lightning, followed by the sound of rolling thunder. There stood a tall and intimidating figure; the only sound heard from them was the heavy breathing and the small whisps of fire escaping from his mouth.

Malleus Draconia in the flesh looked like he was just about to kill someone.

Before you were able to greet him, Etienne pulls you closer to him and raises his mage pen, pointing it right at Malleus. Seeing you so close to the human prince caused Malleus to growl.

When the situation looked like it was getting too much, Ambrose flicked his wrist and took Etienne's pen away, flicked his wrist again and had you both separated, then motioned for Malleus to come inside his office.

The dragon fae huffed out his nose, letting out smoke as he began to make his way across the room. Etienne turned to Headmage Ambrose, his expression of pure shock. "Headmage! This is the student I saw-!"

"What took you so long, Horton?" You interrupted Etienne, giving Malleus a playful smirk, making the fae move his murderous glare from the prince to you. His expression changed so quickly to one of worry as he strode over to you and began to pat down your body.

"Are you ok? Did you get hurt anywhere? I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get here, I was processing what happened before my eyes." You laugh as Malleus explains himself, still patting down your body to see if you had any cuts or bruises on you.

Etienne's jaw dropped as he watched the student from before, who tried to hurt you, was looking for any injuries on your person. Ambrose lets out a small chuckle as he goes back to sit at his desk. The Prince turns to the Headmage, who clearly wanted to know what was going on, but didn't know how to ask.

"Prince Etienne, I know that I, and many of your teachers, have told you to stop jumping to conclusions. You always assume something before examining the full situation," Amborose motioned to Malleus, who seemed less concerned about the other two humans in the room as he was nonstop checking on your well-being. "This is Prince Malleus Daconia. Future King to Briar Valley."

Malleus took his glove off and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. "Are you getting a fever? You feel slightly warm..."

"Malleus, it's been like 45 minutes, how would I have gotten a fever within that period?"

"Humans have a weaker immune system than fae, so I wouldn't be surprised if a certain human prince gave you an illness..." Malleus shifted his gaze to Etienne, going back to the death glare he was originally giving him.

“You looked like you were about to hit them!”

“And why, pray tell, would I ever hit my Baby Sibling?”

The room fell silent from the bombshell Malleus just dropped.

You stuck your hand up, adding to what he said “Adopted! He adopted me as his sibling, and I’m ok with that.”

“Baby Sibling.”

“We are not starting this conversation again.” You huff and crossed your arms. Malleus couldn’t help but chuckle at the obvious pout you gave him.

In that moment, Etienne watched as Malleus lifted his hand up… and ruffled your hair…

He got the situation all wrong…

“I apologize for my behavior!” Etienne bows towards you and Malleus. “I really thought the Mx (Y/n) was in some sort of danger! So I acted out without thinking!”

Malleus grew quiet as he looked down at the human Prince, clearly asking for forgiveness from his past actions. The Fae only lets out a huff and steps closer to Etienne.

“I am not entirely happy that you ‘rescued’ my dear Baby Sibling… but, I do admire the fact you sprung into action just to protect them, even when there was no danger around.” Malleus’s words caused Etienne to look up at the dragon fae, confusion written on his face. Malleus continued, “My Baby Sibling was not in any danger, yet when you believed they were, you took action. I admire that. And you were unaware of our relationship, so it would make sense you assumed the worst.”

Etienne picked himself up, his face burning from the embarrassment and the praise Malleus gave him. He nervously scratched the back of his neck and turn towards you. “I also apologize for… not listening to you when you said you were in any danger.”

You wave his words off, “Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time I was kidnapped.”

“What?”

“Are we done here Headmage?” Malleus’s turned to Ambrose who rose from his chair.

“Yes, again I apologize for the trouble my student has caused. Please, allow me to escort you out.”

Ambrose walks ahead as you and Malleus trailed after him, leaving behind the human Prince.

Etienne rubs his hands over his face and lets out a sigh. Truth be told, he was aware of Malleus Draconia. He was aware who the Dragon Fae was. Sevens, his kingdom was right next to his!

But he was never aware that there was a new Draconia in the picture. Etienne furrows his brows as he looks back towards your retreating form.

Were you going to be ok?

————————————————————————

Sorry for the long response back!

Also it occurred to me that now, Malleus will barge into any room if his Baby Sibling was in danger, or just called out to him lol. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this!

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst malleus #twst x reader #x reader #platonic relationships #big brother malleus #answered

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duvetchico · 3 months ago

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is your face, like… made of clouds or some shit?

summary you touch chaewon’s face for science. she short-circuits. you short-circuit. everyone’s blushing. no thoughts, just soft.

genre fluff / crack / pining dumbasses

pairing kim chaewon x fem!reader

masterlist.

you were staring.

again.

you knew it was weird. but like—have you seen her? kim chaewon? human peach? softest skin known to man? god was showing off when he made her.

and right now, she was sitting across from you on the floor, legs crossed, talking about something you weren’t hearing at all because you were too busy brain-melting over how glowy her cheeks looked in the lamplight.

“—so then i told her, if you microwave another boiled egg, you’re cleaning up the explosion yourself,” she said, laughing.

you blinked.

then, with zero warning, leaned forward and gently cupped her face.

she froze.

“…uh.”

“dude.”

you gently smushed her cheeks with both hands. “your face is so soft.”

chaewon blinked at you. “wha—”

“like. freakishly soft. what is this. is your moisturizer made of angel tears?”

she made a noise that might’ve been a laugh or a glitching hard drive.

“why are you touching my face like you’re trying to read my soul,” she whispered, face rapidly turning red.

“because i think you might actually be made of marshmallows.”

you squished her cheeks a little more. “i’m serious. your face feels like a baby’s ass.”

“STOP CALLING MY FACE AN ASS.”

“a soft one!! a good one!!”

she shoved your hands away, covering her face in both palms. “why are you LIKE this.”

“why are YOU like this. all glowy and smooth and shit. this is harassment.”

she peeked at you between her fingers. “…you think i’m glowy?”

“don’t make me repeat it or i’ll melt.”

she giggled. giggled. like a literal cartoon princess. it did things to your heart. violent things.

“you’re so weird,” she mumbled.

“and you’re so cute it makes me want to scream into a toaster.”

you both sat in silence for a second.

then she reached out, slowly, and poked your cheek.

“…your face is kinda soft too,” she whispered.

you blinked. heart stopped. brain deleted itself.

“oh my god,” you whispered.

“what?”

“we’re both soft. we’re like—one pillow away from being a skincare ad.”

she burst out laughing, falling onto your shoulder and nearly taking you down with her.

and when you finally calmed down, cheeks hurting from smiling and hearts thumping too fast, she just leaned against you and stayed there.

soft skin. soft laughs. soft hearts.

this was heaven.

ten minutes later.

you were both still on the floor, now very much not touching, but also very much not talking about what happened.

you were pretending to scroll on your phone. she was pretending to be invested in a snack wrapper.

the air was loud with awkward silence.

finally, chaewon cleared her throat.

“so like…” she said, still not looking at you, “you just go around grabbing people’s faces like that?”

you snorted. “only the ones who feel like silk.”

her ears turned red.

“…you’re gonna make me cry,” she muttered.

“from joy?”

“from EMBARRASSMENT.”

you grinned and nudged her with your shoulder. “you liked it.”

“i did not.”

“you giggled.”

“shut UP.”

you leaned in a little. “you blushed too.”

“i always blush,” she muttered. “i have sensitive skin. you know this.”

“sensitive everything honestly.”

“do you want to die.”

you smirked. “maybe if it’s by your soft little hands."

chaewon went silent again.

then—

“…ok but like,” she said quietly, turning her head to look at you, “if i touched your face right now, would it be weird?”

your brain imploded.

“i—uh—no???”

she blinked at you for a second.

then reached up and gently cupped your cheek. like exactly how you did earlier.

her hand was small. warm. careful.

you nearly passed out.

“yep,” she said, nodding seriously. “soft. confirmed.”

you stared at her. “i think i’m gonna kiss you.”

she smiled, still holding your face. “do it then.”

and you did.

just a small one. a kiss on her cheek. fast. sweet. kind of chaotic. the kind of kiss that makes your whole face feel warm and fuzzy.

chaewon froze for a second.

then grinned.

like, full-on cheeky smile, eyes crinkling, smug as hell.

“wow,” she said, hand still on your face. “so you are in love with me.”

you groaned and dropped your head onto her shoulder. “shut up. i blacked out. i don’t remember anything.”

“nah uh. don’t play dumb now. you kissed me. you admitted my skin’s perfect. you basically proposed.”

you smacked her leg. “IT WAS A CHEEK KISS.”

“cheek kiss is stage one,” she said, nodding like a scientist. “next is holding hands in public. then forehead kisses. then shared toothbrushes—”

“STOP.”

“and then marriage.”

you raised your head. “so you’ve been thinking about it too.”

she blinked. turned red. panicked.

“uh. what? no?? i’m—I’m just joking?? haha. so silly. so unserious.”

you smirked. “you wanna share a toothbrush with me soooo bad.”

“take it back before i leave.”

“you showed up to my house. you’re never leaving.”

she flopped onto your lap with a dramatic sigh, hiding her face. “ugh. you’re the worst.”

you ran your fingers through her hair, grinning like an idiot. “and you’re the softest little shit i’ve ever met.”

she peeked up at you. “you still think my face is soft?”

you kissed her nose.

“baby,” you said. “i’d sleep on it like a pillow.”

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pianocat939 · 6 months ago

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Yandere Player 333 (Myung-Gi) Headcanons

This gif screams mansplaining lmao

Lowkey he's kinda super stupid when he was talking with Jun-Hee but never mind that.

Tw: Manipulation. Mostly it. Just manipulation.

This guy definitely gives the type who acts they're rational and always thinks they're right regardless of what the situation is. I think this was super apparent all throughout the season.

Before the game even starts, he doesn't really notice any of the players. All he thinks about is paying off the debt (but then Thanos and Minggyu start bothering him of course).

It was actually the during the consent forms did he notice you first. You were right in front of him. He couldn't help but note you look kind of interesting. He doesn't try talking to you like Thanos would though.

He notices you more during Red Light, Green Light. Especially when Player 196 first gets killed. For some reason, he feels a little protective over you. Maybe because he notices your terrified expression and how you look like you're about to cry.

He doesn't know you, but he quickly shoves you behind him. He doesn't interact you for the rest of the game. Just on his way to win. He occasionally puts his arm behind him to make sure you stop.

He doesn't really do anything during voting time. He won't try to influence your decision unlike Thanos. But he does take note of whatever decision you try to make.

Skipping to the 2nd game, he teams up with you in order to ensure your safety. He’s noticed much more how vulnerable you are. It’s pitiful. But he knows why. So he teams up with you.

“Hey, you don’t have a team yet right? Join mine. You’ll be safer.”

By the 2nd voting, if you aren’t picking O, then he’ll gently coax you. He insists on all sorts of evidence and stuff. Essentially trying to sound smart.

“Do you want to die? Do you want to disappear off the earth with only debt to your name? Then hit X. Around XX% of people die with debt every year.”

The 2nd meal time, he talks to you more. He subtly pats your shoulder or head if you’re freaking out. Or if you’re hidden enough he’ll tug you closer. Warning you to not do anything stupid. That if you want to survive, you need to stick with him.

“That Thanos bastard won’t hesitate to let you die.”

By the 3rd game, he’s tugging you along everywhere. He doesn’t really care who or what. As long as you survive (and himself of course). He becomes much more aggressive about keeping you safe.

“Don’t follow them. They’re gonna push you out!”

All in all, he just hides you or just mostly manipulates you into thinking he’s the rational, smart one. That you need to stick with him because he’s reliable.

—————————————————————————

Ah we love a good manipulative man. Anyway, he’s like the opposite of Thanos, which makes their interactions so much funnier.

I’m still debating whether I do Thanos part 3 first or Myunggi vs Thanos first. We’ll see. Actually, if I do the Myunggi vs Thanos, I’ll probably do 3 parts. Basically the main story and then an ending for Myunggi and Thanos (I want to add some juice).

- Celina

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #squid game #squid game 2 #yandere squid game #squid game season 2 #player 333 #lee myung gi #im si wan #squid game x reader

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svelish · 4 months ago

Note

Billie and reader do the jelly bean challenge (bean boozled) on a live

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ (HELP. IM TOO LAZY)

The screen flickered to life as Billie adjusted her phone on the tripod, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a half-empty bag of snacks beside her, and you were right next to her, crisscrossed in a hoodie that was definitely stolen from her closet.

"Alright, people," Billie grinned, dragging out the words as she waved the little **Bean Boozled** box at the camera. "Y’all are evil for suggesting this, but here we are—me and my beautiful victim," she nudged you with her shoulder, making you laugh.

"Victim? Excuse me? You’re the one who agreed to this," you shot back, pretending to be offended.

"Yeah, yeah," Billie rolled her eyes but kept smiling. "We’re doing the **Bean Boozled Challenge**, which means we could get delicious flavors... or absolute nightmares." She shook the box dramatically, and the jelly beans rattled inside.

The chat was already spamming "LMAOOO", "GOOD LUCK", and "BILLIE’S GONNA DIE FIRST."

Billie chuckled, reading some of the comments. "Y’all got no faith in me. What if I have elite taste buds and actually enjoy the nasty ones?"

"You literally gagged eating a slightly overripe banana yesterday," you reminded her.

"Shut up," she muttered, making a face as she ripped open the box. "Alright, first spin!"

She flicked the tiny spinner in the box, and it landed on Peach or Barf.

"OH HELL NO," Billie yelled, throwing her head back while the chat went wild.

"You first," you smirked, grabbing one of the orange-speckled jelly beans and handing it to her.

"Bro, if this is barf, I’m suing," she muttered before tossing it into her mouth. For a second, she chewed. Then her eyes went wide. Pure horror.

"OH MY GOD—" She shot up from the bed so fast she nearly knocked the tripod over. "NOPE. NOPE. NOPE." She ran off-screen, leaving you wheezing with laughter as the comments exploded.

"LMFAOOOOOO"

"BILLIE COME BACKKKK"

"HER SOUL LEFT HER BODY"

After a few moments of dramatic coughing and Billie chugging her drink, she flopped back down, shaking her head. "That was actual vomit. Who invented this? Satan??"

"Your turn," she grumbled, handing you the box.

You spun the wheel, and it landed on Toasted Marshmallow or Stink Bug.

You popped the jelly bean into your mouth, chewing slowly while Billie watched with anticipation.

"…I think I got marshmallow."

The chat immediately went: "BOOOOOO", "RIGGED!!", "MAKE THEM EAT ANOTHER ONE".

"No way, try another," Billie insisted, snatching another identical jelly bean and shoving it into your hand.

Sighing, you ate it—and instantly regretted it.

Your face twisted, and Billie screamed with laughter, falling over onto your lap. "YOOOO THAT'S SO GROSS!!" she wheezed.

You grabbed her hoodie sleeve, shaking her dramatically. "IT TASTES LIKE AN ACTUAL DEAD BUG."

She was dying at this point, her laugh echoing through the room as the chat spammed crying emojis. "Next round," Billie wiped tears from her eyes, barely keeping it together. "This is the best thing ever."

The game continued, with Billie gagging over Rotten Egg, you nearly throwing up from Canned Dog Food, and both of you high-fiving when you actually got good flavors.

By the end, Billie was curled up on your lap, groaning. "I think I need a detox, man. Like, my taste buds are traumatized."

You wrapped your arms around her. "We survived, though."

"Barely." She looked at the camera, pouting. "Chat, y’all better appreciate this ‘cause I’m never doing it again."

"WE NEED PART 2"

"DO IT WITH FINNEAS NEXT"

"THIS WAS HILARIOUS PLS"

Billie groaned, closing her eyes. "Nope. I’m retiring from jelly beans forever."

And with that, she dramatically ended the livestream.

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tonycries · 3 months ago

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Gojo Satoru is a simp. A menace. A walking god complex wrapped in a designer coat and sunglasses, with infinity-level power and zero self-control when it comes to you.

Not the type to fall often—hell, he barely gives a shit about anything that isn’t sugar or saving the world—but you? One look and his entire brain rewired to say, “Hers. I’m hers.”

The man is down horrendously, and the kicker? He’s fine with it. Loves it, actually.

You walk into the room? His jaw’s on the floor.

You so much as glance his way? His pulse jumps like you just whispered “fuck me” in his ear.

He tries to play it cool, sunglasses down, grin all smug, leaning lazy-like against the wall—

But inside? Feral. Screaming. Brain cells? All on fire, all saying “Mine, mine, mine.”

He’s supposed to be untouchable—the strongest, the cockiest, the man with the answers and the power and the charm. But that first time you looked up and caught him staring like he’d never seen anything so goddamn beautiful—

Boom. Brain gone. Dick hard. Soul yours.

And when he realizes that you showed up with Naoya Zenin, he loses his goddamn mind.

It was a blind date, you’d said. Not serious. Just seeing where it goes.

Gojo hears that and thinks cool, I’ll kill him later.

Naoya’s fake smiling, showing off, trying way too hard, and Gojo sees right through him.

Knows he’s only there to flex. Knows he’s baiting him.

But Satoru’s not about to let some Zenin rat get the best of him. Oh no. He’s gonna make you laugh first.

So he shows up. Loud. Flashy. Sitting way too close.

Arm slung behind your chair, his voice low and smooth by your ear, breath hot against your skin.

“So… this the guy you’re risking your life with? You sure, pretty girl? Because I promise, you could do way better.”

You snort-laugh, can’t even cover it, and he sees stars.

You glance over your shoulder, smirking like sin.

“What, like you?”

He grins—filthy, bright, devastating.

“Exactly like me.”

Your eyes meet, heat between you electric, and for a second, it’s just you two, Naoya forgotten, tension crackling like a live wire between you.

You both know it’s not just flirting anymore.

And Gojo?

He’s fucking gone.

⸻

The Naoya thing dies quick. You didn’t like the vibe is what you tell Gojo and while that’s true…maybe the strongest played more of a role than you’d ever admit.

Even though it’s over, Gojo remembers.

Remembers you being with someone else.

Remembers him touching your lower back.

Remembers having to smile through it.

And when you offhandedly mention a hookup that came after?

“Didn’t count. Wasn’t good.”

Gojo stares at you like you shot him in the chest.

“Not good?”

You shrug, casual.

“Just one of those things. Whatever.”

Whatever.

WHATEVER.

He’s pacing now, running a hand through his hair, sunglasses off, eyes burning.

“Let me get this straight. Some loser got to have you—got to touch you—and didn’t absolutely worship the ground you walk on? Didn’t ruin you for anyone else? Didn’t even try?”

You blink. “I mean—”

He’s in your face, voice low and dangerous, frustrated but not with you—with his newest arch nemesis, the dumbass who got the opportunity of a lifetime and didn’t manage to make you cum ONCE. He hated this man with every fiber of his being.

“You should’ve been trembling. You should’ve been wrecked—blissed out, begging, ruined.”

You laugh—nervous, breathless.

He leans in more, grinning like he wants to ruin you now.

“I’d die to touch you like that. You think I’d let you walk away thinking it was just okay? Nah, baby. I’d make you feel it for days.”

His voice drops, hungry, heated—feral.

“One chance, pretty girl. One night. Let me show you what worship really feels like.”

You stare.

He smirks with that insufferable look in his eye and you end up stuffed to the brim, crying, breathless underneath him as he ruins you for anyone else and finally shows you he’s so much more than just talk. It’s hot, desperate, perfect.

When you’re tangled in his arms, voice hoarse from the screaming, lips swollen, covered in his marks (hand prints and hickeys), still delirious from all the orgasms, giggling from pure joy satisfaction - he thinks he’s going to die a happy man.

When you say, still breathless, “God, I adore you. We’re doing that again. A lot.”

He blinks. Stops breathing.

Adore? We? Again? A lot?

His brain explodes.

Heart gone. Ring finger itching.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, smiling like a man who just found religion.

“Yeah, baby. A lot. Forever, if you want.”

Because Gojo doesn’t just want another night.

He wants all your mornings. Every damn one.

Oh HELLOOOOOO??? 😈 I need more of this right NEOW nonnie mmm this has me fed. Hehehe love Naoya being used as a lil' plot device...

#anon #tonytalks

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lianwifyofkokushibo · 3 months ago

Text

Demon slayer headcanons

The character : Sanemi Shinazugawa, Genya Shinazugawa

The reader is pregnant in her seventh month and she is worry. Warning: Mention of death, mention of (pregnancy stuff), swearing and such as that.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

She woke him up at 3AM. That should’ve been get him mad as hell "Sanemi. Sanemi!" She whispered shaking his shoulders

He groaned. "What?"

She swallowed and then moved a little in front of him. "…What if I’m too tight and the baby can’t come out?"

….

he blinked.

"WHAT the actual FUC—"

"IM SERIOUS"

Sanemi sat up like death itself knocked. "It’s 3AM and you’re worried your vagina won’t work?"

she burst into tears. "I JUST WANNA KNOW!"

"Okay, OKAY! DONT FUCKING CRY.. you’re built to do this, right?! Your body knows.. it’s.. a smart body"

"YOU THINK MY BODY IS SMART?!"

"YES" he practically yelled

….

silence.

…"thanks"

Sanemi collapsed back on the futon

But it wasn’t over.

Later, she sat on the floor, flipping through some scroll from Mitsuri, groaning "What if the baby comes out ugly?"

He literally stared at her

"Look, you’re pretty. I’m hot. There’s no way in hell that baby’s gonna be ugly."

She paused

"…You think you’re hot?"

He raised a brow. "You don’t?"

Silence

She finally said "I do shut up"

And the panic storm continued—every kick, every shift, every little thing sent her spiraling—but Sanemi never left . He’d sit beside her, let her cry into his chest, rub awkwardly her back. Or rub her belly calloused hands. And promise—

"You’re gonna be okay.. I swear"

And he meant his words.

Genya Shinazugawa

It started with a kick.

Not the usual soft flutter she smiled about. No, this one hurt. Her belly jerked, and she yelped, hand flying to her stomach.

Genya turned pale. "Is that-did she-are you in LABOR!?"

"NO!" she shrieked. "Don't say that word!"

He sat back down quickly. "Okay. Not labor. Just... a demon baby punch?"

She glared at him. "This is your fault."

"I know," he said immediately, hands up.

Then came the spiral.

"What if I'm not ready to give birth?" she suddenly blurted, clutching her belly. "What if I die?! What if it HURTS and I scream and my hair gets all sweaty and I pass out and I poop in front of the nurse?!"

Genya froze. "..That's... oddly specific."

She gasped. "GENYA WHAT IF THE BABY IS HUGE?!"

Now he looked ready to cry. "I-I'll carry you to the hospital myself, okay?! I'll punch the doctor if he scares you-"

She burst into tears.

"Don't cry!!" he panicked. "Y-you'll stress the baby!"

"I'm not crying because of the baby! I'm crying because you're being so sweet and I'm terrified and huge and ugly and-"

"You're not UGLY!" he barked like it was a sin to even say. "You're-You're glowing! You're like—a pretty... glowing pregnant and I'm lucky to even breathe next to you!"

She sniffled, snorting halfway through it.

"You're such a weirdo." She said

"...You love me though."

"Yeah," she mumbled, leaning her head on his chest. "But if I die giving birth, l'm gonna haunt you."

He stroked her hair. "That's fair. I'd let you."

That’s all thank for reading. XOXO

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croworro · 6 months ago

Note

Can you write a short schlatt fic in which the fem!reader confesses her feelings to him on stream or on the SDP -- but totally on accident? And of course he returns her feelings (either on off camera. You choose) Thanks boo!

Accidental Confessions

Pairing: Jschlatt x fem!reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none really

Summary: During a chaotic Phasmophobia stream, Schlatt’s relentless flirting leaves you flustered and questioning what’s real.

A/N: hope this is everything you were hoping for!! I’m actually so happy with how this turned out hehe

Your streaming sessions with Jschlatt had become a highlight of your week, and apparently, a highlight for thousands of viewers. What started as a one-off collaboration turned into a weekly tradition that fans clamored for. Schlatt’s relentless teasing, sharp wit, and surprisingly endearing moments always made for entertaining streams.

Tonight’s game was Phasmophobia, you reluctantly agreed to play after weeks of Schlatt goading you on Twitter.

“You ready to cry on stream?” Schlatt’s voice came through your headset as you joined the Discord call.

“More like ready to carry you,” you shot back, smirking as you adjusted your mic.

“Carry me?” Schlatt barked out a laugh. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t carry a flashlight without tripping over yourself.”

“Bold words from someone who hides in the van at the first sign of danger,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see that chat was already in chaos:

[Chat]:

• “Here we go again with the bickering couple.”

• “Schlatt’s flirting is so painfully obvious, omg.”

• “They’re gonna kill each other before the ghost does.”

The game loaded, and Schlatt’s teasing began almost immediately.

“Alright, chat,” he said, his tone smug. “Place your bets: How long before Y/N panics and accidentally gets me killed?”

“First of all, I don’t panic,” you said, grabbing the ghost detector. “Second, if you die, it’s probably because you’re too busy flirting with the chat to pay attention.”

“Oh, sweetheart, if I was flirting, you’d know it,” Schlatt said, his voice dropping into a playful drawl that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

Your face heated, but you forced a laugh. “Good thing I don’t have to worry about that, then.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he replied, his smirk practically audible.

You busied yourself with the game, trying to ignore the way his voice lingered in your mind. The two of you explored the haunted house, with Schlatt cracking jokes and occasionally pretending to be scared just to make you jump.

“Y/N, the ghost’s name is Lisa. Think you can charm her into leaving us alone?” Schlatt asked as you stepped into the darkened kitchen.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the one who keeps telling me I’m bad with women,” he said, grinning. “Let’s see you do better.”

“Fine,” you said, playing along. “Lisa, you’re a beautiful, independent ghost who doesn’t need to haunt this house anymore. Go find some peace, girl.”

Schlatt laughed so hard he almost dropped his flashlight. “Unbelievable. Chat, clip that. I need to save it for when Y/N tries to say she’s the serious one here.”

[Chat]:

• “I CAN’T WITH THESE TWO.”

• “Lisa’s shaking right now.”

• “Schlatt’s laugh gives me life.”

The game progressed, with Schlatt alternating between teasing you and pretending to be scared. When the ghost appeared out of nowhere, he let out a yell and ran, leaving you alone in the dark.

“Schlatt, you coward!” you screamed, clicking you keyboard keys frantically and fumbling for a hiding spot.

“Every man for himself!” he shouted from the safety of the van.

When the ghost finally disappeared, you stormed out of the house and into the van, glaring at Schlatt’s character.

“You are the worst teammate,” you said.

“And yet, you keep coming back,” he replied, his grin evident in his tone.

You groaned, but you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, sweetheart,” he added, his voice softer now.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you ignored it, focusing back on the game.

By the time the ghost finally killed Schlatt, you were too frustrated to even pretend to feel bad.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend half the game messing around, you wouldn’t keep dying,” you said, your voice sharper than intended.

“Aw, is that your way of saying you care about me?” Schlatt asked, his tone teasing but his words making your stomach flip.

“Of course I care about you, but I care more about winning,” you said quickly, not even thinking about what you had said.

“What was that?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly. Your eyes widened quickly when you realized what you had said.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“Nah, nah, you said something,” he pressed. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging, sweetheart.”

The chat went wild:

[Chat]:

• “WAIT WHAT DID SHE SAY???”

• “CONFESS CONFESS CONFESS.”

• “Schlatt, stop bullying her, omg.”

You groaned, ending the game and pulling up your stream controls. “Alright, chat, that’s it for tonight. Goodnight, everyone.”

The protests from viewers were immediate, but you ignored them, ending the stream and ripping off your headset. Your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Schlatt: Call me.

You stared at the message, debating whether to respond. Finally, you sighed and hit the call button.

“Bit of an abrupt ending, don’t you think?” Schlatt said as soon as he picked up, his tone light but probing.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Alright, fair,” he admitted. “But seriously, what’s was that about?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. Schlatt’s teasing was usually easy to brush off, but tonight felt different—more personal.

“It’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like you’re not joking, and I don’t know how to handle that.”

“What if I’m not joking?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Your breath caught, your pulse racing. “Don’t mess with me, Schlatt.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “Y/N, I’m not joking. I flirt with you because I like you. Hell, everyone in chat sees it. I thought you did too.”

You swallowed hard, trying to process his words. “I didn’t want to assume,” you admitted.

“Well, you don’t have to,” he said, his tone softening. “I like you, sweetheart. I have for a while.”

A nervous laugh escaped you. “You sure know how to make a confession dramatic.”

“It’s what I do,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “So… what do you say?”

“I think we should play another game,” you said, a smile spreading across your face.

“Another game?” he repeated, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” you said. “But this time, you’re not leaving me to die.”

Schlatt laughed, his usual confidence returning. “Deal. But if you keep calling me a coward, I might have to change my mind about liking you.”

“Too late,” you teased. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” he said, his voice warm. “That’s exactly where I want to be.”

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt is hot #jschlatt x reader smut #jschlatt #jschlatt smut #jschlatt x y/n #jschlatt x you

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ashthesalamipiece · 1 month ago

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Heyy im back. So I just read your last/most recent fic about Izuku actually having a girl and I would love another Dabi x reader fic lol. They already have a boy he’s like. 2 we’ll say and the reader is pregnant again, Dabi really wants a girl and at a gender reaval party everyone is hoping and positive the reader is gonna have a boy again just for them to reveal it and it’s a girl. I just think it’s be so cute to imagine Dabi be so excited about having a girl lol

A/n, I didn't really know what to write in this fanfic because I was unsure if you wanted a gender reveal party with the league or a gender party with his family members or anyone in contact with dabi so i wrote a fic before dabi became a villain, so in this au he's a hero and he never went to the forest or "died" I hope that's fine! If not I will gladly write you another sample♡

Enjoy♡

---

Pretty in Pink (And Blue Flames)

In this world, Touya Todoroki—known to the public as “Bluefire”—was a respected Pro Hero.

He had a scar or two, sure. A raspy voice, yeah. But the villain path never happened. Endeavor was never the pressure cooker of trauma he became in another life, and Dabi? He never had to die to be free.

Instead, Touya fell in love. With you.

And now? He was standing in your backyard with blue flames licking harmlessly at his fingertips, trying not to set the gender reveal cake on fire from sheer nervous energy.

Your two-year-old, Shouta, was clinging to his leg, chewing on a plastic spoon and occasionally yelling “BOOM!” because Bakugo babysat him once and that was the mistake of the century.

---

Touya was nervous.

Not because he didn’t love Shouta—he adored that boy. His son was wild and sweet and already trying to copy his flames (which gave every teacher at daycare a panic attack weekly).

But this time… this time…

“I really want a girl,” he muttered under his breath.

You, holding his hand: “You’ve said that seven times since breakfast.”

Touya: “I dreamed about it, you know. Pigtails. Pink sneakers. Her climbing my back like a tree. I just—ugh, I want that.”

You: “I’ll love whoever’s in there. But yeah… I want that for you too.”

---

The Gender Reveal Party

Everyone had gathered—Todoroki siblings, pro hero friends, your mom, a few brave souls from the agency.

Shouta was wearing a little “BIG BRO” shirt, although he kept trying to peel the letters off and stick them to the dog.

Rei brought cupcakes. Natsuo brought betting slips. Fuyumi had made a cake and a board with gender predictions.

Everyone’s guesses were eerily skewed:

Boy: 17 votes

Girl: 2 (Yours and Touya’s)

Finally, Touya stepped up with a deep breath, flames curling at his palm, ready to light the top of the cake to reveal the color inside.

He hesitated.

You: “You okay?”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah. Just… really hope it’s pink.”

You kissed his cheek. “Light it up, Bluefire.”

---

WHOOSH.

The flames danced, the top of the cake flared…

PINK.

Screams. Gasps. Cheers.

Natsuo dropped his drink. “WHAT?!”

Fuyumi squealed. “IT’S A GIRL?!”

Shouta clapped because everyone else did, then tried to climb the table.

Touya… froze.

“Pink,” he whispered. “It’s… pink. We’re having a girl.”

He didn’t cry. But you swear his flames flickered softer—like he was melting.

Then he grabbed you and kissed you so deeply the crowd started whooping.

Natsuo: “There are children here!”

Touya: “I’M HAVING A DAUGHTER, SHUT UP!”

He picked up Shouta, held him up like Simba. “YOU’RE GONNA HAVE A BABY SISTER, KID!”

Shouta blinked. “No. Boom.”

Touya: “You’ll protect her with your boom.”

Shouta nodded like he accepted this solemn mission.

---

Later That Night

Touya laid with his head on your belly, one hand resting over the curve of it like he could already feel her heartbeat.

“She’s gonna be trouble,” he murmured.

You ran your fingers through his hair. “Like her dad?”

He grinned against your skin. “Exactly. She’ll have me wrapped around her finger. I’ll carry her everywhere. Make her little hero costumes. Do her hair—”

“You don’t even do your own hair.”

“I’ll learn! I’ll braid it. Put little clips. She’ll burn stuff cutely.”

You laughed, your heart so full it felt like it could float.

In a world where Touya never broke, he found his fire wasn’t made to destroy—it was meant to protect, to warm, to hold two babies close and promise them the kind of love he never thought he’d have.

---

Bonus: 3 Months Later

Baby girl Todoroki arrived kicking and squawking and peeing on Touya the second he tried to put on her diaper.

“I LOVE HER,” he sobbed while changing his shirt.

You looked down at her tiny face, and then at your husband, who was already planning matching sneakers and frilly beanies.

And you knew… this family? Chaos or not? Was perfect.

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dirtwormgirl · 6 months ago

Text

i appreciate dracula adaptations (modern ones & older ones aswell) but one thing they all seem to miss is that the count was actually “nice” to jonathan (or thomas whatever adaptation you’re looking at) when he was imprisoned in his castle. he didn’t try to intimidate him (at least not at first) he was chatting with him, had long conversations about anything and even read the train manual to seem normal (didn’t work). of course this is not kindness, it’s a fake version of it but so many adaptations seem to miss it. one of the most chilling scenes from the book is when jonathan finally realises that he is a prisoner in the castle and asks the count if he could let him go. and the count does but during all of that he summons his wolves making it impossible for jonathan to actually leave. but he lets him (or so it seems), and while they both know it’s bullshit jonathan can’t risk angering the count so he still has to act nice to him. of course the way i’m describing it it doesn’t seem scary but imagine if that were you, just been told that you can essentially never leave the castle and that you’re most likely gonna die there and instead of finally yelling and screaming and crying you just have to accept it, smile and make polite conversation with your captor.

like i appreciate showing the count (dracula or orlok it doesn’t matter) as like this scary, weird figure because that’s definitely what jonathan thought of him but please don’t ignore his tries to seem normal lmao

#dracula #nosferatu #jonathan harker #thomas hutter #dirtwormgirl

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causenessus · 1 year ago

Text

cold kisses

part 0.2. TOO MANY COOKS

PLAYING FROM KODZUKEN'S STREAM . . . dark red by steve lacy

“and you’re sure you don’t want me to come in?” hajime’s eyes are pointed, narrowed on her as if he doesn’t believe her.

“if the fire department hasn’t come yet then we’ve avoided the worst case scenario,” she reassures him again with a smile. “thanks for keeping me company, haji. i’m pretty sure i would've lost it when i saw atsumu if you weren't there.”

his face twists in annoyance at the mention, “yeah.”

they’re standing outside her door as the conversation goes silent. no sounds reach her ears from behind the door either. “they are a little quiet–but maybe they’ve already cleaned up,” as soon as the words come out of her mouth they both laugh.

"i think it's more likely they all created some sort of chemical reaction and passed out but we'll give them the benefit of the doubt. call me if you need anything,” he gives her a nod before turning to make his way back to his dorm on campus. she watches him turn the corner before she unlocks the door with her keys, preparing herself for what awaits her.

as soon as she opens the door, her nose scrunches. the smell coming from what could only be the kitchen hits her instantly. she thinks it's savory first before it becomes overwhelmingly heavy and bitter as if someone had attempted to bake something but burned it to ashes. she slips off her shoes quickly, about to turn the corner when a bang against the wall makes her jump. a decoration around the wall shakes right next to her face and it catches her eyes before something hard hits the floor in front of her.

she accidentally screams, seeing oikawa’s body on the ground. there's a blindfold wrapped around his head and he doesn't move to take it off.

“oh my god.”

she almost thinks she's about to start crying as she kneels next to him. did he just die?

but then she sees the rapid fall and rise of her chest and lets out a shaky sigh. her hand reaches for her phone to call hajime but then stops. maybe she could call an ambulance? or maybe the fire department should come after all? then she hears a noise from the kitchen. she needs to check on kuroo and kenma first before calling anyone.

she tries her best to steadily rise to her feet again. pressing a hand against the wall to momentarily stabilize and prepare herself. she apologizes to oikawa quietly as she steps over his body, praying kenma and kuroo aren’t cooking blindfolded as well. she almost doubles over, imagining the kitchen being painted red and a knife somewhere on the floor.

she’s careful to look out for anyone else blindly running into the walls as she steps through the hallway, taking it slow and quietly towards the kitchen.

then she can hear kuroo.

“WHAT? I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT!”

he’s yelling so loud she cringes, stopping for a second. she thinks she can hear a second voice as well, but just barely. as if they're talking in an entirely different room.

the closer she gets, the more it sounds like someone nearby is trying to talk but it’s being muffled by something. she turns the corner and the bright lights of the kitchen contrast the shadowed hallway she just snuck through.

her shoulders momentarily relax, seeing that there’s nothing red in sight.

well, actually, scratch that.

the kitchen is dusted in white like someone arbitrarily threw flour and two boys are standing in her kitchen in matching red tracksuits.

they decided to cook in their gym clothes from high school? despite her best attempts, she's never been able to convince them to harbor even the slightest bit of sentimentality whatsoever. she liked wearing kenma's jacket when he let her, but she wasn't entirely sure it would survive the night.

her eyes are drawn back to the two figures as kuroo starts yelling again, most likely due to the headphones on his head. she can’t see kenma; his back is turned towards her but he’s waving his hands around and she can’t hear him if he is saying anything. from what she can gauge, he's not blindfolded or acting as if he's hard of hearing, though.

oh.

then she pieces it together.

she’s seen this trend on one of her many doomscrolls.

three people cooking, one person deaf, one mute, and one blind.

and they've lost their blind person.

and kuroo can’t hear but kenma can’t even talk anyway.

she almost wants to turn around and leave; pull out oikawa with her and maybe they can make it back to hajime's dorm and pretend they don't know what's going on her apartment. she thinks about going back just to take the poor blindfold off his face.

then something loud is ringing. she almost thinks it’s the smoke alarm finally kicking in but it’s just the oven going off.

kenma and kuroo don’t notice it over their attempt to communicate with each other. she decides kuroo gets the benefit of the doubt since he can’t hear anyway but either kenma or her need to do something.

she can see faint smoke start to curl out of the oven and if the smoke alarm's going to kick in soon she'll end up stealing kuroo's headphones just to keep her sanity. she yells for kenma but he doesn't hear her over kuroo and the oven alarm.

she starts to make her way towards them, careful to step as carefully as she can through the flour–and was that a broken egg on the floor? she tries to keep herself focused on the task at hand, not even thinking about the camera set up in front of their countertop.

she almost trips, not seeing a stray cord on the floor underneath everything else littered on the floor. kenma finally seems to hear her when she squeaks and turns around quickly, catching her in his arms before she falls. then his eyes are wide and he’s trying to say something but there’s duct tape on his mouth.

“the oven!” she shouts at him, not entirely sure if she's responding to whatever he's trying to say. but he won't take the hand off her wrist and she tries to push it off to get to the machine in question before she’s pulled back and spun around by arms around her waist.

“kenma what the hell?” she’s yelling at him.

he holds her face so that she’s looking at him and is shaking his head, pointing at the camera.

it was a sort of unspoken agreement, they both didn’t want her on his streams in order to keep a barrier between their personal lives and individual jobs. it was possible that things might get a little messy if it was revealed they were living together. the media would have a feast coming up with stories and scandals between then and the conservatives would accuse them of sacrilegious–the second part wasn't the worst-case scenario but it was more trouble than it was worth and they both decided it was just best for her to stay off camera.

kuroo finally looks up from a vegetable he's been trying his hardest to cut with a serrated butter knife and sees her. his face lightens up, "Y/N?–"

“NO!” she yells over him, trying to prevent the stream from picking up her name.

kenma removes an arm from around her to snap at him and get his attention before he points at the oven. he tried to speak through the tape, giving kuroo muffled directions as if they would ever reach him through his headphones.

kuroo nonetheless immediately nodded, giving him a thumbs up like he for once in the past several hours has finally understood something kenma has tried to tell him to do.

but none of them are thinking straight anymore.

or maybe, actually, none of them ever were.

kuroo opens the oven and it doesn’t click that there’s hot air blowing in his face and that he’s reaching out into said hot hair with a bare hand.

"kuroo oh my god," she sobs, not even trying to hide it anymore. she covers her face with her hands and can't bring herself to yell anymore.

he grabs the dish and then immediately snatches his hand back, screaming out a string of curses while the pitch-black concoction in the baking dish falls off the rack to the bottom of the oven.

kenma’s grip has loosened on her in his own state of shock and the camera is the least of her concerns when someome just burned himself like an absolute idiot. she pulls forward to grab kuroo’s hand, looking at how much damage he did to it.

“you all are so fucking stupid,” she can only chide, barely keeping herself together. kuroo hisses as she turns over his hand, making sure he didn’t injure himself anywhere else.

she hears kenma from the other side of the counter, most likely shutting off the stream equipment and kuroo finally takes off the headphones.

he walks back around the counter and she looks up at him. he's ripped the duct tape off his mouth and is running a hand through his hair, trying to give her a small smile.

he looks exhausted and she feels more than exhausted, dealing with this after everything else today. but his smile makes her feel a bit better so she returns it.

“sorry–that was a lot,” he talks softly, and she thinks it’s just nice that she can finally understand what he’s saying. “i was just trying to keep you off camera but that's all kind of gone off the rails. i’ll help you clean up, promise. is there something you want me to do first?”

“check on oikawa please,” she sighs, standing up with kuroo, still holding onto his hand. “make sure he’s breathing and see if you can bring him here.”

she takes care of kuroo’s hand first, running cold water over it and scouring all of their bathroom cabinets for something to apply to the blisters on his hand. she grabs the first ointment she sees, dabbing it on and tries her best not to hurt kuroo before she wraps his hand tightly. then she directs him back to the kitchen, wiping down their seats and instructing him to sit down where she can see him.

kenma brings oikawa back into the kitchen, the blindfold loosened to hang around his neck and as soon as he sits back down he rests his head on his arms and passes out on the island again.

she’s already started to clean up as much as she can from their mess, starting with salvaging what ingredients she can and returning them back to where they belong when kenma comes up from behind her, rolling up his sleeves and tying back his hair.

“what do you want me to do now?” he asks, looking around the kitchen, gauging how much they’ll have to clean.

“can you sweep? i'll take care of the rest,” she replies, dumping a stack of dishes into the sink. there were miscellaneous tools out on the counter, like a potato masher she didn’t even know they owned or what they would have used it for, but she doesn't trust anything that's been in their hands today.

they work in silence, both kuroo and oikawa passed out at the island. kenma’s only a few feet from her, his back turned towards her before he begins to speak up, “sorry for everything again–and that you had to help. didn’t you have something important today?” he stops what he’s doing to look up to her, waiting for her answer.

“it’s okay,” she shakes her head, “honestly, now that the worst of it is over, it's kind of funny. and it’s distracting me from what i’m about to have to put up with for the next few months.”

his eyes brighten as he finally remembers what was announced today, “you got told told who your partner is for the olympics, right?” he’s holding onto the broom with both hands, face slightly resting on the handle of it, watching her as she washes dishes. the pile of flour near him has been completely forgotten about, but he’ll finish cleaning it up later.

“yeah, i don’t really want to talk about it right now though,” she shrugs, washing her hands before drying them off. she turns to face him, a smile on her face as she takes a few steps closer. “besides,” she leans forwards just a bit, brushing a stray bang that’s fallen out of his makeshift ponytail from his face, “i’m cleaning the kitchen with my roommate at midnight after he nearly killed himself and his two friends trying to make something, what more could i ask for?”

he suddenly feels warm under his zipped jacket and swallows the lump in his throat before looking away from her. his face is red and he plays with the zipper of his jacket, trying his best to casually cool off a little without making it obvious the effect she has on him.

he hears her laugh before she steps away back to the sink and he forces himself to go back to sweeping. he tries to focus on the moment in front him like she said; they’re cleaning their kitchen together at midnight. this is totally not a domestic moment that his friends would tease him about if they knew what they were doing right now.

but he can’t help but think the next few months are going to be drastically different for him after that stream.

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extras <3

SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE TAG :( i just decided it was best to remake this post so that everything worked properly I HOPE I FIXED ALL THE TYPOS OR I'LL CRY

it's like i never learned from when i told myself i should stop writing this stuff at 2 in the morning

i fr only did dark red for this post's song bc you can just imagine "is something bad about to happen" as y/n opens her door 💀

y/n and iwa were sitting in a little board discussion room with her manager waiting to meet who her partner would be

iwa was allowed to come in because at this point some of y/n's management thinks he's actually part of the team so when he showed up with her they were like "yeah okay chill 👍"

then atsumu walked in and it took everything in her and a look from iwa to not fall to the floor screaming no

she's been partnered with atsumu before and he's always touchy and flirty so she doesn't like him a whole lot

manager reveal soon hmmmm i wonder who it could possible be as if i didn't put that in the notes of this smau

y/n and iwa were literally tweeting and replying to each other while they were out eating ramen and he looked up at her and just gave her a disappointed sigh when he saw her reply about "are u saying yes to my proposal"

suna and noya were watching the stream in the library after school but as soon as kenma was gifted 1k subs and they saw the message and oikawa was like "yeah this is a great idea we should totally do this 🌸" suna shut it off and was like "i'm going home before i watch a murder play out"

i'm ngl it was imagining oikawa suddenly hit the floor like he just died that made me laugh to myself in a cafe 😭😭 like it should not be that funny but it is to me i'm sorry

despite everyone having their own dorm they often crash at each other's for no reason

y/n stays over at suna and iwa's dorm the most

kuroo and oikawa both come over to kenma and y/n's apartment a lot

everyone tries not to step foot in tsukki and noya's dorm

kenma's stream was already going pretty well because of how absolutely insane it was but a girl suddenly appearing and then kenma trying to stop her from entering the frame only made it blow up more

as soon as kuroo woke back up he discussed with oikawa and kenma that IF they were ever to do this again who would wear what

kenma immediately said kuroo was getting his mouth taped shut which is very valid because he yelled a lot

but oikawa couldn't be blindfolded again and kuroo was like "wow okay so you wanna be the one who can't see"

kenma never said no faster

conclusion: they're never doing that challenge again

taglist: @rinheartshyunlix @kettlepop @eggyrocks @cr4yolaas @httpakkeiji @keioover @does-directions @calx-bdo @staygoldsquatchling02 @cherrypieyourface @iluv-ace @kitty-m30w @h3xi2g0n3 @mylahrins @thechaosoflonging @momoriii-i @localgaytrainwreck @a-pastel-edgelord @bugglesboop @polish-cereal @osakis-gf @whykirbo @phoenix-eclipses @faesix @ryeyeyer @starxq.zip @skylarkalchemist (form to be added to taglist! <3)

#kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kenma #kenma x reader #kenma smau #haiykuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq #hq x reader #ness' planet ⋆⭒˚.⋆

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