#music box ❤❤❤

[riley-beautrelle]

[amatres]

🙤 10 Things about me 🙧

Rules: Share 10 facts about yourself and tag 10 other blogs! I want to get to know my mutuals, and the people I follow a little bit :) The facts can be about anything!

got tagged by @demandthedoodlesedoodles, thank you! I overshare a lot of my life already, so this is probably nothing new to anyone who knows me long enough lol.

I collect dolls and plushies! I just think they're cute and prefer having like, things, compared to getting fandom clothing.

I mostly wear only dresses and skirts because I absolutely hate pants. This is a trait I carry into my character designs, as most of my ocs wear a dress or skirt of some kind.

I very unfortunately don't have much of a mental filter and this, out of many things, is why I left my last job bc I said one of my managers was once again having a tantrum in front of others lol. Not professional of me, and obviously I'm taking it as a learning experience to uh, not do that again lol, but also I don't really regret it. She was horrible ❤

I've owned 11 cats so far in my life, many of which were just taken off the streets. Free cat ❤

I have way too many dnd setting books intended for DMs when I am fully aware and haveadmitted that I can never run a game because of my attention span. Usually in games I check out for a bit just to rest when we're in combat.

Continuing on with my dnd stuff, I also write way too long notes, and even in my attempts to write summaries instead of back to back what was said, my RP sessions usually take around 10ish minutes to read out. I'm very thankful to my friends that don't seem to mind it lol.

When I was about 5 and in daycare, I punched another child in the face for messing with my food. I have no memory of this, but I guess it wasn't that bad since the teachers were laughing about it when they told my mother about it.

I never went to college, but if I didn't have to pay out the nose for it I would have liked to study anthropology and fashion history. Alas, I will simply have to make do by reading fandom dissertations on tumblr.

The vastness of space ~* terrifies me *~. I can not think of black holes without feeling dread.

I have played every version of the sims, though I started playing when Sims 2 was still the main game, which is probably why I prefer it over the other versions.

once again, i won't tag anyone outright, but feel free to take this as a tag if you'd like!

[yuukimiyas]

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals. 🎶

ooo aika my love!! ໒꒰ྀི∩˃ ᵕ ˂∩꒱ྀི১ a cutie lil music ask game!! eeep!! so SO chloe core!! <33 i shuffled my playlist titled ‘only you’ on apple music & these are the first 5 i got!! ໒꒰ྀི ◜ ‧̮ ◝ ꒱ྀིა

1. chemtrails over the country club - lana del rey

2. romantic lover - eyedress

3. jodie - sza

4. freaking out the neighborhood- mac demarco

5. bug like an angel - mitski

eep!! this askie game is so so much fun!! (੭ु ›ω‹ )੭ु⁾⁾♡ anyone who wants to join i’d love to see what you’re spinnin’!! <33

[madame-fear]

My sweet girl 💗💗

OH MY GOD BABY I feel so honoured to receive this!! HOZIER!!! 😭😭💗💗

Aughhhhfjfjfkf what did I do to deserve you, my sweet, sweet angel? 💘 I love you so incredibly much I could literally combust from love! GODSSSS I could literally grab your face and fill it with tons of kisses, I love youuu so so SO much !! 🥰🥰❤

^ this one goes for you, my darling baby ♡

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two 

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone. 

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, sexual tension, TW bullying (in case), TW recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing. disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The Coral Apartments, California, November 1990

Eddie Munson looks good on TV. You try to convince yourself that it's the blurry imagery, the three-toned LED's, but you know it's because he's plain good-looking. Rockstar suits him. Glam suits him; eyeliner, ripped shirts, ever-bruised knuckles and cut up fingertips that speak of a wrought dedication to the music he plays. 

You look away from the TV and push the sheets down with your feet, naked legs flat to the mattress and covered in your own cuts and bruises. It's not entirely Morgan's fault, but every time you see the shiny scar on your ankle you get mad at her again. She'd been sloppy on stage, pulled her mic tight and sent you reeling over it like a tripwire. You'd cut up your legs, sprained your wrist, and split your chin. On national TV. In front of thousands of people. 

Your ego is pretty bruised too. 

Worse was the bouquet of flowers you'd been sent the day after, huge and bursting with colour from a certain dark-haired thorn in your side. 

Saw you ate shit. Stop day-dreaming about me during sets and you'll be fine. EM 

You'd trashed the card but hadn't had the heart to fob the flowers. The last survivors of the bunch wilt slowly on the nightstand beside you, a much too pretty reminder of somebody you're trying to forget. Or rather, erase. You won't admit to yourself what happened at Monsters of Rock, because admitting it means he's winning. 

Morgan pushes your door open with her hip. If she's perturbed to find you in your underwear she doesn't say a word, making a beeline for your bag. She takes out your Newports and taps the carton against her chest. 

"What's up?" she asks, sliding a cigarette from the box and propping it between her shiny lips. "You still feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Morgan." 

She lights her cigarette, laughing through an exhale of smoke. "How many times do I have to say sorry?" 

"Once would be nice." 

"Babe." Morgan sits at the end of your bed, in a good mood for once but still herself. "I'm sorry you fell over my mic." 

She likely doesn't even see what's wrong with her apology. You accept it for what it is and hold your arm out for the pack and lighter. Knees pulled up, you settle against the headboard and light a cigarette yourself, but snuff it out after a shallow inhale. Nothing feels worth indulging in when the knot of anxiety in your chest keeps on tightening. 

"Where's Ananya?" you ask. 

"You're watching this again?" 

You glance at the TV where Corroded Coffin play through their Monsters of Rock set. 

"M'just waiting for us," you lie mildly.

"Sure… You know, you shouldn't feel bad about your spill last week. Look at Munson. Biggest crowd of his life and he's tripping over an E major." 

She snorts, the two of you watching as the Eddie on screen looks to the left of the stage and misses his mark. 

"How do you flub that?" She rolls her eyes. "Boys." 

How did he flub it? You'd been standing on the side stage cleaned up and smiling like you were half in love with him. The recording is proof — whatever power it is that he has over you, you have something similar over him. 

"Anya's in the lobby waiting for us." 

You sit up. 

"Why?" 

Morgan points at the alarm clock on your nightstand with the smouldering tip of her cigarette. "It's Friday." 

"It's Thursday." 

She smiles at you. If you didn't know her, the look of pity on her face might almost feel genuine. As it stands, she's a magnanimous bitch when she wants to be. She's lucky that it suits her. 

"It's Friday, babe. And we're," —she tilts her head to one side, the bemusement in her eyes unmissable— "ten minutes late." 

"Shit. Shit." You stand up on wobbly legs. "Fuck." 

"Don't worry! I got you something." 

With Morgan, you aren't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But you don't really have a choice. 

—

Eddie won't admit to anybody why he finds himself in California. The band isn't touring, award season is mostly over. He should go home and see Wayne because fuck he's a bad nephew, a bad son, and Wayne deserves a whole lot better than one phone call a week when Eddie's too hungover to actually listen to what his uncle is saying. He should head back to Hawkins and make sure Wayne's actually cashing in the cheque's Eddie's been sending. 

He shouldn't be hanging around parties hosted by people he only knows from TV looking for you, that's for sure. 

The good thing about being semi famous is that introductions don't matter. Either somebody already knows you or they don't, and everybody assumes you already know them. Eddie can't count how many times somebody's pulled him in for a one-armed hug and said "Good to see you again," when they've never met before. 

It could be the coke. It's probably the ego. 

Eddie isn't extremely introspective or anything, but he hopes to fuck that he isn't an asshole. He knows he is in superficial ways. He's said some hurtful shit to people — to you — he wishes every now and then that he could take back. In the moment it had felt right to tease you, to belittle you as he thought you'd belittled him. He'd wanted to put his hand out and ask how high you can jump. But then he remembers how your bandmates had spoken to you, or your glitzy smile. He remembers the twisting pain in his chest when you'd fallen over on stage a week ago (though if anybody asks, he heard about it from somebody else). You'd smashed into the floor with a cruel force, arms twisted trying to protect your guitar, not a second spared to save yourself. You'd got back on your feet with blood dripping down your chin and played the rest of the song without complaint. Not one person had stepped in to clean you up. 

It drives Eddie insane. He can't help it. He hates you and he wants to linger on the sidelines and watch you play. He can't stand the despondent look in your eyes when you look at him, when you look at the floor. He needs you to know that you're better than they tell you, but he can't make himself say the words. 

So he'd sent you flowers and made a lame joke, hoping for hot and coming off desperate no doubt. He'd regretted it as soon as he'd hung up the phone, but he hadn't cancelled the order. Something colourful, he'd said. What flowers cheer people up? 

The florist had laughed at his awkward tone and said that all flowers do the trick. 

God, he hopes so. 

Which isn't to say Eddie likes you. He can't stand you, actually, come to think of it, standing in the sticky pit of some actress' kitchen as he pioneers the radio and flicks through to Roller FM. Resentment burns like fire as the dial clicks beneath his fingers, turning the volume up enough to hear the radio host introduce your band. 

"And tonight, a month before their new studio album hits the charts, Godless are letting us be the first to hear the second single. The outpour of hype after their first, Down and Out, was no small feat, and we have the lovely ladies here tonight to walk us through that fresh sound. But first, let's spin that new single. Ladies and gents, this is Silver Ringed…" 

Godless are about as cohesive as Corroded Coffin. They have a unique sound as most chart toppers tend to have, and as much as he thinks your front woman is a total hack, she can sing. Her voice moves from sultry and quiet to aggressive and rasping. She isn't afraid to scream when she needs to, and you and Ananya obviously won't let yourselves be outdone. Your music is visceral. It's good. Not Corroded Coffin good, you don't have the clean cut sound they do, but Eddie knows that isn't the point. It's supposed to be a little dirty, and since they let you on the writing floor it's getting worse. Better. Whatever. 

Eddie rubs his face with both hands. 

When the song ends, the radio host asks some questions about the new album, inspirations, touring, promotional album covers, the works, and Eddie hates himself for waiting to hear your voice. He grows irritated at the sound of Morgan's raspy nonchalance. 

"I mean, you guys are really stepping into a new genre here." It's true. Godless and bands like yours are more energetic, more aggressive than what Eddie plays. It's a divisive subject. Eddie likes it, but he knows a ton of metalheads who think it's immature. It's certainly not traditional. "Your first album was a whole lot different. And it was good, Godless broke into the scene! But this is new. You guys are more original and more popular than ever. Why the change?" The host laughs. "Well, she's sitting right here." 

Eddie thinks he can hear you inhale, but it's Morgan who speaks. 

"I wanted more for us, you know? Our first record, we just wanted to prove we could do it. This time we want to prove no one else can." 

Jamison scoffs. Eddie looks up from the radio and finds his bandmate with a beer in hand. He tries to steal it and gets an elbow to the chest for the effort. 

"Dick," he says. 

"Get your own." Jamison tilts his head toward the radio in a show of tuning in. "Can't tear yourself away, huh? How's your girlfriend?" 

"Christ," Eddie hisses. 

"You need him. Aw, she sounds so sweet." 

Eddie startles back to the radio, and sure enough you've finally been allowed to talk. Your voice is soft with nerves. 

"It's a lot to adjust to, I think I'm slow to- uh, get with the program. But I'm so happy to get to make music and to be a part of something this sick. Uh, this amazing, I mean." 

Poor girl, he thinks. By the end of your answer you sound like you want the ground to swallow you up. Thankfully the host is a professional, and laughs warmly. 

"It's a big lifestyle change! We talked a little about influence, is there a track I can play you guys out with? What's your favourite?" he asks. 

"Me?" you ask. 

"Yeah, you." 

"Oh, uh…" You laugh, sounding frazzled and sweet at once. "It has to be Black Sabbath, right? Do you guys have, um, The Mob Rules? Mob Rules is my favourite." 

Eddie needs to get very drunk, he decides, and he does. He drinks until he can't taste the difference between the shitty craft beer and seven hundred dollar cognac. Until he forgets why he was drinking in the first place, to erase the sound of your voice and your Sabbath recommendation — who the fuck picks Mob Rules over Heaven and Hell? He's tipsy and he won't remember, but he wants to fuck you stupid just for that (affectionately).

He loves Mob Rules. 

They move from one party to another, sloshed in the back of a car he still can't afford with his rockstar paycheck, more than drunk in the bathroom of a Studio City mansion kissing powder off of his fingers. Whatever he's been given doesn't last very long (though it hits hard), and he comes back to reality on a huge fancy couch surrounded by people, some he knows and most he doesn't. 

"I need a drink," he says. 

And he gets the shock of his life.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," you say gently. 

Eddie swings his head to yours, finding you in a nice dress, the gem of a necklace fallen down the valley of your chest. The lights are high and blaring and he can see the fine hairs of your face, the shine of your lipgloss like a siren call. 

"Why are you here?" he asks. 

You shrug. He watches your shoulders. 

"I need a drink," he says again. 

"Like, a beer? I don't judge but I think you’ll get alcohol poisoning if you drink anything else." 

"Like a beer." 

You look like you might stand up and get him one, for a second. He's ultimately glad that you don't. You twist around, elbow over the back of the couch, and your face beams like a star as you call, "Hey, Dornie? Could you toss me a beer, please?" 

Eddie worries he'd wanted to see you so badly you've appeared as a hallucination, and he hates himself and it's all old news anyways, but you turn back with a cold as ice beer in hand and press it into his arm until he whines.

"I'm sobering you up," you tease, again so gently. He does not like how you're looking at him, like you feel sorry for him. 

He takes the beer though the second sip makes him feel sick to his stomach, and tries not to look at you. 

"What, you don't want to be my friend anymore?" you ask. 

What has he said? 

"Sweetheart," he says, focusing very hard on sounding solid, "a friend is the last thing I want from you." 

"Could've fooled me… Hey, you wanna know a secret?" 

"What?" 

You lean in close, smelling of perfume, your face undeniably touchable. "I heard from somebody who heard from somebody else that they're kicking Tony Martin to the curb." 

He blinks. "Sabbath?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Why the fuck would they do that?" 

"Think on it, baby." 

If he couldn't smell the flowery punch of your perfume, or see the individual lashes that shield your waterline, he'd definitely think you were a dream. You're here, and you're talking to him like you like him, looking at him like you did, you cruel, awful thing, that day at Monsters of Rock when he'd pressed you up against a wall and kissed you until his lips burned. You'd kissed back. You'd responded, your lips pressing against his with more enthusiasm than made any sense. 

Now you're calling him baby and telling him secrets, your knees tucked together and the outside of your thigh warming a stripe under his jeans. It feels surreal. Your body heat is sinking into his skin. 

Somebody across the coffee table entices you into conversation. Eddie listens to you talk. Maybe high Eddie is a nicer guy than sober Eddie (unlikely), because you don't seem repulsed by his company. Considering how you left things, your little corner shop spat and his bruising kiss, he hadn't been expecting a warm welcome. 

"Did you–" he starts, insecure and hiding it as best as he can, fingers itching for a cigarette, for something to do, "did you like the flowers?" 

"You already asked me that." You peek down at his beer. "Could I have that?" 

He hands it over numbly. 

"It's not a good idea, you know? Drugs and drink, mixing them together. It messes with your heart," you tell him. 

"Don't act all innocent," he says. 

"No, I know, I'm not trying to lecture you 'cause I do shit I shouldn't do, but– you looked one bump from a heart attack. Seriously." 

"Why do you care?" 

You laugh. Your nose wrinkles. "I don't know." 

It's not the answer he wanted, but it's the one he deserves. 

He's spent weeks talking to himself, imagining conversations between you both. He's memorised defences, shamefully readied a few insults in case you'd prepared your own, but nothing comes to mind now. He's speechless. 

You drink his beer and he thinks about how his lips had been at the mouth of it not ten minutes ago. It shouldn't matter. You've already kissed him. It shouldn't. 

"I don't think I took what I meant to," he admits. 

"Me neither. Morgan said they've been cutting with procaine around the hills. Did you get super numb?" 

He can't remember. He doesn't want to talk about any of this with you. "I heard you on the radio." 

"You did?" 

"You were scared." 

"No." You tear the tab off of the beer and put it in his hand. "I like high Eddie, he’s honest." 

"I'm not, really…" 

"Should see your pupils." 

Maybe he is, then. That could explain why he keeps saying what he's thinking without pausing to check if it sounds cool. He has his defences up to the ceiling usually, wouldn't ever let you or anybody else in, not here. 

He's staring at you. 

You brush the side of his arm with your fingernails. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asks. 

Your small smile flattens into a line. "I don't know, Eddie. Who are you gonna tell? Who'd believe you? As far as the tabloids and- and our friends are aware, we hate each other." 

"It didn't feel like you hated me." 

"I didn't."

"But you do now?" 

You stand up. Eddie gets caught in your smile, charming with something worse lurking beneath. You brush the hair out of his face and station your hands at the base of his neck, dropping your head toward his ear. 

"Not telling," you whisper.

He thinks for a moment you're gonna kiss him, his ear or his neck, but you scratch his scalp lightly and leave as he's getting to grips with the feeling of your breath against his skin. 

—

Dolly Floor, California, December 1990 

Dolly Floor is a club in West Hollywood frequented by movie stars. You're pretty sure you only get in because of Morgan's snow trail incident months ago, and you almost wish they'd sent you packing when you see how densely hedged it is inside. The temperature hikes up with every step you take inside, and soon Morgan's dropping your wrist in favour of one of her friends across the way, leaving you totally alone. 

You're dressed in too much clothing for the occasion, a dress with sleeves and a leather jacket that isn't yours, big boots to protect your feet from crushing crowds. Morgan had thrown a pair of kitten heels at you in frustration. For once you'd told her no. She's been oddly friendly lately, letting you do as you please with nothing more than an irritated huff, and so you've got tights and socks alike stuffed into your shoes — you're sick of aches and pains. 

If anybody steps on your toes tonight, you're going home. 

The air is thick with humidity, exhaled breath, the scent of alcohol explaining the stickiness under your footsteps. You don't know many people, but you know Dornie and, irritatingly, half of Corroded Coffin, so you beeline for the band where they're holed up at the back and hope one of them will give you a drink. 

There's gotta be thirty different people hanging out. How they can hear each other talk is a mystery. Dornie puts his arm out when he sees you and you slide into his side, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his pale cheek. 

"Careful," he says, "you'll make someone jealous." 

You're affectionate with Dornie 'cause he's nice. Just plain nice, which is hard to find in Hollywood. He's the very first friend you've made that's yet to break your heart, and better, he hasn't tried to sleep with you.

Not that you think you're some unresistable notch. 

"Who'd be jealous of me?" you ask. 

"Of me." He rubs your shoulder through leather. "It's good to see you, doll. Your chin's healing up nice, yeah? Or is it make-up?" 

He taps your chin. 

It unlocks a reluctant memory, the shadow of a different hand, heavy with intoxication but painstakingly gentle. 

"It's a bit of make-up," you admit, lifting your chin so he can see it. 

"Still, it's getting better. How are your knees?" 

Hiding behind your tights. "They're gnarly. Doesn't hurt to walk much now though." 

Dornie grins. He has a pretty smile with white wonky teeth and three lip rings on one side. His hair is shorn short, unlike most of the guys here rocking hair to the ears or even longer. His eyes are a light brown, emphasising the bruising bags under his eyes. He looks tired. 

"Don't look, but I'm getting some serious glarage from your favourite guitarist." 

"You're my favourite guitarist," you say, and you mean it. His arm is a comforting weight. It feels so good to have a friend. 

"Your second favourite." 

You step completely into Dornie's view and look up at him. "How's he look now?" 

"Chilling. Want me to guide you over to the bar like we're lovers?" 

"Don't say it like that." 

Dornie pulls you across the floor back to the bar, where blessed cool air seeps down from the air-conditioning and the drinks leave pools of condensation the second they're put down. Dornie buys you a mystery cocktail that tastes more like water than juice. You sip at it happily, using your more neutral vantage point to get a good look at Eddie. 

He's sprawled against a booth wall with one arm behind his head, a cigarette sending smoke up to the wall. He looks better than the last time you'd seen him. There's colour in his cheeks, though that might be the lighting. Dolly Floor is a strange venue, like a strip club without the workers, or a restaurant without food. It doesn't feel like a club, but there's a small stage around the corner from the bar where good music plays live, and it doesn't take much convincing for Dornie to come and watch the show with you for a bit. Some of his friends join you, a woman called Natalie, a man named Matfield, and they're both as nice as he is. 

"We heard the new record!" Matfield says across the high table, the golden watch on his wrist a beacon under the reflections of the harsh stage lights. 

"Hated it?" you ask. 

He chuckles. "All the screaming isn't for me, baby, but that shit doesn't matter. It was good. How's it doing?" 

"I honestly haven't looked," you say, opening your box of Newports and offering them out like candy. Everybody takes one. 

"Better not to know tonight," Natalie says agreeably, her perfect black hair curled toward her face like a seraphim shifting as she leans in for a light. "All you have to do is celebrate." 

You'd wanted, foolishly, to celebrate with the girls. Ananya had dipped as soon as she could and you get it, she has her own friends, but Morgan knocking the door of your room had been a great relief. If at least one of them wants to spend time with you, that's enough. Only, Morgan had made it clear as she was sifting through your clothes that she was going to try and find, "like, someone who's actually interesting." You'd taken it about half as personally as you would've a few months ago. 

Hence Dornie. You'd called him on the landlines and he'd said, "Yeah, babe, I'll meet you there." 

Thank whatever's watching for Dornie. 

He buys you another drink and then another, says your money's no good and tonight's about you. His friends are great, including you in all their jokes and smiles, and when the lights go down and the music gets louder you head out onto the glowing tiles and dance with them. 

Eddie finds you not long after. Slinking up from your peripherals, hand in his pocket. 

"What Eddie am I seeing tonight? The nice one?" 

Eddie doesn't flinch at your sudden question. "You look good." 

He'd approached from the left. You'd felt it rather than heard him, and you'd guessed right. He steps further into view, not smiling, not not smiling. He looks good too. 

"I heard the album." 

You hate how much you care. "Yeah?" 

"It was good. It wasn't metal, but it was good." 

You're laughing before he's even finished, turning away from him in a feigned sense of superiority. I don't care what you think. 

Eddie doesn't grab you. You wouldn't care if he did. He follows by your elbow and says, "Come on, you know it isn't." 

"Just 'cause it doesn't sound rooted in the 70s," you say with a smile. 

"That's the whole point. It's baseless, there's nothing traditional in it. It isn't metal, but it's rock, and it's good, and–" 

"Slow down, Munson. A girl'd think you liked her." 

"I'm objective." 

"You're not."

"I'm not, but my opinions are right. Everybody says that, but when I do it's true, so…"

You look at him properly. He looks present in a way he hasn’t before in front of you. There’s a total clarity behind his eyes that you yourself don’t have tonight. He looks sober. Not that you thought he was an addict, not that you didn’t. There’s a certain blasé attitude to substance abuse when you get a kick of fame. Everybody has something in their pocket and you’ll admit to buying into it, taking stuff you shouldn’t in unfamiliar places. You know, of course, that drugs are fucking dangerous. But you hadn’t been freaked out by them until the other night, when you bumped into Eddie outside of the bathroom in Dornie’s friend’s house and he hadn’t recognised you for a solid ten seconds. 

He’s chewing on nothing. 

“I didn’t do it to hold over you,” you say.

“What?”

“Look after you. It wasn’t… I mean, I wasn’t making fun of you. And I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

“Generous.” His eyes narrow subtly. 

“So if that’s what you’re doing.” You look down to his neck where a silver chain rests, thin, new and hidden under his shirt. “Checking to make sure, I’m not.”

“You think I’m here to make sure you don’t tattle?”

You’re too tipsy to feel embarrassed. “You’re here to buy me a drink, then. I want a cherry margarita with extra shiny cherries and all the salt on the rim, please. Please,” you add, because the second one hadn’t felt polite enough. 

Eddie nods and half turns. “Shiny cherry?” he asks. You almost miss it, his soft tone nearly lost in the noise.

“Maraschino… they’re pink.”

“You’re not gonna come with me?”

“Get lost often?” 

Eddie holds his hand out. You’re supposed to think of how his hand looks, his callouses, his rings, the cut across his thumb, the size and length of his fingers. You think about them enough when he isn’t around, but now, right now, your heart thuds against your chest. Your thoughts are a mess until they aren’t — hold his hand. You put your fingers against his palm and he squeezes them together like he’s collected them, tugging you out of the crowd and across the room to the slick black bar. 

You’re still angry with him. You’re wounded, knife to the gut and all the red blood because he’d been right, you’re a dog, you do what people tell you to, you’re doing it right now, but then he squeezes your hand with a light enough pressure that you’re sure you’ve imagined it until he does it again, leaning up against the bar as he gives your order. “Extra cherries,” he says to the barkeep with a smile, letting your hand go in favour of his own drink. 

The crowd surges with a new song and people brush your calves as they walk around you. You and Eddie stay at the bar. He sips on a bottle of water. You wait for your margarita. 

“Your cut’s healing up,” he says. 

You try not to notice your touching arms. “It was bad, right? It must’ve been. You felt so sorry for me,” —the words burn— “you sent me the biggest bouquet I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you, sweetheart, can you read?”

“Between the lines, yes,” you say, nodding your head once, emphatic as you accept your margarita. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you. Felt bad for you-“ He holds up a pale palm. “My fault an’ all, I’ll try to be less daydream worthy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you. Did you see it? She tripped me up with her mic doing a shitty Stevie Nicks impression.”

“Wrong genre.”

You laugh at him. “Exactly! That’s the point.”

“Yeah, I saw it.” 

You raise your eyebrows. Eddie’s head tips forward and his hair hides his cheeks, the subtlest impression of his cheekbones lost to a curtain of curls. He twists one of his rings around his finger.

“She- You should be more careful,” he says. 

Everything’s raw with him, criticism most of all, but you’re feeling generous. You fish one of your shiny cherries from the margarita glass, surprised to find its stalk intact, and break the delicate skin between your teeth. You mull over what he’s saying as the sweet flavour aches in your jaw. You could’ve been more cautious. You’d been having fun, and you’d thought you could trust the people you work with to have your back. It was a little silly to assume; neither Morgan nor Ananya have ever shown you much second thought.

“Yeah, I think I should be,” you say finally, putting the cherry stalk in your mouth.

“What are you doing?”

You ignore him and try to tie a cherry stem knot. You keep trying until you think you’ve got it. You pull the stem from your tongue. 

“Shit,” you curse, glaring at the curved stem. “Thought I had it.”

Eddie grins and leans into your space, fingers quick to pinch a cherry from your margarita. 

He brings it to your mouth. You keep your lips pressed closed and search his face for a trick. Nothing peaks out, not a hint of cruelty to his pinked lips or flush of soft lashes. You try not to breathe as you open your mouth, and Eddie pushes the round of the cherry over your bottom lip slowly. 

You bite down. 

Eddie takes your stalk and places it on his own tongue. He closes his mouth, and within five seconds he’s taking out a knitted stem with a prideful buzz about him. Any smugness he’d held dissipates. He looks adorable. 

“Beat you,” he says. 

“Arrogant doesn’t suit you.”

“Arrogant absolutely suits me,” he argues, the corners of his lips twitching up, up, up. He’s smiling so much. He reminds you of somebody. “Sore loser doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What’s that mean?” you repeat. “I smile at you across a stage set and you push me up against a wall.”

“Smile? That’s what you’d call that?”

You’re facing each other now. Eddie inches closer as he speaks, each word said with a precision that can’t be unpracticed. “I’m playing in front of near enough a hundred thousand people, kind of crowd I fucking dreamed of as a kid, in front of actual real life rockstars, and you stroll up to side stage dressed like–”

He cuts himself off. An olive branch. A stopper. A dam. His inhale infuriates you. 

“No, go on. Dressed like what, superstar?”

“Like a fucking groupie.” 

You know he’s only said it to try and get a rise out of you. He knows that you know. He looks like he wants to take it back. 

You want him to push it further. 

“And you liked it,” you say, angry. Quiet. “You liked it and you couldn’t get a handle on it.”

“No,” he says, knowing what you’re implying, voice hot and fast, “I kissed you because I knew you wanted me to. I knew what it would do to you.”

“I wanted you to?” you ask. 

“Didn’t you?”

“I wanted to mess with your head ‘cause you fucking harsssed me–”

He cuts you off, “You wanted to mess with me because you hated that I was right about you. Not everything, but enough. Those girls treat you like shit. And you let them, or you’ll be the next Millyana, sitting at home watching the rest of us on TV wondering why you couldn’t make it out.” Something in his expression flickers like a rubber band has struck his skin. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you mean it. You worked hard to get here, had people treat you a whole heap worse than Eddie’s hot and cold, than Ananya's indifference and Morgan’s narcissism. Hours in buses with your neck craned against a short ceiling scribbling music and days toeing the line with a guitar falling apart in your hands. You scrimped and saved and starved for this. 

Eddie smiles at you. For the second time that night, he looks like somebody else. 

“I know,” he says. “I think we’re finally on the same page.”

—

Eddie buys you another drink. Your tipsiness had felt so far away when things got heated, but now your bubbly smile is back, and you’re actually talking to him. About music, sure, but the movies, the weather, the fancy apartments the record company put you up in. 

“Finally got my own room so Ananya can stop complaining about the noise,” you say with a wink. 

He chokes on his water. “The noise?”

“I’m a very dedicated player.”

You let a small silence pervade before bursting into giggles, hand patting his upper arm. “I’m kidding! She gets mad ‘cos I’m trying to learn YYZ but it is so, so hard.”

“Shit is hard,” he says. “Do you even have time for that? You start touring again in a month, maybe you should, you know, slack off?”

“No, because if I’m doing nothing I’m nothing.”

Eddie — fuck fuck fuck — shouldn’t pry. 

“You’re not nothing.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and he loves when you do it. It’s not cute, really, but everything you do is cute in a way he refuses to unpack. “No, I’m not, I don’t know why I said that.”

“I get it, though. You feel like… maybe it's all gonna stop one day. Wake up with a bad case of the yips and no matter how good you were…”

“Yeah.” You take a very noisy slurp of margarita. “I’m so afraid that I’m gonna be nothing that I can’t stop.”

Eddie throws his gaze around the room. It’s no coincidence that your friend Dornie keeps looking his way; the night is winding down and there’s barely anybody dancing. It’s home time. 

“You won’t be nothing,” he says, easing the margarita out of your hands. He might’ve bought you one too many. “I’m sorry for, uh, getting you drunk.”

“I got myself at least three parts there. Out of five.”

“At least three parts,” he agrees.

He wants, very badly, to touch your face. Hold your cheek in his palm. “Hey,” he says lightly. “Uh, you got something. On your cheek.”

You brush your dewy skin with an embarrassed look about you, shoulder risen and eyes all droopy with booze. “Here?”

“Higher.”

He watches you scrub at nothing. He’s tricking you. He feels awful. 

“Still haven’t got it?”

“‘Fraid not, baby.”

“You get it.” You brandish your cheek.

Eddie keeps a good distance. He knows what he’s doing is weird, he just wants to touch you for a second. He rubs the pad of his thumb down your face, tracing the path of a tear you haven’t shed. Eye to chin. 

“You’re good,” he says, dropping his hand. 

“Thank you.”

You’re slurring. He thinks you’re more tired than you are tipsy (though you are, undeniably, inebriated), and he wonders where all the time went, how it’s suddenly been an hour with you and your conversation. There’d been a moment where he thought he’d fucked it and your eyes had shone with hurt, but you’re smiling, he’s smiling, and Dornie looks aggrieved. All good things.

“I think you better get going,” he murmurs. 

“Sick of me?” you ask, not teasing. 

“No. Your friend’s waiting for you.” 

You look over your shoulder and your smile glows. You start babbling about how that’s your friend Dornie (he knows, you’ve only told him five times) and how Dornie is sooooo nice. You deserve somebody being nice to you right from the start. Eddie’s trying to make it right but he’s said some shit he can’t take back. He wants you to have someone who’s a hundred percent sweet on you, he just doesn’t wanna have to hear the adoration in your voice when you talk about it. 

Eddie’s a dick. Self-admitted. 

You go home with an arm looped around Dornie’s waist. (Dornie said high-pitched, wide-eyed.) Eddie pulls a handful of bills from his wallet to pay for the drinks he’d bought, stuffing the change in a tip jar on the way back to the dregs of the coffin crew. Jamison’s long gone and Jeff didn’t wanna come, but Gareth’s smoking a cigarette with another guy’s hand mysteriously lapward. 

He clears his throat. “I’m going home and taking the car.”

“Wait for me?”

Eddie cringes. “Sure.”

Eddie sits in the car. One hand on the wheel, the other in his pocket. He thinks about tonight, your hair, your smile, the way your arm had brushed up against his. He wonders if this is the right move. Eddie’s not mad at you anymore for forgetting who he was, for your teasing at the Prover Theatre or your rookie comments. And Monsters of Rock, that had been half spite and half bravado. Spur of the moment bravery. Idiocy. Yeah he’d kissed you to piss you off, but he’d also done it because he wanted to. 

He sighs and takes your discarded pull tab out of his pocket. He thumbs the rounded edge, thinking harder than one guy should ever think about anything that isn’t metal. Shit, he thinks. I gotta go home.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

note: they are not done hating each other I am just warming up! thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3

[horrorartsworld]

ur valentino fic is AMAZING imagine if vox accidentally interrupted and saw the humiliating state moth-bitch was in 😋

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH AND JUST IMAGINE THIS WITH ME NONNIE 🤲🏻 Voxy boy wouldn’t know what to DO WITH ALL DAT

(the fic that started it ➭ ‪‪❤︎‬ )

“Hey Val you would not believe who I-” Vox can barely finish his sentence, completely rattled and utterly turned on by the sight unfolding in-front of him, to the point he almost short circuits.

The loud ‘zZz’ not breaking you out of your ruthless bouncing on top of the poor purple man to the point you’ve haven’t even given him a breather as he’s already came thrice, maybe even more then that (you lost count). Sputtering incoherent nonsense from the overstimulation you’ve caused him, the once pimp boy persona was no more and all that was left was a whiny little piss baby.

“P-p-pleaseeee hgh!~ no more.”

He’d mange to cry out, but he’s sooooo drunk off your pussy he can barely move. Getting milked of every last drop from his cock with every deep plunge you did down on it. Only making him more dumb.

“Not so tough now with someone using your cock like this~”

Vox couldn’t help but be all for this and even going the lengths of pulling his own cock out and stroking it in the doorway of Val’s office while he watched you two, not giving a single fuck if someone sees his perverted ass in this state.

You soon hear his loud wet stroking within minutes, turning to see box face hunched over watching intensively causing you to smirk and Val to huff seeing how stupidly he was falling into this.

“Does someone wanna play too?”

Your cooing like music to his ears, as if that was even a question, that man was over to the two of you in a flash, not even bothering to close or lock the door.

He was then roped in completely, becoming a mess within mere seconds of you stroking and teasing your mouth against the tip, but not letting him cum before you did as your orgasm approached while still getting off on Val.

All three of you moaning unison once you finally come undone with Vox not shortly after in your mouth. And Val well…when hasn’t he came that night.

[musings-of-a-rose]

I'm having a Sparks and Benny thought here. Based on this pic. Both of them arrive at home from a Xmas party at Will's. Things got hot really quick.

Note this was supposed to be in your ask box. I messaged ya this thought. My bad! Holiday brain!

The Party

Pairing: Benny Miller x “Sparks” f!reader

Word Count: 1300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I miss the HELL out of these 2 so please continue to send in anything! Also I’m changing this up to a New Year’s Party because I couldn’t finish it in time for Christmas. And then I was even more late! Thank you for being so patient and waiting!! (This was not beta read)

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Light Me Up Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

“Did we really have to dress all fancy?” Benny whines, rolling his shoulders to shift the suit jacket a little. 

“It’s Will and Makayla’s first New Year’s living together and they wanted to be fancy,” I explain as I knock on the door to Will and Makayla’s place.

“I guess.”

“Plus, it’s my first as Mrs. Miller and I wanted to look pretty.”

Benny’s eyes soften as he looks me, the edges of his gaze darkening. “You’re always gorgeous, Mrs. Miller.” He grips my hips and pulls me to him, releasing one hand to tip my chin up, kissing me softly, the heat slowly warming.

“Get your own porch, asshole.” Will had opened the door and was standing there smirking. 

“You’re right. I’ll just take my wife home then,” Benny pulls me in the direction of his jeep. 

“Nice try. Makayla would kill me if you guys didn’t show up. Come on in.” He opens the door wide and motions for us to enter, fist bumping Benny as he walks past. 

Makayla had gone all out, everything sparkling in silver, gold, and black, like a modern day Gatsby party. People had already arrived and Benny steers me towards Frankie and Monica, Santi off in the corner making out with a girl, whom I shockingly recognize. 

“Is Santi with the same girl he brought to the bar a month ago?” I whisper to Frankie and Monica. 

She nods. “Yeah! I think this one is sticking around, surprisingly enough.”

We chat with them for a bit, Makayla flitting over for a few minutes before being whisked away on a champagne emergency. The music is going, some people getting up to dance. Will recruits Benny to help him with something in the kitchen, so I pull Monica onto the dance floor, whispering to her that we’re going to be menaces to our respective husbands. 

We start dancing to the upbeat song, hands on each others hips as we sway and move to the song, her spinning me around so my back is flush with her front. And that’s when I see him, Benny, emerging from the kitchen and freezing, his eyes on me as I dance. Judging by the light chuckle in my ear from Monica, I’m guessing she caught Frankie’s eye too.

“Wanna torture them some more, Sparks?” She says close to my ear.

“Hell yeah.”

I follow her lead, moving my body as she guides me, our hips moving in tandem as she pulls me closer to her. For good measure, I lift my arm, wrapping it around the back of her head, trying not to giggle when she squeezes just a little too much on my inner hips. And then the song ends, Monica and I laughing as she hugs me.

“That was way too much fun, Sparks.”

“Yeah it was. Did you see their-”

Suddenly, Monica was ripped from my grasp, Frankie’s hand firmly clamped around her upper arm, a smirk and a wink tossed my way from her as he steers her away through the group of people. 

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Benny had snuck up behind me, his hands now on my hips, his nose nuzzling in my hair as he speaks low in my ear. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was dancing, good sir.”

He chuckles and it makes goosebumps pop up down my arm. “Yeah. Dancing. Sure.” He  makes to pull me away, to find some secluded spot but then Will clanks a spoon on a glass and everyone turns, Benny groaning a little too loud so I elbow him softly in the ribs. 

Will puts his arm around Makayla next to him before speaking. “I just want to thank everyone for coming. We’re so excited to share our first New Year’s Eve with everyone we love and we’ve been working hard- ok. Makayla has been working hard. I just do what she says,” laughing flits around the group as Makayla playfully slaps his chest, leaving her hand on his toned pec. “But seriously. Thank you guys. Here’s to another great year!”

—----

The toast was had, the ball was dropped, the midnight kiss was a little too risque between you and Benny, Will not so covertly throwing an empty Solo cup at Benny’s head. 

“Ugh I’ve been dying to take these shoes off all night!” I groan, kicking my heels off and plopping down in one of our comfy chairs. 

“You looked hot though.”

“That’s the price of fashion. Pain.”

He chuckles as he removes his jacket, revealing that he wore a simple, plain black shirt underneath it, the fabric stretching and pulling as he tosses the jacket on the back of the couch and sits with a sigh. I look over at him, feeling warm watching his movements.

“Did..did you really wear a black t-shirt under your dress jacket?”

Benny looks down at his shirt, his eyebrows pulled together. “Should I not have?”

“No, no. I think it works.”

He brushes his chest and I almost come unglued. “Good.”

“Wanna see what’s under mine?”

His big blue eyes snap to mine. “Fuck yeah I do.”

I get up, standing in front of him as I pull my dress over my head, hearing his sharp intake of breath as I reveal his favorite lingerie set on me, complete with black garter belts.

“You…you had this on the whole time?”

I nod, moving to straddle him. He grips my hips, sliding his hands up to my ribs as he kisses my chest, his mustache tickling my skin causing me to chuckle. But then he grips me tight, standing abruptly and sets me in the chair, draping each of my legs over the arms of the chair. He kneels, his eyes dark and all-consuming as he stares between my legs. 

“Can you buy new underwear?”

“I think so.”

I barely get my reply out before he grips my panties, ripping the part that covers me, tucking the ripped ends up. His large hands squeeze my inner thighs and before I can say anything, his mouth is on me, warm and lapping, my legs trying to squeeze around him. He holds me open, his fingers digging deeper into my skin as I moan his name, electric sparks rolling over me as his tongue changes patterns. One of my hands grips the chair and the other moves to his hair, tugging hard and whining when his growl vibrates me. 

“Oh fuck! Ben, I -” The sounds he pulls from me are loud and grateful, Benny leaving his mouth on me to work me down. But I don’t have time to relax as he stands, pulling me up only to spin me, pushing my upper back down, the sound of a zipper loud in the quiet apartment. He drags himself through the wetness between my thighs before pushing and I slap the chair, trying to find something, anything to grip.

“Can’t believe you were wearing this the whole night and didn’t tell me,” Benny pants behind me, setting a rougher pace just hear the panted whines tumble from my lips. 

My hands scramble, still trying to find purchase as he presses harder, faster, but then he folds himself over me, engulfing me from behind, his large hands sliding down my arms, his fingers lacing with mine, holding my hands as he continues to push in further. I turn my head to the side, feeling myself hurtle towards the edge again as he brushes against that spot at the back of me. 

“Oh fuck, Benny! Please..please!” I come, tightening around him, his breaths panting out across my neck as he buries his face, turning his head slightly to bite my shoulder as he comes, his hips pushing in a few more times as he releases. His bite turns to kisses, nuzzling into my hair before he whispers.

“I love you, Sparks.”

I manage to finally catch my breath. “Don’t you mean Mrs. Miller?”

“Fuck!” He pulls out but stands, picking me up to throw me over his shoulder with a squeal as he stomps down the hallway, spending the next few hours showing me exactly what being called Mrs. Miller does to him.

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed  @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol  @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings  

[laurbiek]

I can't stop reading your Hozier imagines! sooooo good😃❤❤ can I please request one where he's always saying that yn is his soulmate (she is, but she doesnt admit it) idk I've been thinking about this concept , and who more deserving than our tall boy? 😍😍

noun: soulmate

a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.

Andrew had a list of reasons why he believed he had met his true soulmate. He felt so comfortable around Y/N, like it was easier to breathe around her. She was furniture in the house in the best way, a beautiful addition that is right where it belongs, always where he needs it. She fit in every part of his life, like she was part of the puzzle his life will be displayed as. He felt like she was helping him put the puzzle together, she had the image on the front of the box and put the small bits together with a relaxed ere that Andrew could never achieve.

He often tried to tell her this, and she rolled her eyes at his artistic sappiness.

It happened once when he was sick, he had pushed himself too far in the studio and ended up with laryngitis, again. Y/N's heart melted at his sad scratchy voice and his sweater arms pulled over his hands. She plodded up the stairs with a mug of tea with plenty of honey, and pushed open the old, painted door that would often get stuck in the frame. Andrew's head picked up from his pillow slightly, and fell back down after recognizing the figure. Her socked feet continued over the antique hardwood floors that have held up for centuries, and placed the mug on the slightly more modern bedside table next to her resting husband. She pushed his messy hair out off his face and placed a kiss on his heated forehead. Andrew started to lean up, and reached his lithe arm out to grab his mug of extra-sweet tea.

"You're really my soulmate, Y/N", he said, as a thank you.

"Ok, whatever you say" Y/N replied, laughing slightly, thinking him a little dramatic.

______

Another time, Y/N was yelling for him from the hallway. He poked his head out of his music room and saw Y/N drop the tool box on the ground next to their bedroom.

"I need help taking this door off, I'm tired of it sticking so I'm taking the paint off "

"You can do that?"

"Yeah, there's a paste that like, dissolves the paint or something"

"Why don't we just, buy a new door?"

"It's been in the house for so long, I would feel bad! And its so beautiful, I just hate that all wood these days is covered in white paint"

Andrew stared at her, he knew she loved old things, but watching her take the time to restore something old and meaningful was so sweet, he appreciated that she shared his love of antiques and vintage items.

"You're my soulmate, you know that?", he added after his pause.

"Yeah yeah. Just be ready to catch the door"

______

He helped her set up the door in the garage to be worked on, and often checked on her whenever he took breaks from his music. He liked to bring her drinks, and iced tea (which he found offensive, as an irishman), topped with ice and often, a lemon wedge.

He placed the cold glass on the work bench in the back of the garage, the doors open with a view of the rain pouring outside. Y/N stood in her "messy" clothes, which consisted of a ratty t-shirt that she's kept for years, and paint stained leggings. He watched her slather whatever mysterious liquid she claimed could strip paint on the old door. Andrew walks over to her, and places a small kiss on her shoulder blade while she works.

"Thank you babe", she exclaims, without l looking up from her work.

"Anything for my soulmate"

"Ok, let me know when you find her"

______

Andrew closed the door to their bedroom, now nice and lacquered, the beautiful brown wood now free from the paint that trapped it for many years. The antique knob, polished and brassy, felt cold under his hand, and he could feel the latch click through the metal. The room was dark, Y/N having gone to bed an hour or two ago. He turns the TV in front of their bed off, and climbs into bed, tucking the lush covers around him and Y/N.

His arm stretched out to pull Y/N a little closer, his had cradling the back of her head.

"I love you Y/N, you're my soulmate", he says, even though he knows she's asleep.

It's the only time he can say it and have it be treated with the reverence it deserves.

[loveemii]

I have a headcanons request: The main 3 + Tengen, Rengoku, and Shinobu reacting to their s/o who has an unconventional fighting style against demons such as fighting with beer/wine bottles, kicking of the nuts, etc. (And yet somehow they are one of the top hashira) Remember you don't have to do it if you don't want to, drink some water and get some sleep ❤

yes ofc! thank you for the amazing request!

(you’re so sweet please take care 💓)

i hope you enjoy :) + bonus character!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡︎~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tanjiro:

“Y/n! What do you think you’re doing?! Fighting without a weapon?! And so recklessly!”

y/n’s boyfriend asked her while in battle, she grabbed anything she could that was in sight.

beer/wine bottles, etc. even her fists, fearless she fought. y/n kicked down a door that was near in the village and used it as a weapon against the demon. as she attacked the demon with the door her boyfriend tanjiro made sure she was safe by running behind her.

although she was a hashira he still wanted to be of service to her.

“What do you mean?! I don’t need a weapon!”

y/n spoke back to tanjiro as they both took another strike at the demon. her boyfriend holding his sword and trying to find a cutting point while his girlfriend y/n grabbed some bottled from the ground and threw them at the demon as a distraction for when she took a metal bar and cut the demons head clean off.

tanjiro looked at her in amazement, but snapped out of it to make sure she was ok.

“Woah! Are you ok? Not hurt?!”

“Yeah I’m fine. And see, told you I don’t need a weapon.”

y/n said as she walked off, tanjiro following behind her.

~~~~~♡︎~~~~~

Inosuke:

“How the hell are you gonna fight without a sword?!”

y/n’s boyfriend inosuke asked as he looked at her ready to fight the demon.

“I don’t need a damn sword, and besides this demon is already as good as dead.”

y/n said as he stroke a combat attack on the demon, kicking him in the sack as hard as she could taking a stance next to inosuke again.

“Woah now that’s what I call pretty damn amazing!”

her boyfriend shouted praising y/n. the demon fell to its knees covering his weak spot. inosuke then lifted y/n into the air as she wa ready to attack, the demon reacted quickly and removed himself away, he then began to attack her as she quickly grabbed this guys shoes and threw them at the demons face hard enough to take out an eye.

“Ughh eww! Totally gross!”

inosuke made a comment, y/n grinned and blew a kiss to her boyfriend as she finished the job by kicking the demons head clean off in one strike.

she then came down from her strike and walked over to her boyfriend who was stunned but still grossed out by the fact that demons eye is gone.

“Don’t look so amazed Ino, come on let’s get something to eat.”

y/n said as put her arm around her boyfriend as they walked away from the scene.

~~~~~♡︎~~~~~

Zenitsu:

“Y/N BE CAREFUL! RUN AND SAVE YOURSELF!!”

zenitsu shouted at his girlfriend who was kicking and slapping and throwing anything she could in sight at the demon.

“ZENITSU STAY WHERE YOU ARE.”

y/n said as her boyfriend obeyed her as he sniffled and shook on fear hiding from the demon as he watched the battle.

she flip kicked the demon neck off just after she slapped his face and threw a few trash items at the demon. y/n watched the demon fade into black dust before checking on her sniffling boyfriend.

“You ok?”

“Y/n! How can you be so brave and not have a weapon?”

zenitsu asked y/n crying and clinging onto her, she just patted his head and gently kissed his cheek comforting him.

~~~~~♡︎~~~~~

Tengen:

“What the hell do you think your doing? Fighting without a weapon, you must be insane if you think I’m gonna let you do that. It’s not flashy.”

y/n’s soon to be husband scolded her.

“I don’t need a weapon.”

she replied ready to fight that demon ahead of her.

“Yeah how?”

tengen proceeded, y/n ran towards the demon as she held a boom box that was playing music in her hands at the demon.

it landed inside the demons mouth and i guess it turned on party mode because the demon begun to light up as lights shown through its eyes, nose, and wide open mouth.

“So Flashy.”

tengen commented as his soon to be wife climbed onto the back of the demon and begun to punch, kick do whatever she can until it’s weaker.

y/n then saw the point grabbed a fork and began to stab at the neck as the demons head soon began to slide off.

tengen watched this with the face of “Eww what the hell.”

~~~~~♡︎~~~~~

Rengoku:

“You can do it Y/n!”

y/n’s boyfriend encouraged her as she sprung into action kicking the demon where it hurts, slapping its face and throwing bottles at it.

“Thanks Goku!”

she said as she side kicked his face, i think that really pissed off the demon.

“Y/n look out!”

rengoku shouted as he sliced the demons arm off before it could squash y/n. rengoku nodded at y/n and it was her opening point to cut the demons head off.

she raced at the demon and with a wine bottle in her hand cutting the demons head off with the broken glass it had.

~~~~~♡︎~~~~~

Shinobu:

“Y/n are you sure you don’t want a sword?”

shinobu asked her girlfriend who was slaready taking a stance at the demon in front of them.

“Yeah and can I take this one. I can take ‘em.”

“Sure, you’ve got this Y/n!”

y/n then charades at the demon and began to knee it’s face, she then grabbed a chair and smashed it on the demons head.

“Oh my.”

shinobu commented as y/n side kicked the demons head off.

“Still think I need a sword?”

~~~~~♡︎~~~~~

Mitsuri:

“Y/n looks so cute when she’s fighting with no weapon.”

mitsuri said in awe watching her girlfriend y/n take down a demon.

she got it in a headlock and started to knee it in the face. y/n then body slammed it to the ground, she began to kick it and throw anything she could in reach.

chairs, tables, bottles, plates, utensils. y/n finally side kicked the demons head off in one swift motion.

she walked over to her girlfriend Mitsuri and clapped her hands together to get the dust off.

“You looked to cute out there!”

“You think?”

mitsuri began to blush and hide her face a little while looking at her s/o. y/n smirking as she kissed mitsuri’s cheek.

~~~~~<3~~~~~

hiii! i really hoped you enjoyed this sory it took so long i’ve been a little busy but i will ALWAYS have time to write :)

lol well anyways, take care, drink water, and get rest 💓

specially made for @thatone-gayweeb :)

(sorry for any typos)

[yandere-dark-cupid]

Deity AU: darling; Goddess of the Stars and dreams

Sfw:

🌌In this AU, there are 6 main rulers. There are exceptions of course, but more on that later.

🌌 You're not one of those rulers. But If you married one you can be a co-ruler.

🌌 In this AU in general; you're either a human, a deity, or some minor or half-divine being ( like a demigod or nymph ). But in this case, you're a goddess.

🌌 You're part of the first generation of gods.

🌌 You're a minor deity

💤 You hold a very interesting place between life and death

☁ Your domain is more like a realm than it is a domain

🌌 Doesn't work with the deity of death, but works near them occasionally.

🌌 The star nymphs are your helpers

☁ A very mysterious and somewhat unknown deity that works quietly and prefers it to be like that.

🌌 Has 4 pet Samoyeds. They act as your messengers sometimes. Pay them in pets, treats, and belly rubs, please 😁.

☁ You have horse ears and a crystal-like horn.

☁ You have grey-ish wings that blend with silver at the tips

💤 Rejects invitations to gatherings and parties

💤 Has a soft spot for the mortals. Especially children and animals.

☁ Likes going to the mortal realm under the guise of being a human ( for obvious reasons.. )

☁ Though you are a somewhat unknown minor deity, you have a small nice size cult following. And like any other deity, you get offerings from said cult following.

🌌 Offerings for you consist of lavender, tea oranges, white feathers, sugar cubes, music boxes, lyre music, harp music, rainwater and/ or its sounds, moon water, Zodiac crystals, soft things ( ex: cotton, plushies, blankets, etc. ), dog toys and treats, ice cream, cookies, and milk.

{ Side note: Midnight snacks hit differently in your " domain " ( realm )😙. }

💤 Loves plushies

💤 Adores ballet

💤 Is sometimes seen carrying a magic mirror

☁ Has a great deal of sympathy

☁ Is surprisingly petty at times

💤 Does a lot of self-care and relaxing activities in your past time. Like taking a dip in your sweet waters and/or going to the astral plane.

☁ Though as quiet and mostly harmless as you are, reminder; you're a deity. So that means you're not that harmless.

🌌 When upset or feeling a spike of pettiness can and will chuck a meteorite at someone ( like an annoying persistent God or something )

🌌 Your curse consists of an on-site meteor being catapulted at you, being turned into your greatest fear(s), and making sure that you never wake up in a dream ( or nightmare ). There are other curses, but those are your main ones.

Third deity darling I've done it now and am proud of it 🌟. Are my little star and I hope y'all enjoyed this as much as her as much as I did 💕. As very unrelated as this is, I was recapping Euphoria when writing this. But other than that; Until next time my little tainted Angels, see you soon ❤💜❤ ~

[lets-get-saucy]

Little Life

Emily Sonnett x reader

Based off an interview where Sam Mewis said Sonnett left her chocolate one day when Sonnett noticed she was having a bad day.

no warnings just pure fluff

You had a typical 9 to 5 office job but that didn’t mean there weren’t hard days. Some days you would have to stay late in the office or get calls from clients on you day off. One particular day you were in the office much later than you normally were having had a meeting that ran over. You sent Emily a text explaining you would be home later than expected knowing she would get done with practice early in the afternoon getting home well before you.

It was past 7 when you finally left the office, luckily because it was so late traffic was practically nonexistent. You make it to the building of your shared apartment with Emily, hurrying to get out of the car to get upstairs and see your girlfriend. Walking through the door the smell hits you first. Your stomach growls at whatever it is that Emily had cooked. You drop your work bag by the door and make your way to the kitchen. You see her standing by the stove placing food onto a plate. Emily looks up from the food when she hears you enter the room.

“Hey baby, I made you dinner” Emily says, gesturing to the plate.

You walk over to her wrapping your arms around her waist, hiding your face in her neck. Turning around in your arms to face you, she tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Whats wrong?” she ask, her eyebrows raising.

“Just a long day,” you mumble, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too” she says pulling you closer to her, kissing your forehead.

“You missed” you joked.

Emily laughs before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Mm, much better” you sigh before kissing her again.

Yourinsta: Sauce with the sauciest emilysonnett ❤🍕

-

Emily wasn’t the biggest fan of Taylor Swift, but you were. You were always listening to her music. In the shower, the car, if you were cleaning around the apartment, Taylor was your go to artist. Emily put up with it not because she loved Taylor but because she loved you. You didn’t really think she paid close attention to the lyrics until the night of your two-year anniversary.

Emily had taken you to a quite restaurant for dinner and after you had walked hand in hand through a park as the sun was setting. In your opinion it had been a perfect lowkey evening. When you made it back to your apartment, Emily opened a bottle of wine for you both and turned on some soft music. You currently wrapped in the blondes arms cuddling on the couch, her fingers lightly scratching up and down your back.

“Oh! I almost forgot I got something for you!” Emily says, her hands stopping their movement.

You look up at her from where you’re laying on her, “I thought we said we weren’t getting each other gifts?”

“I know, but I saw this the other day and just had to get it”

You roll your eyes as she gets off the couch practically running to your shared bedroom. Still on the couch you hear her moving around in the bedroom before she makes her way back to the living room. Whatever she got you she’s currently hiding behind her back, a massive grin on her face causing her dimples to pop out.

“Okay, close your eyes” she says as she gets closer to where you’re sitting on the couch.

Closing your eyes you put your hands out in front of you and feel Emily set a small box in them.

She sits down next to you before saying “now you can open your eyes”

Opening your eyes you see the small box in your hands. Looking over to Emily you raise an eyebrow, before slowly opening the box. Inside is a note handwritten by your love that says not because I own you because I really know you - Emily. Taking the note out, your eyes widen in surprise at what you find. A simple necklace with a letter E pendant attached to the chain.

“Emily” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears.

“Do you like it?” she ask sheepishly.

“I love it” you throw your arms around her crawling into her lap. “Its perfect, put it on me?”

Emily takes the necklace from you as you move your hair out of the way. Her fingers gently brush you neck causing goose bumps to form on your heated skin. Once the necklace is on you turning around pulling Emily into a heated kiss, your lips melting together.

“Thank you baby” you say resting your forehead against hers.

“I love you, happy anniversary” she places another kiss on your lips.

“I love you too” you mumble onto her lips.

Yourinsta: not because she owns me, because she really knows me 💋

-

It was rare for Emily and you to have the same day off together. Either you had work meetings or phone calls to answer. While Emily had practice, travel and games. For the most part you were able to make it to most games, as long as it was on a weekend. But today was different, you both had the day off with nothing planned. You both had a lazy morning enjoying each other’s company. Taking longer to get out of bed than usual before making breakfast together. As you both ate in a comfortable silence you could tell that something was on your girlfriends mind.

“What are you thinking about love?” you asked taking Emily out of her thoughts.

“Well, we both have the day off. I was thinking we should do something” she says before taking another bit of her food.

“Did you have something in mind?”

“Theres a river about thirty minutes away. We should go float down it or something” she suggested.

Thinking about it for a second, you smiled at Emily. It was a great idea. You both loved being outside and it was supposed to be a warm sunny day.

“I love that idea; we can go after we eat”.

 An hour and a half later Emily and you were getting out of the car at the river she mentioned.

“Babe, we forgot floats” you groaned as you realized in your rush to get out of the apartment both of you had neglected to grab any.

“No, you forgot floats” Emily says opening the trunk of the car.

You walk over to her and see something you had assumed was long gone. But no, sitting in the back of the car was an inflatable couch. After you had moved in together you refused to let Emily set int up in the living room. You assumed the blonde got rid of it having had it for years at that point. You didn’t even know where she had kept it let alone blew it up before your spontaneous river trip.

“You still have that, really?” You ask raising your eyebrows.

“Of course! Never know when it will come in handy” Emily states pulling the couch out of the car.

Laughing at her you couldn’t help but smile, long used to the girls antics. Little did you know she was right. The two of you spent the day floating comfortably down the river enjoying your day together. Sharing kisses and quick dips in the cold water, you couldn’t think of a better way to spend the day with Emily. Okay, maybe that evening was more fun once you were in the privacy of your apartment, but it was still a fun day.

Yourinsta: the couch is back 🙄🤦‍♀️

[avenging-fandoms]

Hey love

Can you write one where it's pedro's birthday and he is working that day ( he hates birthdays) and so the reader suprise her with a home made cake and candles? Just the two of them . Romantic and beautiful ❤

Thank you

yeah ik his birthday was in april but this came in the other day and i love the idea

cheese!!

-

It was another trip around the sun, a day of celebration. Balloons, cake, singing. A day of celebrating that special person.

Or as Pedro would call it, just another Tuesday.

You tiptoed quietly into the room with the tray of food, the soft clinking noises of the utensils against the plate woke Pedro up slowly.

He rolled his body to the side slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning as the duvet covered his waist, t-shirt hiked up to his ribs which he pulled down as he sat up.

“Happy birthday Pedrito.” You set the tray on the bed and hug his body to yours, kissing the top of his head and resting your cheek there.

His hand rubbed your back softly, your arms around his neck with his ear against your chest. Pedro slowly started to lay back and you shriek.

“Pedro the food!” You pull away and put the tray on the dresser before you got coffee on your sheets.

“Get back over here.” Pedro spoke in barely a whisper and your heart jumped, biting the inside of bottom lip softly.

“Anything the birthday boy wants.” You laid next to him on his left arm that he secured around your waist. His head laid on your chest again, left hand on your lower back and you wrapped your arms around his neck to play with his hair.

“Thank you for the breakfast. I just..”

“I know I know, you hate your birthday. Even though it’s a day of celebrating you and I love to celebrate you.” You sigh dramatically and he laughs into your shirt. “Speaking of breakfast, it’s getting cold, and I woke up early for this.”

Pedro’s head shot up. “You.. got up early?”

“That’s how much I love celebrating you!” You laugh and kiss him for the first time that day. You kissed him over and over until you were out of breath.

“Thank you.” He whispered and got up, grabbing the tray and bringing it to the bed. You grabbed your mug and Pedro grabbed his, clinking it with yours as he smiled.

-

Pedro went to work a few hours after breakfast and dessert in bed. You were always sad about how Pedro didn’t like his birthday. You loved celebrating him and you knew a party with all his friends would just be fantastic.

It wasn’t what he wanted, so you didn’t push the idea. Instead, you went to Target to get cake ingredients to make a homemade one, not boxed or bought, and candles. You found yourself wandering the Lego aisle, and smile as you find the Razor Crest set.

You instantly put it in the cart, turning down the other aisle and seeing the Star Wars section. There was a lot of action figures and you found the Grogu Bop-It, pressing his head and smiling.

You head back home and put away the ingredients to make closer to when he got home. You wrap the Lego set in birthday wrapping, setting it on the table. Cheese found the top of the box comfy as he took a nap on the present.

You roll your eyes at your cat and check your phone and Pedro texted saying he'd be home in a few hours. You turned on your music and got to baking with Cheese closely supervising.

You finally finished the cake with a few minutes to spare. You iced it with a whipped frosting and iced ‘Happy birthday Pedro’ on top of it with two candles.

Pedro twisted his key and you lit the candle with Cheese on the counter. He opened the door and you smiled as you started to sing.

“Happy birthday to you..”

Pedro’s eyes crinkle with his closed lip smile as he closes the door and drops his bag and jacket in the process.

“Happy birthday to you..”

His pupils burst and turn into hearts. The corners of his eyes make his eyelids well as you sing softly to him.

“Happy birthday my dear Pedro..”

Pedro’s hands finally get ahold of you and hold your waist, pushing down to your butt. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck, nose against him.

“Happy birthday.. to.. you..”

Your singing turned to talking turned to whispers. Pedro kisses you passionately as your lips move slowly together, hands pushing your shirt up as he smoothed his palms over your skin. His fingers gripped your shirt as he stepped back to find the chair.

You straddle his thighs while combing your fingers through his hair, your lips still moving against his. You pull away for a breath and Pedro falls forward, pressing his face into your chest.

“Make a wish, Pedrito, before the wax gets on the cake!”

Luckily the candles were long and took a minute to drip. Pedro blew out the candles and you clapped. “What’d you wish you, honey?”

Your finger traced his beard heart and he looked up at you with stars in his eyes, kissing your neck. “Everything I’ve dreamed for is right in front of me.”

You smile, standing up and grabbing the gift. “Especially this.”

Pedro’s eyebrows raise. “A present?” He grins and you laugh. He started to rip open the paper and gasped once he saw the box. “No you’re kidding! Oh my god!”

He fully ripped it open and kissed you repeatedly making you giggle. “I saw it at Target and knew I had to get it. So either we can build it together or you can build it when you’re having a tough day.”

Pedro leaned forward and hugged you tightly. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

You kiss his nose and sit on his lap with his hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing the skin on your back while you cut the cake. You cover the cake so your asshole of a cat doesn’t eat any of it and throw up on your bed.

You hand him a piece and get one yourself, cheersing your forks before taking a bit. “My god this is amazing! You get it from the bakery down the street?” Pedro asks as you take another bite.

You swallow a squeal with your cake and look at him, twisting your body. “You like it?”

“Yes honey it’s so fluffy and flavorful. And the frosting!” He took another bite and you cover your mouth. Pedro gave you a weird look. “It’s not infused with weed is it?”

You laugh and drop your fork, straddling his waist. “No, my love. It’s not a special cake, and it’s not from the bakery.” He raised an eyebrow. “I made it.”

“Baby you made this?” You nod and he drops his fork on his plate, holding your arms. “Honey this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” You look at him and he tilts his head then snaps it back straight. “Okay, second best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

You blush and laugh, hands on his chest. “My mission to going to Target wasn’t getting the Legos, ‘cause presents are celebrating a birthday, it was the cake ingredients.”

“If you get me a Lego set every year for my birthday I think I’ll be okay celebrating my birthday.” Pedro smiled and you roll your eyes.

“Alright, deal. But for your fif-”

He gasps and holds up his hands. “Don’t you even dare!” Pedro scolds and you lean forward and laugh hysterically in his shoulder with him giggling in your ear. “You’re fresh.” He pinched your hip and you kiss his neck.

“That’s not from a box, that’s all separate ingredients.”

“Yeah, you can tell the difference. You should be a baker, mama. I’m serious, I’ll buy you a store.”

“Honey I don’t do this often. It’s very exhausting and I don’t want to do it until next year’s birthday.” He laughs and kisses your chin. Your fingers comb through curls on the back of his head as you look at him.

“You are everything I wished for every birthday. Pure happiness.” He whispered against your lips and you smile, kissing him passionately as you grasp his hair.

Your hips move against his jeans slightly and he hums. “This is the best part of birthdays.” He mumbles and stands, hands gripping under your thighs as you giggle, kissing his neck as he brings you to bed.

[sweetfire01]

Honora Patrem tum [pt.3]

[Pt.2]

1 year since the first Simmy fic! Thanks to all 200 followers who encouraged me to continue this blog and thanks to all those who left a comment or a like to my works! ❤

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

Your life here wasn't getting better. Absolutely not. But at least you were making progress with your body. Today, for the first time, you were able to stand. Alone. Without Simmy's help. Sure, you'd only managed to do it for a couple of seconds before falling back on your back onto the mat, but you'd managed it. It was a goal you had both been trying to reach for the past few days. At first you were too scared to take your first steps, you knew how unstable you were and you had fallen on your face just from standing up too quickly once. Luckily you were on the soft carpet the angel had placed for this situation, but your face confirmed that you could still feel the floor underneath. Sure, it didn't hurt that much, just a light bump, but the shock of learning that your balance and strength were still so compromised was enough to make you sob into Simmy's arm.

From that moment on you clung with all the strength you had to every object you could hold on to: a piece of furniture, the bars of the baby box, a daddy's hand. You didn't know if you felt more babyish "walking" like this or crawling as usual. You were playing looking at your stuffies while sitting in the baby playpen. The angel was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Weaning was going well, you had a few more days of vomiting, but now your tummy was quite used to solid food (as much as soups and soft food might be considered solid). You continued to receive your bottles, 3 times a day after each meal, on his lap, skin to skin. Luckily, the goodness of the milk was enough to let you ignore this detail. You appreciated how it became tastier and sweeter as the drug wore off. Maybe even too sweet. The scent of boiling carrots and potatoes wafted from the kitchen. You recognized that he was a good cook. Part of you wondered what you would eat if other people were your daddies. You knew the cooking of the demon brothers, it wasn't bad if you kept Beel away from the kitchen. Maybe it wouldn't have been bad with Diavolo either, he would have left all the meals to Barbatos. You wonder if the prince was able to cook, but probably he won't be able to prepare even a bottle for you. Just like Solomon. The stuffed rabbit in your hand told you that you were lucky you weren't with Solomon and you nodded at him. You continued to talk to him for a little more, remembering when he cooked some simple popcorn and almost burned down Purgatory Hall, when you suddently recovered to your sense and threw it against the bars of the stall. You shouldn't play with that stupid rabbit and above all you shouldn't be grateful to be here. Simeon had kidnapped you! In a fit of childish rage, you grabbed the rabbit again, grabbed onto the chest-high bars, stood up, and threw it across the room. Soon the other stuffies followed suit, being thrown out of the baby box one after the other. They didn't go very far, you didn't have all that strength yet, but you saw them land with a light thud at least a meter away. However, it is a good progress compared to the first days. And when all the stuffies in the box were gone, you felt so much satisfaction that you started throwing the other toys. A teething ring, a rattle, some wooden blocks that even made more noise than stuffies and reached further. You crawled around grabbing any toys that came to hand. You spotted a small xylophone and dragged it, ready to be thrown. It was a little heavier than the others, so it took more effort: you could try to throw it with both hands while sitting, but you probably wouldn't be able to use enough force to send it over the bars. You held onto the box tightly with one hand, standing up, but the other couldn't lift the small musical instrument on its own.

How could you throw this thing? Grabbing it from one end made it too heavy, you could try from the center but your hand was too small to do it properly. You really had to use all the strength you had (and had left). With a huge effort, still holding onto the bars with one hand, you tried again to lift it from one of the legs to the end. And you actually managed to lift the xylophone a little, get it to your chest...before it started to slip from your grip. It wasn't right! You were working so hard! Just another little effort... Before the toy slipped away from you completely, you grabbed it with your other hand. He suddenly felt lighter. With a naughty smile, you felt like you could finally send it over the bars. Who knows if it would have played! Unfortunately you didn't have the pleasure of finding out when, trying to take a step to lean out further, your legs gave out and you fell on your butt on the playpen mat. Oh, this really wasn't right! No matter how childish it may have seemed at the time, you were about to let out all your frustration in the worst way possible. “Ooh, little lamb, were you up all by yourself?” Simmy approached you, stepping over the stuffies scattered around the room. It was at that moment that you realized it: you had fallen because you had grabbed the toy with both hands… and you hadn't held on to the bars. You really had been standing all on your own! Oh my, you even almost managed to walk! You started gurgling behind the pacifier. You don't even know how long you had it or why you hadn't spit it out, but at that moment you were too happy to care. You grabbed the hands Daddy held out towards you, pulling you to your feet and lifting you into his arms. He planted a loving kiss on your forehead as he carried you to the kitchen. “My little baby will be getting his first walkies very soon, oh yes you will.” And as he nudged the blocks across the room with his foot, he added, "I think someone's going to need a ball to throw, too, yeah? Oh, let's hope you're not feeling frisky enough to throw your soup, too." Oh yes you would. Okay, maybe someday later, not today… One little step at a time.

[mommyghostface28]

Hey mommy 😊

I have a question for you:

(Re: bdsm littles/aftercare)

Is it normal for submissives to slip into littlespace mentally after having a bdsm session with their domme? and how would you suggest telling them about it b4 sex?

Because sometimes I slip into my littlespace after having rough sex or bdsm sessions with women. But I have a problem, I never know how to tell the domme. If get too shy, or get embarrased to admit that I'm feeling little. I guess I just don't want them to judge me or be rude if they were at all misinformed about it and thought I was weird. Id want lots of cuddles as aftercare from them, and I just wouldn't be able to stop myself from slipping while they provided the comfort I needed. Id be able to hide it pretty well from them until I could be sure they were a safe person to tell, but I wish I didn't have to hide feeling little...

Any Advice?!

(Ps. could I use anon 🧚‍♀️? I love your blog!) ❤

Hi there darling! Thank you for the question! I’ll try my best to help.

Yes, it is absolutely normal for you to slip into littlespace at any point in time. For any reason. Every little has their own “triggers” for example some may fall into littlespace if they see a stuffed animal, toys, from the sounds of a music box, their Dommes soft voice and tender touches. For you, one of them is rough sex. Probably because you want to feel that closeness, love and care from your Domme and it makes you feel little.

Sometimes, littles have a hard time expressing when they’re little when they’ve already fallen into littlespace. Think of it like “big girl brain shut off, feeling too little to speak up” you feel timid, nervous and shy.

A respectful Domme, who has knowledge of these things will not be mean, rude, or judge you. You should always feel comfortable with your Domme in and out of a session to be able to express yourself authentically. You have nothing to be ashamed about, falling into littlespace is no different than a sub falling into subspace.

A conversation on how to tell your Domme should go a little like this.

Little: “mommy, sometimes I feel little during our sessions and I need certain aftercare when we’re done”

Domme: “okay, can you tell me what triggers your littlespace darling?”

Little: “it seems like our rough sex may be a trigger for it, I feel little after”

Domme: “how often do you experience littlespace?”

(Here you can explain further how often you experience it, wether it’s only during certain moments of intimacy or after, or whenever you experience it)

Domme: “thank you for sharing this information with me, what kind of aftercare do you need from me?”

Little: “I need lots of cuddles after and your reassurance letting me know it’s okay I slip into littlespace”

This is how you build trust with each other, trust is an important pillar in bdsm. It’s important you communicate with each other always.

I hope this helped! My last sub was a little and I have a special place in my heart for them ❤️

If you have Instagram, please go check out @littlespaces.co

She’s a little that writes information for other littles to learn and understand their littlespace! it’s truly excellent information.

Good luck love! Let me know if you have any other questions ☺️

- 🧚‍♀️

[underoossss]

Hey not sure if you are still asking for short blurb ideas but what about reader surprising Joe or Steve at one of his shows (like at one of his concerts)?

I made some changes, I hope that’s okay. I just don’t write for joe, just for steve so this is surprising steve at work after being away. Enjoy mutual pining idiots in love.

no warnings, 1.2k

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

There’s a skip to your step as you round the corner towards Family Video. Steve’s got no idea you’re back in town, you told him you’ll be back tomorrow, but it was a little white lie to surprise him today. Four days away from your best friend in the world was torture, especially if you had to go away to the middle of nowhere for a family reunion. It’s not high school, why do we have a reunion? You asked you parents as your car pulled away from your driveway last Friday. Aunt Fran wants to. Well Aunt Fran is crazy and you really need a hug from Steve right now.

Your heart pitter patters inside your chest, and anticipation makes your hands tingle with nerves. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It really fucking does; your feelings are all over the place and if you don’t keep them in check, he’ll know you’re crazy in love with him. With a deep breath of fresh autumn air, you push the doors to FV open and step inside.

“Stop crying, I’m back.” You say loudly, as Steve is nowhere to be found at the checkout counter.

There’s a loud crash and the sound of boxes falling coming from the back room before hurried steps announce Steve. “Oh my god!” Steve’s smile is star bright, lighting up his whole face and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. His arms are wide open as he all but runs towards you with you meeting him halfway.

A pleased laugh leaves you as Steve squeezes you to him and spins you around. You let yourself close your eyes and soak in the warmth and affection coming from him, you’ve missed him so much. He puts you back down on the ground but doesn’t let go. “You’re never leaving for so long again!” Steve laughs next to your ear, and so do you.

“I’m guessing my surprise worked.” You grin, stepping back and meeting his eyes. Your eyes take in every detail even though you’ve already memorized his face. He’s wearing the pair of jeans that drive you crazy and a cozy soft green sweatshirt that brings out his brown eyes. You need to stop staring.

“You lied to me.” Steve rolls his eyes but pulls you into another quick hug. “How was the trip?

“So bad, Stevie.” You groan, walking towards the counter and leaning against it. “Aunt Fran thinks TV makes you crazy and doesn’t allow radios in her house!”

Steve laughs loudly at this and though you try to frown and be serious you can’t; the sound fills your chest like a helium balloon, full of so much love for the boy in front of you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Stevie, I’m not joking around!” You cross your arms, groaning miserably at the ceiling. “I couldn’t listen to music for four days!”

“Babe, what happened to you Walkman?” Steve’s eyebrows meet in the middle as he leans sideways against the counter, facing you.

You bite the inside of your cheek and look away from him. “I might have accidentally stepped on it, accidentally, and now it’s a bit broken.”

Steve’s hand pushing some hair away from your face is what brings your gaze back to him. He’s smiling, “You really shouldn’t listen to music lying on the floor, you always leave your Walkman there.”

Body burning and heart hammering you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. “I’m sure I can bribe Dustin to fix it.” When Steve chuckles you change the topic. “How were things while I was gone?”

“Boring.” Steve blows some air through pursed lips, shoulders hunching as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, but moustache dude was here on Saturday.”

“No!” A loud belly laugh leaves you at the news. Moustache dude as you call him is this random old man that comes by to rent old westerns, a big moustache under his nose that he combs constantly. Every few minutes to be exact. It’s a weird moustache and kind of greasy, which overall is gross. Ever since you were here one day and had to hide behind the counter to laugh, Steve gets the giggles when he pulls out the tiny comb from his pocket.

“He was out the door fairly quickly, I guess he wanted to see you.” Steve jokes, smiling softly as you finish laughing. “Maybe I should grow a moustache like that.”

“Stevie, no.” Your giggles are cut short and replaced with horror. “Don’t even joke about it.”

Steve scoffs, pretending to be offended. “You don’t think I can grow a moustache like that?”

“’Course you can.” You shake your head. “It wouldn’t suit you is all, your face is pretty as it is.”

To your horror, you bring a hand up to his face and you thumb traces the tiny bit of stubble along his jaw. “It’s nice like this.” You blame your poor schooling of your feelings during the four Steve-less days; your heart has taken the reins for a second as your eyes linger on the pretty moles and freckles on his cheek. Then as if electrocuted you put your hand back to your side. “But, it’s your call. Maybe moustache dude needs a friend.”

“Maybe.” Steve’s tone is far away and indecipherable but gives you no time to panic that you made things weird because he grins softly at the floor. His hand comes up to scratch his chin as his eyes meet yours. “You know, there’s going to be a rom-com double feature at the drive in tonight. I was kinda bummed because you were gonna miss it. But now that you’re here…”

“Yeah?” You prompt, heart climbing up to your throat; this sounds like a date, you think.

“Would you like to go? They’re playing your favourites.” Steve smiles before looking away and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I have so many favourite rom-coms, Stevie.” You smile at him, taking a step closer.

“Definitely from your top five.” He looks down at you, happy just from the sight of you. It makes you feel electricity underneath your skin. “So, what do you say?”

“What time are you picking me up?” You ask in confirmation, loving the way his face lights up.

“7:30.” He says after he clears his throat.

“Sounds perfect.” You nod, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “I umm– should leave you to fix that mess in the back room.”

“Yeah, um… yeah.” Steve nods stepping closer to you and pulling you in for a goodbye hug. “See you later, then.”

“Bye, Stevie.” You smile, pulling away from the hug and walking backwards towards the door. It’s only when you round the corner out of view from FV, that you let yourself celebrate; you don’t know that Steve is doing the same.

❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎

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