#she will always be is older sister looking out for him

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 — eddie x fem reader (7.1k)

summary: 2011– your roommate drags you to a frat party and ditches the second she sees the guy she’s been fucking. left by yourself, you meet someone by accident, someone who isn’t in the fraternity 

warnings: smut, underage drinking, p in v, unprotected sex, grinding, dancing, eddie is trying to be cocky but he’s just awkward and silly

notes: i had a blast deep diving back into my hs and college days to reminisce with this. i hope if you were growing up during this time you can giggle along with me. love youuu oooh! also i hid some easter eggs in here (they’re not hidden at all)

The basement was steamy, and not in a ‘oh it’s a little warm in here but more like, every single person is drunk off their ass and the walls are sweating’kind of way.

College was everything you’d hoped it to be and more.

Your roommate, Kenzie was the type of girl who had an ‘open closet’ policy letting you wear her clothes almost more than your own. You weren’t too keen on sharing a dorm room with a girl you’ve never met before, but thankfully—you had gotten lucky. 

You had heard the horror stories from your older sister about her terrible roommate freshman year and you worried for most of the summer that you’d strike the same type of fortune. It wasn’t until you got a friend request on Facebook and a cheery little message : 

[Kenzie Walmen 2:07 PM: heyyyy roomie (;] 

that you knew you had nothing to worry about. 

She was from the west coast in sunny California, that bright western sky seeped deep into her personality. Kenz was sun kissed and bright haired, pretty ocean dipped eyes to give her the All-American type of aesthetic that most girls wished for. And maybe it was her laid back disposition, or her thrill for living it up and every hour of the day— that landed you here tonight at Delta Kappa Sigma. 

It wasn’t your scene.

You weren’t shy or new to getting drunk, you had even been so brave to take the occasional hit from a homemade bong in your neighbors dorm a few times, but the frat parties were known for their out of control Project X style of getting shitfaced. 

And something about guys with too much testosterone and too much Adidas cologne made your skin crawl and not in a good way. 

“Prints always look weird on me,” you grumble into the mirror eyeing your curves in a leopard lace tank top and black skirt, “is it too much?” 

Kenzie adjusts her off-the-shoulder top, adding a bit of shimmer powder to her exposed shoulder, “absolutely not, if anything it’s not enough.” Neon feathers decorate her bouncy curled hair as she eyes you in the mirror, “add that silver chunky necklace, and you’ll look bomb.” 

She was right, the necklace really pulled the entire look together, and if it were Halloween weekend you could even pass as a Spice Girl or maybe Snookie. 

“Sooo, is Steve gonna be there tonight?” You ask elongating the vowels in the aforementioned name, followed by some kissy faces and porn worthy moans. 

Kenzie rolls her eyes, a dusting of pink warming her cheeks, “yeah… about that. He said he has a “surprise” for me when I get there, so if I disappear, I’m just with him, okay?” 

“Wait wait wait—” you protest, holding a death grip clutch on a bottle of UV blue. “We aren’t even at the party yet and you’re already planning on ditching me?” 

— 

And that’s what got you here, a little more than drunk, holding a piss warm Green apple flavored Four Loko to your mouth, leaning against the corner basement wall in hopes to maybe disappear, wishing you were anywhere but in this cesspool of basement. 

The “DJ” (a frat guy wearing neon glasses with bars across them, scrolling through an ipod and a playlist more than likely named ‘Get Crunk’) was playing Kid Cudi, again. Everyone was screaming along to the chorus like he personally wrote it for them and their experience at college. A headache was brewing behind your eyes as the beat thumped loudly into your chest and radiated to your temples. 

Kenzie left almost immediately upon arriving. Swooped up and tossed over the broad shoulder of Steve the minute he answered the door. You laughed and shook your head, imagining how she was probably face down in navy cum stained sheets by now. 

The hours she spent on her hair and makeup went to waste, only being seen by the dead catalog eyes of Playboy’s finest from their pinned positions on the walls of Steve’s shared bedroom. 

Another sip from the overly carbonated beverage has you shuddering, the fiery ripple of fruit flavored [vomit] alcohol scouring through you like lava, causing your face to screw into a disgusted look.

How can people drink this shit? 

Your bladder screams at you to break the seal, demanding to find relief, immediately. The black lights were zero help in disguising if there were any doors that might lead into a bathroom. Pushing from the wall and taking the last hot sip from your drink, you navigate your way to the stairs. 

A table holding lone solo cups in formation from a forgotten beer pong game is now the proud owner of your empty can.

Weaving through the jungle of fist pumping douchelords and tipsy sorority girls making out for risqué facebook pics labeled [*~Freshman Y3ar!~*] you finally emerge from the sweaty pits of fraternity hell and climb the beer stained steps to the main floor. 

The monotonous beat from the music thumped a little less loudly up here, as if the noise was absorbed by the maroon colored carpeting and the oak cabinets in the foyer. 

The house was dated, decorated with a clash of orangey dark wood mixed with emeralds, dark reds and gold. As if this house was based out of Tuscany instead of midwest nowhere— complete with the rubbery fake fruit and vines that stood solely to collect dust. 

You had never been here before and didn’t know where in the hell to start looking to find the bathroom, and like Alice, you figured you might as well try every door knob in this type of Wonderland. 

The first door you peeked into looked like it was a formal dining room, but instead sat a television on the great oval table blasting obnoxiously loud as a pornstar moaned ripples of “pleasure” through her pink pout. Above her was an extremely tanned guy rocking a set of hard abs, thrusting in a slow rhythm that didn’t match her orgasm. 

A snicker slips from your lips and you gently pull the door closed with a small click, loud whoops and whistling from what you could only assume were a couple of frat guys erupt behind the door.

Watching porn together. 

You’ll have to add that to your growing list of things you didn’t know about the brotherhood behind a fraternity. 

The second door looked more hopeful as it was adjacent to the kitchen area. Upon nearly peeing down your leg, you were shocked stupid when you yanked the door open to find a closet housed with cleaning supplies. 

What the fuck? 

How could a frat house not have a bathroom? 

Your bladder squeezed in on itself and you were certain you couldn’t hold it any longer. Just short of giving up on this quest of relief and going back to your dorm, a gaggle of girls run down the steps leading to the top floor, where you could only assume the bedrooms were. 

“…why are frat bathrooms always so fucking dirty?!” 

Bingo.

Hustling up the never ending carpeted stairs, your bladder was on the brink of exploding as you shoved past a wooden door with a paper sign that read, “no jerking off in the shower!! pipes are clogged!” 

Your sandals clapped along the sea foam tiles floors as you slipped into one of the many metal stall doors. With a swift hike of your skirt up to your middle and pull of your panties, you were finally able to pee. 

A choir of angels sang the HallelujahHallelejuah chorus as you went and you sighed in relief that you had made it. 

“..yeah yeah, okay asshole,” a loud voice sounded from just outside the bathroom door frame, “you still owe me from last time,” the voice now echoed as it hit against the tiles and cement block walls, “no, payment is cold hard cash buddy, I don’t care if you have to dip into your trust fund.”  

A pair of black docs stomp into the tiled bathroom, nearing the stall you were in. There's no way he’ll come to this stall. 

“Tell daddy that you need more money for polos or Jordan’s— I really don’t give a fuck, but you need to pay the fuck up.” 

But as fate would have it…and in your hurry to get to the toilet before pissing all over yourself… and forgetting to lock the door in your haste… the stall door swings wide open— revealing a very bottomless you, to a pair of very wide dark, deer-in-the-headlight eyes. 

A beat that feels like an eternity passes, his hand is choked against his belt in a yank to unthread it, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Your hands fly to cover yourself the best you can, panties still at your ankles, skirt still around your midsection. 

It’s all yells and screams with this random guy stumbling over himself dropping his phone on the ground and spewing, “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!” and you yelling for him to shut the fucking door already. 

His apologies don’t stop as he pulls the door closed, and from the other side of it as you pull up your underwear and adjust your skirt. 

“I swear! I didn’t think anyone was in there! I promise!” 

Your face burns in embarrassment as you contemplate melting into the floor and becoming one with the poorly aimed piss stains and the dirty grout. As good as that sounds you still have to leave, you still have to pass the guy who just saw your bare vag and you still have to navigate your way out of here. 

His phone lays face down on the floor, and you pray it isn’t broken for his sake. You pick it up, flipping it over to see that it scathed by with just a fine crack from one corner to another. His screen saver is a picture of a group of guys in a skatepark in the dark, smoke billowing thickly to cover their faces as they stand on the boards, the one with dark longer hair is shirtless, and painted with tattoos. 

“Shit,” you breathe quietly, “your phone is cracked.” 

You can see the shadows of his feet pacing back and forth but when you speak they stop, “oh..,” he mumbles, clearing his throat a bit, “umm, yeah, no biggie it was broke like that already.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah— hey, if you wanna slide that under the door I can um, let you ..ahem.. finish up in there.” 

Shit. Duh he needed his phone, and you were just holding it hostage in here as your shame hung thickly in the air. God this might really couldn’t get any fucking worse.

A deep breath in through your nose, you fake a mask of confidence and open the stall door. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he barged in on you, but now in the fluorescent dust covered light you dared to look a little longer at him. 

Long locks of honeyed brown locks fell onto the tops of his shoulders, covered with a green plaid flannel that hung open showing his neck and a flick of dark lines from a tattoo hidden under a black band tank top. His eyes were just as brown, round and flocked with a grove of thick lashes. Clearly he was the shirtless one in his background picture. 

He smiled sheepishly, pulling his jaw taunt as he averted his gaze to the toe of his boots, noticing your hand stretched out before him to give him back his phone, he glanced at your face, skimming his hand over your palm.

“Thanks— uh…” he started, shifting his weight to lean back against the many rows of sinks, “sorry again, I promise I don’t normally walk in on ladies using the facilities.” 

His eyes met yours and you instantly felt a heat run to your throat, his lips were impossibly plump as he drew them into a tight smirk. 

Fuck are those dimples? Of course they were. God he’s so pretty. 

You smile, “normal people lock the stall, but I was in a hurry… well I was lost!” you exclaim in a huff, fully hands on hips annoyed, “why the fuck would the bathroom be on the top floor?” 

You asked him incredulously like he should know. But on second thought…

“uhh… I dunno,” he shrugs, sliding his phone into the front pocket of his light wash colored jeans, not even looking at the broken screen as he leaned back again, “I’m not exactly an architect.”  

“But you live here?” you question, turning on the sink to wet your hands, “haven’t they ever thought of putting even a half bath on the main floor?” 

He rumbles out a laugh that makes your cheeks tingle, your buzz still in full force, “nah, you got it all wrong, I’m not a member of the ‘fraternity brotherhood of Alpha Mega Steroid’”, he jokes with air quotes, smiling wide when your lips tick up at the ends. “But I am a frequent guest, of sorts…”

This guy seemed to be one of those people who can make a nun blush, witty and dripping with a sexual charm that radiated from him like a ray of fucking sunshine. And fuck that grin of his. You’re in trouble. 

“Ahh, okay,” you banter back easily, shaking your hands to dry them since there were no paper towels in sight, “which one is your boyfriend? Let’s see I know.. Kyle? I think is his name, reddish hair, kinda feminine hands, or are you fucking Steve because I gotta say, I think my roommate might be giving you a run for your money right now.” 

Eddie’s eyes light up, a quirk in his brow as he asks, “Blonde girl? Kinda naive, head over heels for that mop of perfectly styled hair? Shit, what’s her name…Kelly? Kitten? She’s your roommate?” 

Of course he would know her, Kenzie knows everyone, and seems to leave a kind of impression on people that you envied. As bright as she shined, you were the shadow behind her. 

“Yeah,” you say, not hiding your annoyance, remembering how you got into this predicament in the first place. 

Eddie looks just as pissed as you’re feeling, “Oh, Stevie boy and I will be having words later on his lack of tact. They’re the reason why I was out wondering the halls like a fuckin’ ghost in a haunted mansion.” 

He takes note that you’re in the same boat he’s in but in your case, it’s a little worse, being a girl alone in a frat house never ends well. 

“I’m Eddie, uhh…designated dealer,” he says in almost a whisper, “for the deep pocketed asshoels full of daddy’s money.”

You connect a few dots, realization hitting hard in your frontal lobe from conversations you’ve kind of listened to from Kenzie about Steve. 

“Ahh, okay… now that you mention it, Kenz has talked about you before. You’re Steve’s old friend, Munson? I thought she meant like a forty year old or something.”

He laughs, loud and belly rolling like, “nah, minus a twenty from that. Steve and I are just close friends ‘s all… and no, not boyfriends.” 

You laugh then, all bubbly and light hearted that has his own skipping beats. Saying your name, he repeats it, a little grin on his face that he tries to hide, “mm that’s cute.” 

“Cute?” you question, an eyebrow raised as you fold your arms in on themselves, poking a hip out. 

“Yeah… cute,” he says standing fully and peering down at you, “your name is very fitting for you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully at his flirty words. Even though your stomach is somersaulting at the way his eyes seem to drip from heaven when he looks at you, your cheeks heating beneath his gaze.

“Is this the part where we exchange our hometowns and majors, because I’d rather get run over than do that right now.” 

Eddie chuckles, “oh yeah, well I’m actually here on an athletic scholarship.” 

“Really?” you question, eyebrows cocked in disbelief. 

“Yes!” Eddie jokes back, trying to bite back a smile, “if you must know it’s for Tennis, but please don't bother me for an autograph. I'm just trying to be a normal guy tonight.” 

“Noted.” You giggle, admiring the way this banter is coming so easily, maybe it was the liquid courage taking over or the fact that he was actually fun to talk to— either way, this night is starting to take a turn for the better.

“So, what does a Tennis star/designated rich boy drug dealer usually do at these kinds of things besides bursting in on girls using the bathroom?” 

He smiles, dipping his chin and looking at you through those impossibly thick lashes. Pushing off the sink he asks, “Sell a little here and there, sometimes dip into my own stash…what do you usually do at these things?” 

“Well,” you tease, twisting on the ball of your foot and heading towards the door out to the hallway, “I’m not usually at these things.”

“Ohh my god,” Eddie preens in his best valley girl/ Kourtney Kardashian impression, “you’ve never been to frat party!?” 

You smile, at his stupid joke, “Noo, I haven’t actually. Kenzie drug me out for a little pick me up after we bombed our History midterm, to…y’know— live it up— YOLO, all that.”

“Okay okay, letting off some steam after the stress of class, I get it...school was never a cake walk for me either.” 

“Yeah! But then your friend snatched her up, and since I don’t know anyone here… I was doing a very impressive wall flower guise, until my bladder interrupted that… and then a guy barged in on me in the bathroom.” 

Eddie stalks towards you, his eyes roving over your body, “Well… now you know me, soo Miss Lady Wallflower,” he cracks, “shall we descend to the basement and keep this party going?” 

His infectious smile stretches wide, practically ear to ear and you find yourself grinning just as wide, trying to twist your lips to at least hide your enthusiasm a little bit but goddamn— something about the way those dimples compliment the fucking christmas twinkle in his eyes.. ugh. 

He was trouble. The kind you had always craved but never dabbled in. But when in Rome…

“Lead the way.”

—

Eddie had made a pit stop in the large kitchen before returning to the basement. 

“Now sweetheart,” he purred, fishing around the shelves, of a pantry, moving cans of food and bags of chips, “I didn’t plan on drinking more tonight, but I’m not gonna let you drink by your— aha!” 

Eddie stands upright, brandishing a large box of saltine crackers. Your eyebrows furrow in response and he bows low, puts his hand inside the box, “I present to you, Stevie’s not so secret hiding spot,” pulling out his hand, his fingers are wrapped around a bottle of Burnett’s Vodka.  

Your eyes widen with devilish glee as you smirk, “how did you know it’d be there?” 

Eddie unscrews the cap and puts it to his lips for a long six second pull. 

You weren’t watching the way his throat bobbed and gulped when he swallowed each burning swig. Nope, not at all. You definitely weren’t memorizing each valley of cords and muscles as a single drop fell to his sharp chin and jaw. Never, not you!

And you weren’t holding your breath right along with him only breathing when those fucking glorious thick lips popped clean from the mouth of that bottle… his lips shiny from the bitter alcohol like a gloss you desperately need to lick clean. Yeah… no. that was not you…

So it’s only fitting when he speaks hoarsely and clears his throat that you are snapped back to the moment, your core keeping its own pulse. 

“He’s been keeping vodka in the same box in a food pantry since we were in high school, guy is the most unoriginal bastard I know,” he shrugs, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and you can’t help but almost pout in the wasted opportunity. 

His eyes meet yours and they look just as hungry as you were feeling. He smirks crookedly and you practically flatline from the depth those molasses colored eyes hold. He moved first, inching towards you like a wolf stalking its prey, your pretty chapstick smile daring him to come closer. 

But the fuse between you is snuffed out cold as a crying girl erupts from the basement steps, her gaggle of friends helping calm her down as they leave the house. 

Eddie shakes his head and clears his throat as if he was just as bothered by you as you were of him. Turning towards the fridge he asks, “I’m sure they’ve got some Sunny D you can chase this with if that’s cool?” 

—

The basement proved to be in the same situation you had left it in: hot, sweaty, sticky. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes hotly behind you, loud enough to hear him above the music, “it’s like a furnace down here, no wonder that girl was crying.”

You lead him to the corner you were tucked in before, your drink still sitting on the beer pong table. By the way he is standing you can tell that this really isn’t his scene either, but after a while of passing the vodka and orange juice back and forth between you, he seems to loosen up a bit. His shoulders relax as his back leans against the wall next to you. 

Eddie’s words slurring together as his stories became more and more animated, and you giggle along, never taking your eyes off of him. Completely enamored. 

Your stomach burned with a flurry of butterflies when a few of his clients came up to him to buy, each more nervous than the next. Eyeing you suspiciously, questioning if you were some sort of a narc. 

Eddie stepped ahead of you, his shoulders squared and chest out to casually announce that you were cool and were with him. 

You didn’t know that he was waiting for you to object to it, to shove away from him and call him a pig for even assuming that you’d ever be seen with the likes of him besides in the dark, but you never did. 

Hours pass and the music just gets worse. Wiz Khalifa starts singing about colors and Eddie looks at the crowd of people grinding and rolls his eyes. 

The alcohol has you feeling tingly, a buzzing of flirtation sparks your blood and you are closer to Eddie than ever, the smell of his musky cologne and laundry detergent invade you.

Like any drunk girl, you start getting antsy, a little more touchy, and a lot more feely. Standing around isn’t cutting it anymore and you want to move, toss your hair back to some cheesy song, want to feel those hands you’ve been staring at all night run along your body as your hips move against him. 

Running your forefinger along the inside seam of Eddie’s flannel shirt, you look up at him through your lashes. 

“I’m assuming you’re not one to dance to a club remix?” 

Eddie watches your finger stroke up and down, your knuckles barely grazing his abdomen, but the small touch sending electricity to his spine. 

He leans into you, following your lead and pinching the hem of your skirt between his large fingers “you’d assume correct, the music I listen to is a little more head bangy than this.” 

“So,” you say coyly, pulling him towards you just a fraction more, “what you’re really saying is that you can’t dance.” 

Eddie scoffs, throwing his head back, his throat sticky with sweat and the hair by his ears wet and curling into ringlets, “oh I can dance my ass off honey, taught Channing Tatum everything he knows.” 

His hands find your hips, and you almost lose the little bit of confidence you have gained when the warmth of them seeps through your shirt, his blunt nails skimming your skin in small strokes.

“Do these little white lies masked as dorky ass pickup lines work for you?” Your hands are on his chest now, the black light illuminating each letter of his Deftones shirt to sparkle like snow beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers into your ear, pulling you tight against him so your chest is pressed into his, “you tell me.” 

The music changes and a throwback song  

comes on, one you haven’t heard in years. 

“Guess you’ll have to show me those moves, because in typical drunk girl fashion… this is my song!” 

You grab Eddie’s hand and stomp to the middle of the floor, pulling him along with you until you’re shoulder to shoulder with other drunk and sweaty college kids. 

“Get low?” Eddie asks from behind you, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of your ear as his hands land heavy on your hips, “seriously?” 

Leaning your head back so your lips could reach him you talk loud enough just so he can hear you, “stop talking and fucking dance with me already.” 

“Goddamn…” he groans when you finally push your body fully back into him. 

It’s sloppy and horribly uncoordinated the way your drunken hips move beneath his hands. You’re both swaying along with the music, trying like hell to match the rhythm of everyone else around you. But in the tiny square footage you have in this cluster fuck of a space, Eddie has all the right moves. 

His palms are pressing you tighter into him, making sure you can feel just how hard he is, how hard you are making him. 

Courage and a few prom night dances under your belt have you dropping low and coming up slow, your skirt fanning out the tiniest bit as your knees are bent to the ground.

And Eddie is practically thanking God himself when you run the fattest part of your ass up his body, on the bunched denim by his shins, skimming the barely there fabric of your skirt against the hole in his knee, and finally up where he desperately needs your body the most. 

When you come back up he moves your hair from the side of your neck, his lips puckering around your earlobe as he nibbles lightly, “spin around so I can see you.” 

He groans again when you shake your head and laugh at his dismay, as much as he is turned on and bothered you are too, but the power of keeping him like this, teasing him with your body— turned you on even more. 

You snake your hands upwards seductively, landing daintily at the nape of his neck, twirling the wet tendrils of curls round and round pulling gently. Eddie hisses through his teeth, his hands roaming freely from your hips to your ribcage running them along the length of your sides, bruisingly hard. 

One minute you’re facing away from him, eyes closed in pleasure as he roves over your body, his lips pressed to your neck, and in the next he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face— eyes locked on eachother, the heat and the alcohol and the endorphins are too much to handle. 

Your once labored breathing snuffs out to nothing when he leans in with licked lips his eyes fixated on your mouth. Standing. Staring. Staring and standing. You’ve had enough of this cat and mouse game. 

“Fucking kiss me alrea—”

His mouth with its plush pillow lips slam into you. He tastes like tart orange juice and a bite of alcohol. Like the way a summer day would taste if it were bottled up. He licks into your mouth and you whine for more of him, clutching onto his neck and pulling him further into you. 

When you break for air it’s loud, smacking lips and lapping tongues, tilting your heads to line up perfectly. When you twist yours again, Eddie holds onto your neck angling it just so with a glint of trouble in those whiskey eyes as he dives into the supple skin at the column of your throat. 

Sucking, swirling— his tongue is hot against you and you’re clutching onto his shoulders, your nails digging into the pilling fabric like he was the only thing keeping you Earthbound. 

You wiggle in his arms, squealing and whining out but he’s holding you tightly against him, moaning words into your neck that you can’t hear above the music. Then he’s on your mouth again, working you into a fit. His big veiny hands move along your back, grabbing your ass softly, then work up to wrap in your hair or lightly scratch at the inch of skin between your skirt and your tank top. 

Doing your own little damage to him, his shirt is shoved up over his chest, your fingernails trailing down his tattooed skin. A rise of goosebumps following in their tracks, and he stops kissing you to suck in a breath, your smile on his lips as you laugh and he whispers a breathy ‘fuuuuck’. 

Your fingers trail down to his waist band, tickling his skin as you suggest an idea with your eyes, one that you’re certain he would understand.

“C’mon,” he mouths, gesturing his chin to the exit as he slowly begins to pull you from the dance floor, up the stairs and into the kitchen area.

Eddie knew what he wanted. Knew it the second you walked out of that stall with that sweet fucking smile on your lips, shy and coy when he called your name cute, like you weren’t at all used to the type of attention he was giving.

And maybe you didn’t want this with him. Maybe you were a: ‘fuck-me-in-the-dark-so-I-won’t-be-embarrassed-by-being-seen-with-you’ type of girl, but you did dance with him, you laughed at his stupid jokes, stuck by him almost all night, but still he needed to be sure. 

He thought maybe in the brighter light you’d change your mind about what you wanted, what you needed from him, but you surprise him when you cling to his side, going up the steps, and backing into a wall pulling him with you by his shirt needily when you reach the top.

“D’ you uh..wanna get outta here?” he slurs, almost sleepily, his bangs fucked up beyond belief, his hair drenched and sticky with sweat and humidity, lips swollen red.

“My dorm isn’t far,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes running your finger along the waist of his jeans, “across campus.” 

Eddie chuckles, “fuck…” he sweeps a thumb over your pouted lips, groaning as he bites his own. “I’d crawl to fuckin’ Alaska for these, honey.” 

Your cheeks burn sweetly from his inebriated compliments. And even though you’re tipsy and so is he, you feel an odd sort of comfort with him—one you haven’t experienced before. 

“Let’s go then,” you whisper into his ear, “I want you inside me.” 

That did it for him. 

Eddie was all but running with you across the campus green, but not before taking off his long sleeved shirt and placing it over your shoulders murmuring how it was freezing and you’d probably get sick. 

Your combined laughter ricocheted off concrete forums and neatly trimmed grass. Passing by the fancy Chemistry Lab building, the Art Museum, the Med School and finally to your painted black brick dorm building: “Wheeler Hall” 

“Here’s home,” you sing out, placing your key into the door and pulling on the steel handle. 

The Wheeler Dorms were the newest addition to the college town. Named after a family that was killed in an accident back in the 80’s or something… you didn’t really remember what happened. 

The side door you had come in through was closest to your room, 011, on the first floor, again, the universe being kind to you. 

“Never been here before,” Eddie said looking around with wide eyes, “any of the dorms actually.” 

You smiled upon unlocking your room and entering, hanging up your keys on the command strip hooks by the door. Whatever confidence he had back at the party is now deflated a bit once he realizes just how different the two of you are. What the hell was he doing here? You’re in college, he’s only here because he deals. 

“Uhh..?” he questions, eyeing the lofted bed, “you know I was joking about being an athlete, right?” 

You giggle and toss your purse onto the futon, “relax, that’s Kenzie’s bed, mine is the shorter one.” 

“Oh thank fuck,” he practically sings letting out an over exaggerated sigh as he plops down on your futon, eyeing the leopard throw blanket, “I may look like a suave Casanova but I’m about as agile as Mr. Bean.” 

Laughter fills the room and you click on a lamp throwing the room into a cozy ambience as you slip off your sandals and sit on your bed, leaning forward, “you’re way hotter than him.” 

Eddie blushes a bubble gum pink sheen, using his still damp and unruly hair to cover his face, “keep being sweet on me see where it gets you.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat, or a promise?”

“Oh baby, I don’t make threats, not to a girl that’s like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Yeah you,” he deadpans, standing up and waltzing towards your bed, crowding you in, “funny, sexy, and by some greater power— digs me… at least I hope.” 

“I’m not the type of girl to bring a guy back to my place, Eddie,” you nearly whisper, putting a finger into his dangling necklace and pulling him forward, “you’d be the first.” 

Eddie places his hands next you on the bed, “like your first? Or just here in college first, I’m cool with either I just— are you sure you want this? I can leave if y—”

Cutting him off you kiss him, but not like the heavy kisses earlier when you two were making out like you were each other's oxygen masks, this one is sweet, like melted  sugar on Eddie’s tongue. 

“You talk too much,” you say with a warm smile, wrapping a finger around his curled ends of hair, “no more of that, just kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist and shifts you up further into the bed, laying your head on a pillow his body pressed into yours. He takes his time with you, kissing your lips then your jaw, working his way down your neck to where the bruises he’s already sucked into your skin were painted. 

Your moans and little breathy sighs have him hard against his zipper, his hips bucking into the tiny fabric of your panties that’s covering up that sweet pussy he got a glimpse of earlier. 

His shirt is somewhere on the floor, you had pried it off of him between locked lips and groans of having to move your lips from his that earned you a throaty laugh from him and the sexiest eyes that drove into you with an intense ferocity. 

He lowers further down your body, kissing every inch, moving your tank top out of the way to eye your orange bra, his mouth between your cleavage, moaning about how orange is now his favorite color. 

Eddie’s everywhere all at once, a hand traveling up and down your thigh, from the crux of your knee to the waistband of your skirt, the other hand is popping your tits out from that new found favorite colored bra of his —smiling wickedly at your peaked nipples. 

You moan lustful bliss as his tongue circles each one, giving equal attention to both, “you like that?” he asks.

“Feels so good,” you whine, “more, please.” 

Eddie smirks with your nipple between his teeth, “don’t have to ask me twice.” 

You weren’t a virgin, but holy shit you felt as if you had never had sex before, well never sex like this. Eddie teased you with his fingers, his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers pumped inside of you, each curling inward towards a place nobody has reached before. 

He groaned with his bottom lip tucked between his sharp bite rubbing his achy cock through his jeans when you pushed your skirt down laying there in a matching orange lacey thong, bedazzled on the hips. 

“Would it be corny if I say you look like a Goddess?” he asks sheepishly, pinching the stretching fabric around your hips, “because… wow.” 

You bite your finger as if you were really thinking hard on this, hiding a smile, “you’re too much, Munson.”

“Too much?” he scoffs, pulling down your panties and settling himself between your legs, “you haven’t even seen my dick yet.”

You sit up, tits out and naked from the waist down, “well by all means, show me.”

“Greedy girl,” Eddie smirks, “did you bring me here just to get me naked? I’m appalled!” 

You move to your knees, sitting upright a bit so your face is level with his. You kiss him softly, moving to his neck and sucking just right to pull those deep moans from him that make your knees shake. 

Feather light touches skate along the expanse of his chest, working down down down until you’re undoing his belt, thumbing open the button on his jeans and yanking down his zipper.  

When your hand slides between him and his boxer briefs,  Eddie hisses, watching you pump him slow and tight. The feel of your smooth palm against his velvety shaft makes him almost cum right there and then, it’s been awhile since the last time. 

But you’re not hesitating or questioning yourself and he isn’t either. It’s almost fluid like a rocking wave the way Eddie lays you down, a team effort to swiftly shove down his jeans so you can finally feel eachother where the desperation is needed most. 

Legs hiked over his hips, he lines himself up with your gummy slicked entrance. It’s a deep and achy stretch for you, a vice grip for him. The lazy gasping moans you both emit are drawn out, yours practically breathless. 

“Holy fuck,” you breath into his mouth as he peppers you with kisses. He drags his hips out at a measured pace, pushing in just as unhurriedly, enjoying the way your body adjusts, cuffing him like a glove. 

Eddie breaks away from your lips to watch your bodies join together, moaning your name as he presses his forehead on yours collecting your mouth with his. 

“Shit…This okay?” he asks earnestly, nipping at your ear. 

You nod in gasping silence, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he speeds up. Your hands are skimming down his bareback, pressing him further into you with every thrust, begging him for more. 

He snakes a hand between you, rubbing circles in your puffy clit as he thrusts harder, trying to get you there before he loses all control. “Want you to feel good sweetheart, fuck— keep making those pretty little noises, you’re squeezin’ the hell outta me.” 

And he does. You cum hard around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing so fast you practically black out from the mixed pleasure of his fingers rubbing your clit and his cock stuffed in deep. 

His name falls from your lips in tiny little whines and he bucks into you a hard and final time before he groans, holding onto your headboard for support as he’s bottoming out, stringing rope after rope of hot spend inside of you. 

“Baby,” he whispers, “God—” he stops cold, realizing what he just did and what he didn’t do. “Oh shit, fuck fuck fuck! I didn’t pull out, I'm sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!

You laugh wickedly, your body shaking beneath him at his worried panicked face. 

He’s a babbling, out-of-breath mess, “’s not funny! I just got caught up in the moment and you felt so fucking good and I’m still a little dru—”

“Eddie, it’s fine,” you say, holding his cheeks with both hands squishing them together so his lips pucker like a fish, “I’m on the pill.” 

His face is still squished together when he speaks, “oh, well… okay.” 

“You’re fine,” you coo, coaxing him down from the ledge of regret and self hatred, “I—” you lean up and kiss him square on the mouth, licking into it and sliding your tongue against his, “I liked it.” 

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs and before he can open his mouth to speak you’re pulling him onto you kissing him deep and needy. 

The two of you end the night that way, him holding you, your hands in his hair, kissing so much your lips are chapped— never getting enough. Legs entangled together like a weaved basket. You fall asleep before he does, your little huffed breathing making his skin damp as you curl further into his chest. 

Wonder if Verizon is open tomorrow? He thinks when he remembers that his phone is definitely broke from it landing on the bathroom floor—but he’d never tell you that. 

He also wouldn’t tell you how he was supposed to go back to Steve’s tonight because they were leaving to see another old friend in California for the weekend— or how they needed to be at the airport by 2 AM for a 4 AM flight.  — or that Eddie was Steve’s ride because he lost his license in July. 

Nope.

He wouldn’t tell you any of it. None of that seemed to matter when you were sleeping so cute on his chest like that. 

When late morning comes you’re at it again, this time you’re riding him on the futon, slow like a twangy country song his hands rocking your hips. When you both finish you drag him to the showers, pumping some expensive shampoo into his hair and giggling when you tell him to be quiet so you won’t get caught. 

Steve called Eddie’s phone all night, and all morning, sending duplicate texts of rage, wondering where the fuck he had gone. 

Eddie silences the last call from Steve as you’re getting dressed, wearing a black pair of yoga pants and a zip up hoodie. He smiles when you offer to comb his hair, grabbing your wrist to pull you onto his lap kissing behind your ear. 

His voice is low, soothingly sweet and minty from your toothpaste as he asks, “can I take you to breakfast?” 

[vivwritescrappythings]

king of the joust

knight!könig x plussize!fem!reader

you go to a tourney, a knight you’ve never seen before wants your favor

an: this could become a series—not sure, just wanted to write this. inspired by a drawing of könig by @whocaresabouttactical that i just could not get out of my head (your work is amazing btw).

tw: fem reader, plus size reader

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

—

Tourney days were the worst of all.

It always devolved into madness–your mother devoted to getting your sister prepared enough to catch a knight’s eye. You primped and pinched and cinched all morning, stuffing her into a dress she could hardly breathe in and pulling the corset strings tight.

You were dressed similarly, your gown far less expensive and hair left loose around your face rather than the intricate braided style she wore. It was not worth it to spend the time on your attire. Your sister was older by a year and the prettier of the two of you, securing a marriage swiftly was becoming one of the most important things in her life.

You were welcomed with the other noble families beneath the tented area of the stands, your parents headed toward the back to greet your brothers and their wives as you milled near the front railing with your sister. She was staring dreamily at the arena.

The knights were already out, walking with their horses and talking with their squires.

“Do any catch your eye?” you asked, watching your sister’s gaze flicker over the armored men below. Some had their helmets off, casting charming smiles into the stands of onlookers. You could hear young ladies giggling around you.

“Maybe Ser Garrick,” she said after a few moments of contemplation. You followed her stare, seeing him speaking to another knight with his helm still on, the face of it shaped like a skull.

He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. If anything, you were surprised he was a knight. He looked as though he had never seen a day of battle, his skin smooth and clear, no lines of worry etched into his face to match those of his companions.

You hummed, nodding. “He certainly is pretty,” you murmured with a giggle. Your sister rolled her eyes, embarrassed as she shyly agreed.

You could see it, the two of them married with an estate and children of their own. Rumors of Ser Garrick promised that he was kind, if not a bit vain. But your sister was vain, too—it would be perfect.

You both had favors: your sister kept running her fingers over the crimson scarf she’d brought with her while you twisted your woven laurel of leaves and flowers and ribbon over your wrist. You knew someone would ask for your sister’s favor—she was so beautiful that men would pine for her even if she were common born.

It would not be a stretch to assume that you would be bringing your favor home with you. You were of marrying age, but destined to be a spinster. It was your nature to let your sister shine, often lingering along the edges of the room or in her shadow.

The horns signaling the tourney was about to start pulled you from your reverie as your sister yanked you into the seat next to hers. Right in the front.

While you hated tourney days, jousting sent a thrill through you like no other—you often were halfway out of your seat, peering over the railing as you watched the knights. The horses were huge and sleek, their muscles rippling beneath their coats as they charged. The splitting sound of lances on shields echoes through the arena filled you with adrenaline as though you competed amongst them.

The knights trotted just below the stands, calling up to girls between bouts and earning favors. Your sister practically fainted when Ser Garrick shouted up to her, his lance resting on the railing in front of you. You had to shove her forward.

“My sister was telling me that you look rather gallant this morning, Ser Garrick,” you said, smiling sweetly at her as you nudged her with your elbow. The mortification was clear in her expression before she tweaked it into a smile as she nodded primly.

Ser Garrick laughed, the sound clear and deep. “Well, I would be pleased to have your sister’s favor if she is offering it,” he said, gaze focused on her.

You bumped her again, finally snapping her out of her shock. She smiled demurely, producing the scarf she had tied into a circle. The fabric was wispy and light, the baby pink contrasting with his black and red lance as she looped it over the end and let it slide down to the pommel. “I wish you luck,” she said, batting her eyelashes prettily at the knight.

“I thank you, my lady,” he called back up to both of you, smiling at your sister and nodding to you before bringing the visor of his helmet down and going to take his place.

You fell back to your seat with your sister, her hand wrapped around your arm as she squealed. Her excitement was plain to read, the grin on her face and the sparkle in her gaze said more than enough as she pitched into you. Her laugh was absorbed in your shoulder as you chuckled.

You never doubted that he would gaze at her.

Ser Garrick jousted admirably, defeating his opponent in just a few bouts. You could not be bothered to know who it was, only that his armor was dented as he was cleared away with his horse in tow.

The rest of the morning blended into listening to your sister blather on about Ser Garrick and the crack of lances on shields and breastplates. It was easy to stop listening, making soft sounds of agreement and occasional nods of understanding as you twisted your favor around in your grip. You knew if you listened you would only feel jealous.

Your thoughts wandered, pondering the way the bodice of your dress cinched in your soft stomach, the sleeves of your gown loose until they gathered at your wrists to cover the gentle slope of your shoulders and the extra flesh on your upper arms. You rested your chin on your hand, trying to subtly pull back the softness of your jaw. There was no hiding that you did not look like your waif of an older sister.

You knew that. The difference between you two was easy to feel, to understand. The way eyes glazed and shifted over you as though you were not there, as though you did not deserve to be there. The whispers of your parents discussing arranging a marriage with one of your father’s friends haunted you. But lords and knights and even common boys looked right past you regardless of your noble blood.

“Sister.” The sharpness of her tone brought you out of your spiral of self-pity. She was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Yes?” you asked, blinking a few times as you sat up in your seat.

There was a lance resting on the railing.

“I think he means to get your attention.”

Your brow furrowed, the words took a few moments to make sense before you stood. You placed your hands on the polished wood, carefully peering over.

The knight below was one you had never seen before. He was huge, limbs thick with muscle beneath his dark armor. The warhorse beneath him was large to accommodate him, dwarfing the other horses and squires. He wore no helm, holding it on his thigh as his other hand steadied the lance. But you still did not see his face, a black cloth with two circles cut for the eyes covering his head.

Like an executioner.

“You wished to see me, Ser…” you trailed off, waiting for an introduction.

His blue eyes simply crinkled at the corners like he was smiling beneath the shroud, he nodded. Then his hand left his helm carefully balanced on his leg, retrieving something from near his stirrup.

In a flash it was tossed up to you, harmlessly glancing off your arm. Your sister practically dove to retrieve the object, showing you a stuffed bear with a perplexed look on her face. It was small, but crafted nicely. There were two little X stitches for the eyes, no mouth or other features stitched onto the soft fabric.

Your brow furrowed as you reached out for it, turning the bear in your hands with care. It was sweet.

The knight was watching you carefully, seemingly waiting for your reaction. You could feel your cheeks warming, a threat smile made the corner of your lip twitch. You had never received a gift from a man that was not a member of your family.

Your sister cleared her throat. You were taking too long.

“Well, I suppose a favor for a favor is in order,” you said, loud enough for the knight to hear you below.

His eyes crinkled at the corners again. Another nod.

You took your favor of weaved flowers and grasses and ribbons scraps, pressing a kiss to the leaves before looping it over the edge of his lance and watching it fall toward him. The colors of the foliage matched the forest green spiral painted on the wood.

“I wish you luck,” you said, clutching the bear in one hand as you leaned over the railing.

He was looking at the favor, running his gloved fingers touching the ribbons and caressing the flower petals. Then his attention was returned to you, he tapped the lance against the railing one, two, three times.

It felt like a thanks.

You watched him settle his helmet over his head before returning to your seat. The shocked expression on your face was mirrored by your sister, the two of you staring at the small stuffed bear in your hands.

A gift from a knight was unheard of at a tourney. Maybe a gift would suit a marriage proposal, or an attempt at courting. But not a simple tourney day.

And not from a knight you had never even seen before.

The smash of a lance against a shield made you look up, watching the knight’s opponent go crashing off his horse. And it continued. Every competitor that faced him ended up bested, sprawling across the dirt.

One pulled his sword, the mystery knight sliding off his horse to meet the challenge. He was taller than you anticipated, standing a full head over his opponent as he drew the sword from his hip. It was hardly a contest, the smaller man made to yield after being quickly disarmed and a blade at his throat.

It was only at the end of the day you learned his name. Ser Kilgore—it was announced proudly across the arena in light of his victory. Whispers calling him “King of the Joust” carried as you found your parents and prepared to leave.

You kept looking over shoulders and heads in the crowd, standing on your tiptoes to try to get a glimpse of Ser Kilgore. The fluttering at the pit of your stomach already told you all you needed to know—you wanted to see him again.

It was only in the carriage back to your estate that you noticed the stitching on the leg of the bear, black and a bit clumsy.

KÖNIG.

[love-of-the-red-star]

Interlude I: Kakavasha

Warnings: Discrimination and heavily implied racism

You were an enigma, even to the other Avgin.

“She appeared out of nowhere.”

“Should we trust her?”

“She looks like one of our own.. and she seems harmless enough, I think we should trust her.”

“Are you sure about this? If she’s with the Katicans we could be in danger.”

The voices whisper and hiss, only slightly muffled by the barrier of a tent with little Kakavasha hiding behind some of the crates.

It made sense for the people, including his sister, to suspect you, even just for a little bit. But to him it didn’t make sense, you had the same hair, you had the same eyes, and you wore pretty clothing unlike them or the Katicans.

Kakavasha was one of the children who were a bit more subtle in their adoration of the patterns of your clothes, his eyes innocently tracing each one of them to see where they begin and where they end.

He learned that your name was Delia from the whispers of his mother and sister on the light of the campfire and the skies of their planet. He’d peek sometimes when his sister brought food to your tent— a simple stew, the same one he knew he would also eat for supper.

He observed, and noticed you didn’t do much of anything at all or even move. Something about you felt a little wrong, felt… weird. At first glance, nothing was wrong, you looked just like him, same eyes, same hair. What was actually wrong with you? He didn’t know, and he felt guilty for thinking of you that way the moment you had given him a sweet smile.

Surely, you would not be a traitor. You are Avgin like him, bears the same eyes, and the gentle smile his mother and sister had.

Kakavasha decided he wanted to speak to you, and he never regretted that decision.

It had felt so wonderful to be graced with stories (he never really questioned how you knew them) of people from afar, of people who persevered in their strife. The more stories you had told him, the more of hope and desire of true freedom grew inside his heart.

Kakavasha was just a child, but much like the older Avgin, he too wanted to be free, to no longer be gazed upon in mockery or jealousy, to no longer have the threat of his life taken simply for what he was born as.

When you both play, he always wins. His luck dictates for him to win.

It didn’t matter whether it was cards or hide and seek— the only game you’ve beaten him at was something called chess. He vowed to be smarter than you when he grew up after that, as you had said the game did not rely on luck.

It hadn’t occurred to him then that in the short two months you were with him, you were indirectly teaching him to play others as his pieces; to plan, to think outside of the box and to not rely on the thrill of a gamble. He remembered you mainly because you gave him good memories in your short stay and the lessons you imparted to him in the form of your stories.

His luck always aided him. It did when you came, it did when the Katicans invaded and the Galaxy rangers came, and it did when he wanted to get the attention of the IPC.

Mr. Boothill never really ended up liking his decision to join their ranks, and they had fought over it, but the cowboy conceded once he heard the Avgin boy’s reasoning.

He needed power and an extensive connection to help his people and to find you. The job of a Galaxy ranger would not grant him that influence, and another reason was simply because it was a somewhat.. safe outlet for his vices.

The voices of the Katicans still haunt him even though years had already passed.

Lucky boy, they’d sneer, jealous and mistrusting.

He was fine if people did not trust him; it already came with being an Avgin, being an employee of the IPC would not really change a thing. Besides, he wasn’t noble (at least he thinks he is not noble— that he is dirty, as free as he might be now), and he doesn’t think he can follow through with the strict code and creed Boothill swore himself to.

Kakavasha knew you and his sister would disapprove of the thoughts he directs to himself, but neither you or her are not here to hear anything. You’re not here to see.

“Still no leads?” He asked over on the other end of the line, his voice now taking a much deeper tone as it had been eight years since you left.

He’s an adult and a stoneheart; things he didn’t know he would become back then when he was just at the cusp of puberty and at war. He had his fair share of struggles too after that— the discrimination against his people never really stopped even after the killings did.

Some of them were still sold, were still seen as objects to be owned, an exotic prize.

He can’t gain power if he remained fully noble and good, and he can’t find you if he had no power and wealth. In order to help his people and himself, he resorts to joining the IPC.

“No, we couldn’t find any trace of the person you want to know about.” The person on the end of the line replied to him as his eyes traced over the stamps he’s put on a board in search for you.

It was as if you never truly existed in the first place.

He gave a hum of acknowledgment for the other person in the call and hung up, he doesn’t take this as a sign to stop though.

“Kid, you sure the girl you’re looking for is really out there?” Mr. Boothill asked him, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand as he too looked at the papers and red strings interconnecting them together. “Asked around a couple of friends and they haven’t seen someone like this leave on a ship—“

The cyborg’s pause made Kakavasha blink.

“You remember something?” He asked.

“Kid,” he didn’t like being called a kid now, but he lets Mr. Boothill call him that out of respect. “Mind telling me what the hell your girl was doing before the festival again? You mentioned she would go missing, right?”

“Yes, if I’m remembering it correctly, she would disappear every night when she thought I was sleeping. She’d…” Kakavasha’s brows furrowed. “Get out of the tent, then walk back in exactly six system hours after. I knew the time because I often counted how many times the hour glass would run out, and I would make a bet on how many hours it’d take before she comes back.. of course, I was always right.

“What does that have to do with this?” He asked.

“You ever thought how the hell we managed to find your planet?” Boothill scowled. “Just a feelin’… but I think your girl.. isn’t exactly a girl.” Kakavasha knew enough to believe the man, having known he had traveled many places and lived many years.

“I’m not quite sure if I follow…” Kakavasha trailed off.

“I can’t blame you, even to this day I’m not sure what the fudge terrorized our ship either.” Boothill sighed gravely with a shake of his head. “It’s just a theory, but your girl— Delia, right?”

He nodded.

“I think it might be the same thing that summoned us to your planet.” His scowl deepened. “Listen, we got points. You said she came out of nowhere, none of the Katicans knew this girl, none of your family knew this girl, she felt weird, knew stories and stuff she wasn’t supposed to know, and left for six hours every night for weeks til your birthday came in? That girl was no human.”

Your image in Kakavasha’s head warped. “A masked fool?” He asked, hesitantly.

“No no, I don’t think those shirt bags would bother to be so benevolent. And I don’t think they’d be powerful enough to scare some of my friends that they decided to go to a doctor.” Boothill inhaled and exhaled. “It’s probably something worse, I dunno.”

How could you be bad? If he’s understanding what Boothill is getting at, then you were the one who set the Avgin free from the Katicans, the one who ushered in help when the IPC did not offer his people aid.

If you were not an Avgin like him, what were you? It’s established as of now that you weren’t exactly a person— hell, Delia probably isn’t even your real name.

Then, he remembered freedom.

It was a thought that came in like a stroke of luck as he gazed upon the patterns— the one he managed to identify as freedom quilts displayed hanging on Boothill’s wall.

The cyborg followed his line of sight and snorted. “Oh, that. Given to me by a friend as a souvenir two weeks ago from a city that devoted themselves towards this new Aeon.. Libertas, I think their name was. Don’t some of your people follow that Aeon now too?”

“Yeah, they do.” He remembered some of the adults muttering prayers to this Aeon— to give them strength, to thank them for being the representation of what they wanted. They prayed in the same way they would pray to the mother goddess, there is no tribute, there is no statue, in a way some of them also thought of Libertas as Fenge Biyos herself, although Kakavasha thinks that Xipe may be a closer comparison if one were to look closely.

Libertas had been recently introduced some six years back through a dream a few of his people had, and suddenly he felt dumb.

Kakavasha laughed, exasperated at himself as Boothill looked at him strangely.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Boothill’s nose wrinkled as Kakavasha calmed his laughter.

“Thanks for giving me a good knock to the head Mr. Boothill.” He began, smile stretching wide. “The answer to the mystery was under my nose the entire time! Goodness, I feel pranked.” He grinned, Boothill’s concern grew.

“The hell?” He muttered out.

“That cloth.” The Avgin pointed. “It’s the answer this entire time because it’s the same pattern Delia wore.” The more he gave it thought, the more it began to make sense.

Of course you’d wear the pattern of freedom on you.

Kakavasha smiled, gently and happily this time as he looked at Boothill with a sense of accomplishment. “Mr. Boothill, I guess we found the girl.”

————————————

JSHDHSHSHS Posting this utter word vomit rn, and yes this takes place in the same universe as Aeon reader, though this is sort of a POV exclusively by Aventurine— there will be interludes for other characters too in the future, but for now please enjoy.

I would also like to add that this remains to be a gender neutral reader insert, the reader taking on the form of an Avgin woman was purposeful.

(This is heavily unedited and written at three am by a very sleep deprived mf)

[machveil]

Headcanons about Konig being the runt of his family? Like, his father is 6'10", and his brothers are all over 7 feet or something.

anon, I’m on the floor (5’3”/160cm gang rise up)

König loves his family, but seeing them after being one of, if not the, tallest at KorTac always throws him off. I personally think König is 6’10”/~208cm, so his family being taller, even by a smidge, is insane haha

all the height comes from his father’s side of the family, for sure. those genes are strong, especially considering his siblings. I headcanon König having an older sister and two older brothers, he’s the family baby. I could see his father being 6’11”/~210cm, König being just barely shorter than him

his oldest brother is coming up at a whopping 7’2”/~218cm. he’s ridiculously tall, even König can be put off by his eldest brother’s height. his eldest brother is really charismatic though, has a charming smile and smooth voice! he forgets how tall he is when he approaches people - sure, they have to crane their necks to look up at him, but he’s equally craning his neck to look down. the second oldest son is a flat 7’0”/213cm, total sweetheart. König and his second oldest brother are total mama’s boys. while König went off to volunteer for service, his brother stayed home. he eventually moved out, but is still in their hometown so he can help his mama around the house.

König’s sister is also considerably tall, a solid 6’1”/~185cm. while König’s brothers don’t tease him for being the shortest son, she will. she’ll poke at him, and he’ll poke back, “Hey, watch it, Kleine Dame.”. she supported König throughout his middle and high school days, wouldn’t hesitate to beat a kid up for picking on her younger brother (did fight someone once, their mama was not amused. their father was lol)

his mother is 5’5”/165cm, and bless her family, all the furniture is mostly suited to her height. it’s almost comical seeing everyone home for the holidays. as children, the furniture wasn’t necessarily an issue, but having her grown children moving about the house? and her husband? she feels a little bad, but König and his siblings throw a fit when she suggests new furniture! this is the furniture they grew up with, they’ll put up with squeezing together on the couch, don’t worry, mama

seeing their family walk around in public is a scene. people stop and stare, a couple double takes, as the four siblings walk around. König gets a little self-conscious, but his siblings laughing and talking helps to ease him. he’ll loosen up eventually, having a good time while his mama and father lead their little group to a local restaurant - the table and chairs a little too small for them, but the atmosphere is lively and warm

[marvelsmylife]

These wings are made to fly

Pairing: Rhysand x Illyrian!Reader

Request: Could you write a Rhysand x Illyrian!Reader where they meet Rhys is 20 and the reader is 18 and is about to get her wings clipped when Rhysand and his family visit the Illyrian camps and Rhysand feels the mating bond snap just before they’re about to clip his mate's wings and he stops them. Basically what his dad did for his mom, but Rhysand actually cares for his mate and her well-being

A/n sorry it’s so short

Masterlist

Request

Rhysand hated this. Hated witnessing the female Illyrians getting their wings clipped, especially when they perfume this barbaric act in public. He always expressed to his father how cruel it was to strip females of their ability to fly. His father, in turn, would scold him for his words. He then went on to explain that if he ended up with an Illyrian, he would give him the option to not have his mate's wings clipped.

His mother, for the most part, would remain silent when Rhysand’s father would scold him for speaking up. Today was a different story. Today she decided to speak to her son privately after being scolded to praise him for having a kind heart. “I know that you will do great things when you become a high lord. I know you’ll put a stop to this madness. Just keep holding on.”

Rhysand kept hearing his mother's words as they continued to watch innocent females cry as their wings got clipped. He was ready to turn away and hide in his tent when he heard your cries. Looking over, he spotted you being dragged by your father and older brothers. Tears were streaming down your face as you begged for them not to clip your wings. “No” Rhysand whispered as he felt something in his chest.

That’s when he felt the mating bond snap between the two of you. Without thinking, Rhysand rushed to where you were and got between you and the male who was going to clip your wings. “No,” Rhysand said in a stern voice. His father was about to scold him for interfering when Rhysand added “She’s my mate and I’m prohibiting you from clipping her wings”.

Rhysand’s father had a stern look on his face but motioned for the male who was about to clip your wings to step away. “There will be no more wing clippings for today. Everyone go home.”

Just as you were about to relax, your father stormed over to where you were and started berating you. “It doesn’t matter that she’s mated to the high lord's son. She is my daughter and I demand that you clip her wings.”

Rhysand stood up quickly and got in your father's face. “You get no say in what happens to her wings. She is my mate and future high lady of this court and if you do not like it, you are more than welcome to move to another court.”

Everyone gasped at the mention of a high lady because such a thing had never happened in their lifetime. Rhysand’s mother had a proud smile on her face as she watched her son defend his mate with such conviction. His sister was proud of him as well and clapped while Rhysand finished speaking. When your father and brothers didn’t move, Rhysand’s father stepped forward, “I advise you to walk away before you regret it.”

Your father and brothers quickly retreated, but not before saying, “Keep her. She’s not welcome in our home anymore.”

You let out a sob as soon as your father and brothers left. Rhysand knelt beside you and held you in his arms. “It’s ok, it’s ok. I’m here, I’m here and I’m not leaving your side.”

You wrapped your arms around Rhysand’s neck and began to sob harder. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you kept repeating.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Rhysand wiped away your tears before placing a kiss on your forehead, “You’re going to come live with me, you’re my mate and I’m going to take care of you.” Rhysand looked over to where his mom was standing and noticed she was still smiling before she walked away with his father and sister.

[nokonomi]

What if Bill Cipher had a little sister? + Bonus Reverse! Gravity Falls Bally

What if Bill Cipher had a little sibling, yes I know he destroyed his home dimension but like what if he formed a version of him into his little sister and make them instantly related? I would imagine them having like some kind of chaos junkie older brother and younger sister calmer girl relationship with each other. Bally knows she can’t scold Bill because well, for one, he formed her, and two! She is the younger sibling here so yeah no. But technically she can still scold him even if it results in a sibling fight. They express their platonic love for each other like that way.

Bally is more mature and calmer for a 12-year old triangular entity that has one eye as well, except she doesn’t have a top hat nor is yellow, she’s purplish-blue and has a dark purple bow on top of her pointy head. Eyelashes are more downwards and soft. Carries a little book around with her universal spells and all that little sh!t. She’s a nerd and she likes to study things about the cosmos.

Did I mention whenever she sings she has a very loud voice it can erupt an entire earthquake in just 3 seconds? Yeah so rule number one, no singing (bill said) Honestly she is very powerful but not as powerful as Bill, she can control matter and space, but not time. So she can basically form whatever she wants (an imaginary boyfriend)

Her spells usually come out in a bluish hue, indicating her rather calmer and insignificant side. She’s more exposed to nature then anything in the entire Galaxy. She’s never killed anyone! Not yet… but she is a well-behaved kid, even if she is billions of years old.

Now since she was formed by Bill, she doesn’t know what happened to her parents, well, not really her parents. But she wishes she had parents. She knows what they look like since she shares an individual mind with Bill. And trust me the clean-up process for her to forget all these memories was not pretty.

Sometimes she’ll make a dimension of her own and maybe spend time in it and remorse about lonely times, sit in a corner and draw her and her brother with their presumed dead parents hugging them both. Sometimes she wishes they could maybe hug her too if she was ever apart of the family when her older brother was younger. She misses them. She misses when she was just a little speck of dust in the universe for some reason before getting formed into a real Euclydian.

Now she doesn’t really talk with Bill much, since he’s too busy with much other sh!t he has to deal with anyways. Sometimes she wishes he had the time to spend time with her, but no! THAT never happened. She knows he’s got “big plans” coming up soon. But she can’t just stop time and make him hangout with her. It’s beyond her control. He formed her because he wanted someone to call “family” since he misses his parents.

But she doesn’t think that he wants her as family. He just didn’t care and formed her to clean up his own messes, which she always ends up doing. Part of that is true, some of it is not. She knows the trauma he has.

Fast forward a billions years later to the near 80s. It had been a long time ever since she saw her brother. Distant and alone and hungry for brotherly bonds and relationship, but they never seemed to happen in the end. That is until her mind peaked at a glimpse of Bill’s plans on Earth. Stanford Pines. A genius. Yes. She could finally find someone to connect to. So she headed down to Earth in a human form of herself to maybe see what her brother was up to. She could’ve done this any time, any day, any century, but no. She didn’t want to disturb her brother. After stumbling across Gravity Falls, Oregon. She mentally located the site Stanford was located at and found it, carefully wandering about it. She noticed that Ford was asleep and she decided to enter the Mindscape and see what his brain was filled with. Man, a genius. He was like her. She saw Bill and Ford playing chess, and once Bill detected her, he rushed over to her and said, “Heya sis! It’s been MILLIONS OF YEARS ever since I last saw ‘ya! How ya been?” He acts as if he had seen her last month. She got frustrated and stormed off, Stanford looked at her in sympathy, poor girl was lost.

Now she got angry because he acted as if he had seen her just last week, and he pretended to actually care when in reality he didn’t. This made her very frustrated, screaming at the top of her lungs as she ripped out pages of books that floated inside of The Mindscape. Bill tries to calm her down, which soothes her. What a fool she was for believing he actually cared for her in the end. She smiled and hugged him gently. Bill introduced Bally to Stanford, “Bally, Stanford! Stanford, Bally!”

Bally looked at Stanford in a curious way and smiled. He might be connected to her in some way in the near future. But when she found that portal they were planning, it ruined her. She knew something. She knew connecting The Mindscape with Earth would result in destruction. She tried stopping Bill. It didn’t work. He manipulated her. She ended up crying and storming off, she never saw Bill and Stanford ever again, assuming they were at their worst points.

Authors note: Man this was a very long lore story to go to! Anyways here’s a drawing of her and Reverse!Gravity Falls AU her! I’m hoping you all enjoyed the lore reading. She might be a bit tad out and cringe but I like her for that. I might change her up later!

Some facts about Sally and Bally. -Bally likes reading books and using her books to make spells or summon random things. She glows blue whenever she does something incredibly powerful.

-Bally believes Bill didn’t actually care for her, which he didn’t care for her actually. He manipulated her and why should she trust him? -She got cheated out of her own childhood.

SALLY

-Sally is an ENTP, silly and more extroverted, honestly had no care in the world whatsoever and a chaos junkie like Bill. -Makes fun of Will (Reverse!gravity falls AU Bill Cipher) for being so easily depressed and cries easily. She thinks he’s weak, she actually cares for her older brother.

-Literally the type to say “ROFLMAO!” “LMAO” “LOL XD” “<3” Gen Z type.

-Honestly does not care about Earth or any other dimension. WORKS FOR NOBODY. NOBODY. NOBODY NOBODY NOBODY.

[alisonwritesimagines]

Picture Perfect ~Batmom Imagine~

Summary: Damien wants to take the perfect photo for you.

Author’s Note: Posting this from my drafts because it is time for it to come out of hiding.

BatFam Masterlist

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none, fluff

Do not repost this anywhere!

"Dick, sweetie. Please go tell Damian that he's going to be late for school. He's been upstairs for a while," you tell your oldest son as you tried to feed Martha.

"On it!"

Dick found Damian standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing his hair to his idea of perfection.

"Damian. Mom said you're going to run late for school," Dick tells him.

“I wanna look good for picture day for Ummi,” Damien tells Dick.

“You know mom will love your pictures no matter what.”

“I know that but I want this to be extra special. After she had Martha, she’s been busy,” Damien explains.

“You know mom loves us no matter what. Sure she may be busy with Martha but that’s because Martha’s a newborn. She needs the attention at the moment. But you know mom will give you attention again soon.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Just make sure you’re in the car in ten minutes,” Dick told Damien.

“Of course.”

“You look so handsome, Damien!” You tell your son as he rushed down to the kitchen. “Cassandra, honey. Your ballet is divine but please be careful.”

“Sorry mom.”

“Have a good day at school, Damien! I look forward to seeing your pictures when we get them!” You smile sweetly at him.

“It’ll be the best you’ll have,” Damien tells you as he rushed out of the house with a bagel.

The moment Damien stepped into the school, he felt victorious. He succeeded in going into school without messing up his hair. That was until a student tripped and spilled their water bottle onto Damien.

——

His picture was anything but perfect. Damien handed you the framed photo before looking down in shame.

“Aw. I love it!” You chirped happily as you hugged Damien.

“You do?” Damien asked, looking up at you surprised.

“Trust me Damien. I have at least one awkward photo of all my children and you have added to my collection,” you say as you kissed his head.

“You really like it?” Damien asked you.

“If you want to do a redo picture, that’s fine with me. But I will be keeping this one no matter what,” you tell him.

“So when Martha has an awkward photo…”

“I’ll keep that one too. As long as I continue to have photos of my children, I’ll love them all.”

“I’ll do something even more special for you to make up for this!” Damien promised.

“And I look forward to it. But for now, let’s go ahead and hang this up,” you tell Damien as you put it with your other children’s pictures on your wall. You admired the photo before looking back at Damien.

“As long as I have pictures of you all, I don't mind how they look," you tell him.

---

“Come on. What’s taking so long?” Tim asked as he walked into Martha’s room.

“Martha doesn’t want to wear the bow!” Stephanie tells him.

“Come on Martha. Put on the pretty bow. Please,” Tim asked. Martha stared up at her older brother as she shook her head.

“What’s going on?” Damien asked as he walked into the room.

“Martha doesn’t want to put on the bow,” Tim said.

“Let me try. Come here Martha. Let’s put on the bow,” Damien said as he put the headband on his little sister. Martha smiled up at her older brother before reaching up for him to hold her.

“Why does she like you more?” Stephanie asked.

“Because I spend more time with her. Now let’s hurry. Mom and dad will be home soon and I want this photo to be perfect."

Your birthday was always celebrated lavishly. Bruce would fly in your closest family and friends for a dinner and anything else you wanted to do. So Damien thought this would be the perfect time to make up that horrible picture he took for picture day. As well for his siblings to also make up their own awkward school photos.

“Thank you Bruce for throwing me my birthday party. And thank you all for coming and celebrating with us,” you say out loud to everyone at your party.

“We would actually like to surprise our mom with a present gifted to her by her children,” Dick announced after you. You and Bruce looked at them as the kids brought in a wrapped gift.

“From us to you Ma. Happy birthday,” Jason said. You opened up the gift to see a framed photo of all the kids dressed in suits and dresses with a smile on their faces. You teared up as you stared at the photo.

“I love it!” You say.

“Now you can have all of us in one picture,” Damien said.

“I love it. Thank you sweetie,” you tell him as you kiss his head.

“We also took some individual photos to make up for our awkward school pictures,” Tim mentioned as he handed you another present.

“Thank you. I love it so much,” you say as you cried from happy tears.

Bonus:

“Come on you guys! Damien promised me we’d go to the arcade after this,” Martha said as she dragged two of her older siblings into the room.

“Sorry! Traffic was bad,” Tim said as he stood in between Jason and Damien.

“Remember how Martha didn’t want to put in her bow until Damien asked nicely?” Stephanie asked Tim.

“Those were the good ol days,” Tim sighed.

“Alrighty! Ready?” Cassandra asked.

“Perfect! Okay kids. Smile right over here,” the photographer said before taking the picture of the batkids.

It had been a tradition for the kids to take a picture all together every year for your birthday present. It was to show how each of them have grown over the years. No matter what was going on, each batkid had agreed to meet up one day a year with no excuses to take the photo for you.

"I think this is our best one yet," Damien said as he looked at the photos.

"Aright, see you all next year," Jason joked as he walked out.

"Come on! We gotta go!" Martha told Damien.

"Okay. Okay."

[creatingblackcharacters]

(This is a little messy as I still have things to flesh out and also don’t want to give you an insane amount to read through. How is he looking as a Black character?) Darryl Carter Michaels Darryl is a young Black man with a flair for the theatrical and a never ending curiosity. He has a love for fantasy, musicals, and fiction in general. While he is a capable singer and actor, having been in theater throughout his school years, he tends to prefer working behind the scenes. He enjoys making the magic happen and seeing how things work. Having lost his birth parents to a car accident when he was just shy of two years old, he was raised by a well off mixed race couple who believed they could not conceive. His father, a Black man, and mother, a white woman, loved him just as they would their own flesh and blood. They showered him in love, attention, and any material good he could ever want. When Darryl was five years old, his parents were shocked to learn they had conceived. His parents made sure to thoroughly explain the situation to their son and give him lots of love and encouragement to be a big brother. Even so, the preparations did take away some of their attention that would usually go to Darryl. When his twin sisters arrived, he was both excited and jealous. While his father was certain to give Darryl the love and attention he needed, his mother was more wrapped up in her new babies than anyone or anything else. While the mother did give Darryl more attention as the girls aged and could better handle themselves, things were never quite the same between them. It felt more like he was a nephew of hers, rather than her son. His father, on the other hand, was just as loving as he always was, sharing his love equally between his son and two daughters. The twin girls loved Darryl and Darryl was loving and protective of them. He takes pride in being their older brother. As Darryl grew up, he tried to win his mother’s love the way it used to be, excelling in school, performing as an actor, and being the best person he could possibly be. When he got older, he realized it was a futile task and seemed to settle for what he had; a loving father, fantastic sisters, and a mostly loving mother. During his time in college, his perspective changed. He met his best friend, Joyce, a Black trans woman who taught him to see the value in himself and realize it was his mother who was in the wrong. After graduation, Darryl decided to confront his mother about her behavior and not put up with it any longer. He moved to another city (a bit over an hour away) and is now trying to find himself without judging his value based on his mother. He still keeps in contact with his father and sisters, still visiting on occasion, but has a tenuous relationship with his mother. She wants to rekindle what they once had, but knows it will take time and a great effort on her part. Meanwhile, Darryl met Audrey Davis, the woman who will one day be his wife. Between her, Joyce, his father, his sisters, and Audrey’s family, he has more love than he could ever know what to do with.

Hell of a story, especially as someone with Value of Mother™ issues. I hope she does right by him, he deserves it. Sounds good to me 👍🏾

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Hello lovely ☺️ how scandelous would it be to ask for perhaps a sneak peak of the next chapter?

👉👈 perhaps a lil snippet? A crumb? 🥹🥺🫣🙌

*clutches pearls* oh my…oh dear…i’ve never been asked this before 😳 this is a first for me.

am i allowed to do this?? why does it feel illegal lmao 🫨

i mean you did ask very nicely & i am dying to show the next chapter to yall & i am indeed a strong independent woman who can do whatever the hell she wants so…here you go?? i guess??

disclaimer: it took me a very hot minute to decide which part to do & i haven’t edited / beta read anything yet so it might change a bit once i post the full chapter…also hopefully this scene makes some kind of sense to you out of context. double also this will be the ONLY part i share bc i don’t wanna spoil the whole thing 😤 but i hope you like 🤭🩵

—————————————

“So…” Spider-Man said, voice low but playful. “Come here often, hot stuff?”

Despite his best efforts, Johnny busted into a laugh, shaking his head from side to side. “Shut up, you loser,” he giggled.

“Wait, wait, I can do better than that. Somebody call the fire department, ‘cuz this guy is smokin’.”

“Is this you attempting to flirt with me? Corny pickup lines and cheesy one-liners? You really think that’s the key to my refined and sophisticated heart?”

“Well? Is it working?” Spidey asked in whisper, the words curling upwards just like the goofy smile Johnny knew he had on behind his mask. The Human Torch rolled his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled fondly. The two of them kept their faces and bodies angled forward as they spoke, daring not to show any physical displays of affection with so many eyes on them.

“Pretty lousy atmosphere for a first date, if you ask me,” Spidey continued, quiet and coltish. “Some orchids or candles would’ve been nice.”

“You want to count this as our first date?” Johnny whispered back. “I was planning to take you somewhere with much better ambiance and way fewer older sisters around. Maybe rent a gondola and a string quartet or something. But if you’d like, we can always save that for date number two.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Either way. Your idea does sound a lot more romantic than the humiliation ritual we’re about to be subjected to...”

Johnny ventured a look at the rows of heroes sitting in the arena’s viewing room and grimaced. “Especially with my teammates watching,” he said gravely. His gaze swiveled to his feet, and he swallowed. “I am so not good at this ‘keeping secrets’ thing, Webs. I really like you, and am obviously terrible at hiding it.” His hands knotted into fists at his sides. “So if you’re set on keeping this thing on the down low, we’ve really gotta sell the whole ‘platonic super bros’ shtick. We can’t do anything that even suggests that we like each other like that. Not with them watching us like fish in a bowl.”

Spidey faced him then, head drooping a bit. “I’m sorry I’m making you lie to your teammates,” he murmured. “I know firsthand how complicated it can get.”

“It’s all right. I lie to them about all kinds of stuff all the time.” Johnny smiled apologetically. “I just wish I was better at it.”

Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Lucky for us, we’ll probably be too busy getting blasted by drones or pummeled by robotic thugs to do anything remotely romantic-y looking while we’re in here.”

Johnny elbowed him in the side. “Well, double lucky for us: we’ve done this exact drill in real life already, and won. I can’t imagine fake thugs or drones being any harder to beat than those insane kidnappers we fought.” Mischief tugged at the corners of his lips as he tucked his hands politely behind his back, raising his chin and tracing his gaze along the outline of Spidey’s throat. “And after we win this,” Johnny added, “I’m gonna drag you somewhere no one will bother us and spend the rest of the afternoon sucking on your neck until it’s all one big hickey. Sound good?”

A noise sputtered out of the masked hero that sounded like a cross between a cough and a squeak. Johnny clapped him triumphantly on the back as he strolled forward, whispering in his ear as he close as he dared as he passed by. “Best leave the flirting to the professionals, bug boy.”

——————————

TA-DA!! this feels so wrong but i hope it gives you a fun little taste of what’s to come heeheeHEEEE

[housesunstone]

in that chunky episode where so much of the mystery became clear I honestly think the best part was Kristen's talk with Bucky. Kristen has been where he has. even telling him the alarm system that was instilled into her was wrong was such a moving and touching moment. In that moment I think we really see Ally see what Kristen would have been like had she not died in the corn cuties battle.

And further more we see what Kristen doesn't want for her brother. Kristen doesn't try to convert Bucky to Casandra but just lets him know there is more out there, there is more than what we were taught growing up. It's not something to be scared of or run away from, it's good to have these questions, and it's okay to not have answers to them. Kristen really sees what could have been with her in her brother. Kristen opening up that space between her and Bucky really shows him that no matter what he decides, she is going to be there for him, no matter what questions he may have, he can find comfort in them with her.

Telling Bucky that he can stay with Helio while wanting to ask questions further proves that Helio doesn't have to stay the way he is. He can be shaped, and if Bucky is having these thoughts, others are too. Kristen opened Bucky up to a deeper relationship with those around him and to Helio if he chooses to stay with him. Kristen proves yet again with this talk with Bucky that she is THAT cleric. St. Kristen Applebees is the kind, and loving person that Bucky and many others like him need.

[hecatesbroom]

I fully did not expect to write a fic today (or this week, for that matter), let alone finish one. But I woke up with an idea this morning and here we are! A very short exploration of Phil and Dorothy's relationship, in the context of queerness (and boy, do I have more thoughts about them now!)

Summary

Phil looks for an ally in Dorothy, but these are the 1950s — and not everyone is brave enough to be themselves just yet.

[isa-ah]

fuck it. isaiah

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)

[blunderpuff]

apparently i have a half sister???

what the fuck???

[lesbiradshaw]

ooohhhh i'd love to hear your headcanons about bucky's family cause i just love that era of his life i feel like his relationship with his family is kinda unexplored in fics cause the prewar fics tend to focus on bucky slaaaving away for poor baby sick steve's meds and idk i think bucky would be so close to his sisters!!! and a mama's boy really!! also on that note it breaks my heart to think of the girls after bucky's death :((

people always forget bucky was canonically close to his parents likeeee he says so himself!!!! and it just makes sense for the time period he grew up in. he was the eldest child and more importantly the eldest SON so he probably started working at a young age and grew up always aware that he was supposed to be taking care of others and bringing home money. that is nawt exclusive to him living with steve. we’ve seen how protective he was of steve so i can only imagine how he was with his sisters like :( i also hc him as being a mama’s boy because look at how much be cared for sarah, who wasn’t even his mother. bucky’s family also obviously cared for steve. jt wasn’t just bucky who wanted to help him out after the funeral. idk bucky grew up in a big, close knit family !!!! that’s part of why hes so protective !!!! ik he was the overbearing but well meaning big brother type always insisting he walk his sisters places and judging the guys they went out with or brought home. THE BARNES FAMILY IS MY FAMILY TOO!!!!

(also i have a fic that centers around bucky and his family post sarah’s death so let me plug that rq)

[sharkieboi]

it’s my little brother’s birthday so I called him and we chatted for a very long time and made plans to play video games together and it made me very happy especially cause I know this last year has been very hard for him and it sounds like he’s doing better and !!! i’m just really happy for him and excited to try and virtually hang out with him more often!!!