#thank you darling this was fun

[greykolla-art]

came here for Hazbin, and staying for TADC and the incredible artstyle! I absolutely love how you can draw Caine looking silly and full of whimsy, and then make him look like he is This Close to just going 110% unhinged. Wherever you go fandom-wise, I am absolutely along for the ride!

The AI is trying a bit too hard to be fun it’s getting creepy!👀

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[kawaiialeisha]

⭐️ A Bunch of Silly Doodles!

Thank you to the members of the Kandavers Nation (AKA. Kandavers’ discord server!) for submitting these silly ideas :3

MORE ART COMING SOON!!

(Still haven’t forgot about that comic, it’s still in the making!)

[spaceratprodigy]

(palette challenge) PINK LEMONADE OR WATERMELON FOR DELIRIS ⁉️⁉️⁉️

@oldworldwidgets — [ palette prompts ]

WATERMELON LEMONADE DELIRIS 💖💚

[smile-files]

i'm quite flattered!! :)

[gojosattoru]

❤ OBAMITSU | THE SERPENT & LOVE HASHIRAS ❤

⤷ Happy Birthday to my cutest bae in the world May @karura ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )

[proxentauri]

For your Control art request: maybe some more Langston?

I love that guy and your style is amazing!

thank you for the kind words and request anon!! :) i will do literally anything but draw control fanart in a consistent art style apparently...send in more requests and watch me roll the dice lol

i was not a langston fan at first but he's become one of my favourite characters haha! the way he cares for his altered items is so cute...keeping his lil ducklings in a row....

bonus (don't tell me he wouldn't do it anyway):

[angelicartemis]

Drew on a Hello Paint board with @artastic-friend and a few others!

A couple of DJs. 😳 The fully body DJ is literally one of my best DJ drawings out there I swear. Idk what possessed me to draw him that well, but damn I'm so glad I did get possessed. 😫✨‼️

I'm not too proud of the second DJ, but March seemed to like it regardless. ^^💕

March did share this drawing in their own post as well. 👀 The middle Wally is mine, and the other two sillies were drawn by them. :D

Random Dr. Habit dooble- March ended up getting tangled in his hair. 😔

Some smaller sillies- Can you guess who drew the shrimpton. 💀

[rainymoodlet]

Kiss Me in Komorebi+ 🌸

[Episode Five] One Last Push!

Y'ALL THIS ONE HAD ME SCREAMING. I admittedly played around with the contexts of my original playthroughs of these convos: they all happened at the dinner party, not throughout the night. But when Daniel went and apologized to Julien, the Attractiveness Alerts were through the roof, and he seemed to be barely capable of handling himself! He was so struck by the thought of kissing this absolute cherub of a man that it popped up as a Whim and in his Grab Bag of socials!

Also yes I am biased but it is incredibly hot when he flattens his voice to make a point. 🫣

And with that, we are finally at the end of the Dinner Party's one-on-ones! Hopefully with this peek into their interactions, we'll all understand the decisions Daniel makes at the upcoming Rose Ceremony... Stay tuned! We'll check in with our Bachelor just after this!

@morrigan-sims

[ Part 28/30 ] 🌹

[estrellami-1]

In tradition of giving prompts that are just things happening in my life : steddie buy their first home (as a couple or pre relationship) and struggle with trying to figure out how to do maintenance and home repairs (what the Jesus fuck is the difference between nineteen different types of wood filler? And what are the pros and cons of mesh tape vs paper tape for drywall? If these are questions you’re struggling with baby I’ve been doing the research and I have answers lol) and maybe one of them start to feel a little in over their head and like they don’t know what they’re doing even though they’re trying SO hard to get everything right and comfort ensues 😇💜

(This is for the post about wanting to write but I’m so sorry if this is too long of an idea or something feel free to ignore love you also if it is also past midnight for you go to sleep you can write tomorrow haha) 💜💜💜💜💜

Hello my darling!

(It is after midnight but my sleep schedule has long since been decimated and I will sleep… sometime. Probably after I write this.)

Please keep in mind I’m impatient and want to write this Now and am not willing to do research and also am 24 and still live with my parents and only know about fixer-uppers what I’ve learned from HGTV. Which is to say, not much. But I’ll do my best! ❤️

“Stevie, my love,” Eddie sings, in the way he does when he’s getting frustrated but doesn’t want to take it out on Steve. “What in the everloving, flying fuck is this?”

Steve laughs as he joins Eddie in the bathroom, then sighs as he sees what Eddie’s pointing out. “That would be an external wall. With no insulation. In goddamned Indiana.” He sighs again. “I’m making a list of things we need. I guess I’ll add fucking insulation to the list.” He runs a hand through his hair, tugs on the ends.

Eddie looks at him sharply. “What’s wrong?”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Eddie smiles softly. Brings a hand up, tugs at a lock of Steve’s hair the way he just had. “You do that when you’re overly stressed.”

Steve stares flatly. “We’re trying to rebuild a house, Eds.”

“Overly stressed, baby. You handle stress like a champ. It’s when all the little things get to be too much that you pull out that little move.”

Steve sighs, lays his forehead on Eddie’s shoulder. Hums when Eddie’s hand immediately connects with his hair in response. “‘S just… all of it. It’s a lot, there’s a lot to do, there’s a lot of little things that need work that I didn’t know would need work. I just feel… inadequate.” He grips at Eddie’s waist, fingertips digging into the top of his jeans. “There’s fuckin’ nineteen different kinds of wood filler and it feels like we need about twenty-six different types. And I don’t know why just one isn’t enough. Or even why we need wood filler in the first place.”

Eddie hums, moves so Steve’s standing on his own. “Hey.” Fingertips touch Steve’s jaw, a silent request to look up. “Dance with me?”

Steve smiles, like somehow, after all these years, Eddie’s ridiculousness is still endearing to him. “In an unfinished bathroom? In an unfinished house? With no music?” He pauses. “Actually, no, the no music makes sense for us.”

Eddie laughs lightly, already swaying in a kind of dance, grabbing Steve’s hands and spinning him around, pressing his back to Eddie’s front. “No better time, no better place, Stevie, my love.” He hums a few bars of a song in Steve’s ear.

Steve gives in, dances with the man he promised his forever. Who promised him a forever right back. “Eds, why are we dancing?”

He can feel the curve of Eddie’s lips on his neck as he smiles and presses a kiss to his spine. “Because it makes you smile.”

Steve melts. “I’ve gotta go to the store.”

“We’ve gotta go to the store. After we’ve danced in our unfinished bathroom, in our unfinished house. Ours, Stevie, my love. It’ll take however long it takes, but this is ours. Just like the ridiculous ragamuffins you adopted all those years ago.”

“You adopted them. They adopted me.”

“And then you adopted them right back, quit with the minutiae when I’m making a point.” A teasing finger pokes Steve’s side. “Just like Robin, and Nance, and Wayne. They’re ours, our family, and they’ll be here as soon as we tell them we need help.”

“I don’t want to need help.” He sighs after a pause. “This is one of those bring-it-up-in-therapy things, isn’t it?”

“Probably so, Stevie, my love.” A slow kiss to his spine. He shivers. “But for now, we’re going to dance. We’ll go to the store. We’ll call at least Nancy, because she scares me and will probably shave our heads in our sleep if she finds out we were struggling and didn’t ask for help. And even through all that, this will be our house. After all that, this will still be our house.”

Steve turns around in Eddie’s arms, silences him with a quick kiss. “Ours, Eddie, my love,” he agrees.

[xamaxenta]

crashes in thru the window A Vision. Ive Seen A Vision. sabos hands are covered in scars from using his dragon claw thingy and professional martial artists like brickbreakers and shit literally have their bones thicken over time from healing microfractures to provide more strength and power BUT it can come at the cost of joint pain and/or arthritis especially with age. what im saying is scarred calloused weapons of mass destruction sabo hands and rough warm physicians tools, lifetime of rope and rigging and worn ships marco the phoenix hands, gently easing the very literal ache in sabos bones with his two hands cupped around sabos (and sabo is slighter, his hands at first glance look narrow and delicate, but by the time youre close enough to see the scars on his pasty ass skin its too late for you, and marcos workmans hands completely eclipse his) full of warm healing flames . sabo and marco bite and snark and tease and fuck nasty so much that some ppl cannot tell if they like or hate each other but at the end of the day there is no one sabo trusts more to look over his strongest most intimate weapons (LITERALLY attached to/part of his body) like honing the fine edge of a blade that cuts anyone who touches it . but marco bleeds fire. they bicker and argue and tease but here it is silent. the only sounds are the warm rustle of callouses dragging against each other abd the soft rumble of crackling phoenix fire, louder than a candle but quieter than a lantern, and when it pops and snaps it sounds more like leaves and sea waves carried by the breeze and sabo finally, finally can relax for just a moment

This makes me yearn so much i am so full of yearning rn

Absolutely beautiful commentary of their relationship

Sabo’s a man of many facets and Marco wholly understands this and does what he can to enable it, if anything to protect him

If Sabo needs to be seen as someone dangerous vicious tongued, sharper wit, someone so beyond the league of normal men then Marco, the phoenix, who has had plenty of experience would do anything to enable this image

Because when theyre alone he gets to see Sabo as he is because Sabo trusts him implicitly and that means so much more than any words they could share or any snarky performance for the public could

Its rly soft aaaaaah wnishdoshd

Also the softest imagery of Sabo allowing Marco to look over his hands, press out the hurt, the ache, soothe the angry sharpness in his wrists that flares up whenever he writes, Sabo going boneless into his embrace hes shockingly vulnerable like this, without the squaring of his shoulders and the confident commanding pitch of his voice its easy to see the soft nobility in his form something hes striven to move beyond

[blindmagdalena]

I wonder how Homelander would react to trying Bubble Tea from a fem reader who he caught drinking in your office.

"What on God's green earth are you drinking?" Homelander's voice startles you so badly you almost drop your drink, fumbling with it for a moment. You look up, confused as to why he's in your office. Again. He sure has been lurking about your floor a lot lately. "Oh, it's bubble tea," you answer, taking a sip from the oversized straw. The subtle mortification in his eyes when he sees several tapioca pearls slide up the straw, followed by you chewing, almost makes you laugh aloud. You can't help but lift it closer to him and ask, "Do you want to try it?"

"Eugh, abso-lutely not. I can smell the sugar from here," he says, scrunching up his nose. He grimaces as you take another chewy sip. You hold out the cup again. "You sure? It's not flavored or anything, it's just milk tea." "Milk tea," he echoes with a curious lilt to his voice, narrowing his eyes. "You said it's bubble tea," he reminds you, tone low, as if he just caught you in a heinous lie. "The bubbles are the tapioca pearls, the flavor is just milk tea. Come on, try it," you insist, waving the cup out to him. "Don't tell me Homelander is afraid of a little sugary starch, tea and milk." Homelander scoffs, settling his hands on his hips. "Please. Do you really think I'm that easy to bait?" With a small shrug, you lower your drink back down, and swivel your chair back to face your desk. "Okay, whatever you—" In a flash, a crimson gloved hand yoinks your drink clean out of your hand. Whirling around, you stare incredulously up at him, watching as he shamelessly slurps from your straw. Homelander's brows furrow. The second one of the pearls hit his tongue, he pulls off the straw, chewing with the most exaggerated downturn at the corners of his mouth you've ever seen. You can't help it, you laugh as he chokes down the mouthful. "Jesus Christ, that is repulsive on all fronts," he says through a scowl, smacking his lips over and over. Reaching up, you snatch your drink right back, smiling as you pop the straw back into your mouth, enjoying another heaping slurp of it. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm very proud of you for trying a new food," you say, grinning mischievously around your straw. Homelander's mouth opens, closes, opens, and then closes again. He makes an unintelligible little noise that you think was maybe the beginning of a retort, but the words die before they make it off his tongue. He scoffs again, seemingly unable to form a coherent response. Instead, he simply spins on his heel to walk out from your office. "See you tomorrow," you call over your shoulder. You hear him pause, but you don't look back. You just sip away, facing your computer, knowing as well as he does that you're right. He may not like the bubble tea, but he clearly likes you.

[pencap]

i was so excited to see your intention to write poetry again — i've missed your work so much!

three word prompt: smoky, scintillating, storm

we were supposed to be more than this. my eyes were supposed to be bright as fresh snow in the sunshine. your laughter was supposed to be a benediction like shooting stars. our fingers were supposed to be held tight by silver bands and scintillating gems. instead all i see is fire and smoky air on the distant horizon. instead all you speak are orders and prayers and final words. instead all we hold are cold triggers under our shaking fingers. instead our only wisp of salvation is a raging storm of water and wind and ruin that will douse the flames in a flood and would sooner drown us than save us. promise me, my love that we will have it again. promise me, my love that even if the gods have abandoned us have betrayed us have left us here to die alone that we will still have hope as long as my breath can meet yours as long as my hands can touch yours (i promise. i promise. i will give you back my sunshine and your laughter and our clasped fingers— or die trying.)

[sparklyslug]

hi! if you are still looking for prompts, steve/eddie, one of them cooking or otherwise preparing food for the other one. if you are not still looking for prompts, totally ok! either way, hope things are looking up for you.

Ask Steve a year ago what his favorite food was, he’d probably struggle with the question a little, internally. Say something simple like, a burger. Steak. Pizza. Just because he knows that’s like, what foods people like. Those are the Favorite Food Groups. And he likes them too, likes them plenty. Has just felt kind of food-neutral, honestly, for most of his life. He’s eaten fancy catering at his parents lavish dinner parties, buckets of KFC at modest kitchen tables, and his own simple chicken and broccoli standing up at the counter alone at the house. And felt kind of the same about all of it. Food was food, generally. Favorite didn’t really make sense, as a concept to apply to it. 

That was then, though. He gets it. He has a favorite food now. 

Eddie has tied his hair back with one of his banadas, shoulders on display and almost irresistible in one of the cutoff tanks he likes in the summer, this one an old Hawkins Basketball shirt of Steve’s that also has a hole right over the nipple (why he had initially stopped wearing it, and why Eddie had quickly claimed it before lopping the arms and a good four inches off the bottom of it, because he thinks shit like that is hilarious). The whole look is pretty well calculated to drive Steve out of his mind, a goal Eddie had made short work of just about an hour ago. 

He’d finally pulled himself up off Steve’s chest, face red and glowing, and shook his hair out of his eyes before saying “shit, I could eat. Grilled cheese sound good?”

It did sound good. Sounded fantastic. Sounded like Steve’s favorite food, is what it sounded like. 

So shirt’s back on and hair’s tied back, but Steve is keeping his hands to himself, just sitting back and watching Eddie at work. Head mercifully clear and nicely floaty, body feeling heavy and warm and right, and yeah, definitely ready for some food. 

He’s watched Eddie make his grilled cheese a hundred times or whatever, and he doesn’t get how it turns out so fucking good. It’s not a complicated process. Getting the pan warmed up, buttering both sides of a couple of creamy-white slices of bread. Four slices of plastic-wrapped cheese per sandwich, always, Eddie carefully tearing some of them in half to create even layers, not too much cheese stacked in the middle or at the ends. 

The butter smells amazing at the bottom of the pan. Smells fantastic when the bread hits it with a little pop, a tiny sizzle. 

Eddie’s gorgeous doe eyes are narrowed in concentration as he works, pressing the flat of a spatula down on the top of each sandwich. This is the stage at which Steve is least likely to catch an elbow, while Eddie is just watching the pan and waiting for the universe or some kitchen god to send him a signal that it’s time for the Almighty Flip. 

“Got a gig tomorrow, mmm?” Steve asks, sliding his arms around Eddie’s waist, and tucking his chin over one shoulder. 

“Eddie Munson, unplugged,” Eddie confirms. “Jesus I really have to try and find a band soon.”

“I’ll keep looking in the papers,” Steve promises, with a grin. 

“Send me on another synth-pop goose chase and I will absolutely shave you bald in your sleep,” Eddie swears, brandishing the spatula into the empty space in front of him, since he can’t reach Steve to swat him with it. Small victories. 

“Never again, I promise,” Steve lies. “Think that one’s ready.”

“It’s not,” Eddie says. “I’m nervous about playing acoustic, man.”

Steve knows he is, he’s been jittery about it ever since he confirmed with the organizer that he’d be playing the open mic. “You’ll kill it,” Steve says. Squeezes him a little tighter, enjoying Eddie’s little bitchy oof of protest. “You don’t need an amp to blow the roof off the place.”

Eddie ducks his head a little, shy and pleased. Steve presses his lips against the top notch of his spine, nosing Eddie’s hair out of the way to get to skin. 

Enjoys the way Eddie shivers a little, the skin at the back of his neck maybe extra sensitive because of how it’s covered all the time. It’s a theory Steve is happy to keep exploring for a good, long while. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, softly. “Now this one is ready.”

Steve peers over his shoulder. “I have no idea how you can tell that.”

Eddie shrugs, and Steve knows his face has got to be fucking smug as hell without even being able to fully see it. “What can I say,” he says. “I’m a man of many talents.”

Well, that’s just a fact, and Steve starts listing them in an undertone directly into Eddie’s ear, until Eddie is shifting a little in his arms, and laughing, and elbowing him out of the way just when Steve feels his breath catch, the shift in his hips– “sit the fuck down, you animal,” Eddie says, twisting enough to sink a hand in Steve’s hair and reel him in for a quick, sweet kiss. “Food first, seduction later.”

“You’re too good to me,” Steve says. It doesn’t… ah, fuck. It doesn’t come out even remotely like a joke. 

Eddie though, Eddie’s eyes just go soft. His full, gorgeous lips twist into a small smile. “Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Now. Plates and napkins, please.”

Steve obeys, though they don’t even really need them– Eddie slices the finished sandwiches into neat triangles on the cutting board, and hands one right off to Steve, still loitering and half-draped over him. The cheese is perfectly melted and gooey in the middle, the bread crisped just right and saturated with golden melted butter. The noise he makes at the first bite is genuine bliss, eyes closing to savor the taste. When he opens them again, Eddie’s holding the other half of the sandwich in his hands, eyes on Steve, mouth a little open like he’d lost track of what they were doing here. 

The noise Steve makes at the second bite, okay, that’s for show. And Eddie knows it, kicking a bare foot at his shin with a laugh. 

They polish off the sandwiches in no time at all. You want to savor something that perfect, Steve thinks, but it’s hard to take it slow when you know how good every bite will be. And when you know there’s a bed waiting for you at the end of it, a bed with Eddie Munson in it, and a whole afternoon stretched blissfully ahead of you both. 

Yeah. Favorite food. Grilled Cheese By Eddie Munson. No question.

[carnivorousyandeere]

thinking... most yans would probably (try to) hide their tendencies or crimes from their darling due to various reasons... would any of yours just be open about it from the get go? either from being delulu and thinking this is normal (or better than normal) behaviour/display of love? or just due to not wanting to lie to/hide anything from their darling? or simply not giving a fuck?

I love these categories to organize the yans that fit in there; certainly, not all of them would be open from the get-go; this ended up being more of a list of how some of them feel about their behavior and showing/telling their Darling what they’ve been up to. Bolded names are yans that would be open about it from the start, to better answer your question ;)

Doesn’t see what the big deal is/thinks it’s normal: Cryptid, Wendell, Clay, Eris, Angel, Candy, Kosuke, Jett, Chandler, Blake, Minnow, Dorian

This is the most romantic thing I could possibly do to prove my love to you, why are you screaming and running away?: Jordi, Lan, Wendell, Gia, Mateo, Emerson, Opal, Candy, Rose, Olive, Jules, Chandler, Minnow

Honesty’s the best policy, even if it hurts: Brucie, Dante, Opal, Star, Sammy, Darcy, Maisie

The ends justify the means, knows that what they’re doing is wrong but hey— the winners write history. Ask for forgiveness and not permission… and maybe not even that: Byte, Quinn, Cassandra, Mildred, Spirit of the Roads, Gia, Sonika, Genesis, Kendra, Lottie, Opal, Mina, Malak, Indigo, Lenore, Millie

[2smolbeans]

What if the reader and April run away together abroad, where Sangwook has no business or connections. What will be the boys' reaction?

Oh boy im gonna go on a bit of a long ramble ^^

Okay, so regardless of whatever the situation is. Whether the reader and April aren't dating but dating the Sangwook brothers, or just barely know Hyun and Marco based on the company information. They will not take you packing up and dropping off the face of the earth with each other too kindly..

In the end, it really doesn't matter, they will be coming after you.

So let's say in this particular scenario (since ngl I haven't properly fleshed out the story yet and I've been mostly writing hypothetical scenarios with them- so bare with me), you and April are just good friends.

Just a disclaimer, I'm gonna go through a long tangent of extra lore or whatnot. If you just wanna skip it- ignore the highlighted part.

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Extra explanation of context

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Okay, so running away! The two of you decided to change your names and identites and move somewhere far away where they can't reach you. On purpose, you decide to move to a rural town in Canada where no one knows who you are. It's a small country area, so there's little to no chance that some buisness partner, private investagator, or Hyun and Marco themselves could ever guess where the two of you might be. I mean, Canada, out of all places - who would've guessed that?

It would be peaceful for at least a year or two before they find you. It's not like you could keep up the double life for that long..

So how would they react?

Marco would feel absolutely stupid upon realising that you had managed to run away without him knowing. At first, he would be in doubt. You love him, you wouldn't run away from him, you'll come back eventually. But after days of trying to contact you, he's come to the conclusion that you're not coming back. Espically once he noticed he couldn't track you anymore on the GPS device.

You're just misguided..Angry. Confused. You were just throwing a tantrum. But you had every right. He did go too far saying those things about you.. His anger got to the best of him that time.. It was your typical lovers quarrel. It happens! He'll resolve this. He'll get you back to where you belong.

Marco is delusional, hopeful, but also very anxious. Every passing hour he couldn't find you, he would laugh hysterically alone in his office out of pure rage. Fuckk, you were really starting to get on his nerves. Tearing down the streets and looking for answers, he would do his best to get any tip on where you might've gone. He tried searching your apartment, but upon arrival, it was purely empty. Every day, he would go to bars, restaurants, libaries, the places you loved going to. Asking people and staff left and right if they ever saw you. He even went to his brother, ranting about how impulsive you were for just running away.

He would be worried sick, but also resentful towards you. Especially when he figured out that you had run off with that 'friend' of yours. After everything he's done for you.. You selfishly decided to run off with another man because the two of you had a fight. There was definelty were going to be a nice little 'chat' when he brings you back home. Hiring private investagators, Marco would make sure to pay them a hefty sum for you. I mean, after all, you're worth so much to him.. Even if you tick him off.

See! He loves you so much! You should be grateful for how much he cares about you.

While hiring at least more than 5 private investagators to manhunt you, Marco would be driving all over the country - trying to find you. When the second year hit ever since your disappearance, Marco would've been in shambles. Often clawing at his hair while he tries to keep calm as his mind races away. You still love him, right? You didn't run off to be with that pest, right? God, he wasn't touching you all over, trying to replace him- right? So when he finally gets the tip off of your location, there's no second guess that he's buying a plane ticket to where you are on the same day.

Man, he can't wait to finally have you home! Maybe when things have settled down, perhaps the two of you could about the future. Especially about how he was going to take care of you from now on. Money, job, future? You won't worry about those anymore. Not when no one knows who you are anymore, not when you are so lost and helpless without him, and not when no one wants to hire you for the terrible crimes and deeds you've done..

Hyun, on the other hand, might've taken it a lot worse than Marco.. There are no words to describe how absolutely pissed he was once he found out April had disappeared from his life..AGAIN. After he claimed he wanted to make ammends for the past. What a filthy lying rat. Immediately, Hyun would be contacting every connection, every source, every goddamn bounty hunter to find this fucker. Hell, he even did a bit of research himself to find out where he could be.

Like the cockroach April could be at times, he was smart enough not to go to a highly populated area of people. Okay, so he's somewhere rural, probably. Hyun would mostly check back on the feedback from all of the hidden cameras he placed around April's apartment. Okay, he packed a suitcase while carrying a passport. So he's out of the country. Every little bit of information he could find about his precious employee's whereabouts, he told the investagators. He wanted to find him quick. He could not go through another situation like before.. He could not lose him again. It was out of pure fate April stumbled back into his life after 3 years. He won't let it be like that again.

So when at least the second year mark had hit eversince April had gone missing. Hyun had lost his shit. He began to take his anger out behind closed doors. Finding some poor, unfortunate person who happened to look good enough for him to abuse whenever he needed an outlet to let his frustration out. Destroying things out of pure wrath inside his office - throwing and kicking whatever was in front of him out of the pure helplessness he felt. He was always quick to find and solve issues, so effective and calculative to control anything he wanted.. But..He had lost April. The only person who knew about him. The only one that bothered to make him feel valued.. It was only a few months left until it would become the third year. It was just like before. It was just like university..

He would spend hours trying so hard to track his whereabouts. Demandings answers from the people he hired. Where the fuck is he? It's not so hard to find some short dipshit with pink hair and glasses is it?! Then again..Even he couldn't find him himself.

But when that time came. When April had made that slipup, he revealed his location and identity. Hyun was grinning ear to ear. Finally, it was over. This little game of manhunt was fucking over. All the anger, the worries, the tears he spent over him- was all worth it. He was more than happy to send a bunch of men over to that rural small area. Requesting that he bring him and whoever was with him back alive. He even made sure to tip them a large amount out of genuine thanks.

Once his sweet old nerd is back into his life, he's going to make a few changes. April will learn to accept it. It's for the better, after all. Plus, it's not like he has a say in it. Not when he'll be nice and cozy with a snug eletric collar around his neck.

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