#the bass is cleaning my brain out

[astralarias]

got new headphones because mine were literally falling apart and now i've gotta sit here and listen to music for the next few hours

[screampied]

❛ SWEET TOOTH! ❜

synopsis. geto's got a sweet tooth for his pretty partner in culinary arts. rumor has it gojo wants a taste too. the two chefs compete on which one can make you cream the most.

total wc. 5.8k

warnings. satosugu x fem!reader, college au, squirting, (geto) eats it from the back, double penetration, unprotected s*x, dumbfication, dirty talk, oral (fixation), overstim, them basically fighting over you.

an. wrote this bc…i'm hungry </3 random stsg brain rot lawl

“you're a fine cook, you know?”

your eyebrows raised as both of your hands rested against the edge of the laminate-glassed counter.

taking off your toque to give geto direct eye contact, he continued to speak. “i still think your banana pudding was the best.”

“oh, thank you,” you mumbled, and geto stood tall - the size difference was truly immaculate.

broad shoulders yet a very much lean body.

he had his hands buried and dug into the holes of his pockets, flipping the apron near his white coat to the side before giving you a soft smile. “i wish i could have tried your desert, chef kept rushing everyone to clean up earlier.”

“you still can,” geto mutters, and you stare up at him. his voice was somewhat teasing but stoic.

his body language was simply suave…he leaned against the counter as he spoke before making a few inches towards you. his eyes trail down, and his thumb swiftly swipes against the side of your cheek—excess sweet cream of his infamous banana pudding. “it still has its flavor. vanilla, my personal favorite.”

he was so close to you, his body heat practically radiated against you, not literally though.

you were deep in thought as he was directly propped up beside you.

“may i…?”

he's got his dessert in hand, and it was a slice of vanilla cake—neatly decorated at the top with a cherry topping, just a good enough glance and your mouth is damn near watering. it’s decadent with sweet cream and icing, you nearly forgot how to speak.

“yeah.. yeah...yes please.”

you didn’t even realize how needy you sounded, just a few inches of your tongue and you’d be licking your lips.

geto cups a hand over your chin—his dark focused gaze, pretty lashes of his fluttering throughout each blink. he scoops a good amount from the stainless-steeled fork, and brings it towards your glimmering plump lips.

“open a little for me, pretty.”

his voice, it was a mere whisper…

as you parted your lips slightly for him to press the fork inside, the piece of cake now going onto your tongue—you couldn’t deny, just those words alone had you feeling a certain type of way. geto's eyes never left yours, in fact, the soft back of his thumb pad was continuously gently stroking the side of your mouth.

the taste of the cake, just amazing.

dramatic was a good enough word to depict for you because as soon as the icing slicked against your lips—the pure flavor, the sweet sweet vanilla mixed with a single dash of vanilla extract, the cavity-coated sugary taste, and oh… cinnamon.

“mhm…”

you paused, feeling a heatwave of utter embarrassment wash over you. you let off the most dirtiest moan imaginable. all from a taste of cake from geto. the smile remains on his near perfect crooked lips before he hums, placing the fork aside.

“you must really enjoy it, huh?”

even his chuckle was sexy, such bass in his voice was enough to have you soaked right underneath your formal kitchen attire—directly underneath your apron, he couldn’t see but your legs were squeezed shut together, tight.

“yeah, it’s um..good.”

“just…good?” he teases, his long gorgeous dark strands of hair was down…flawlessly dancing over his broad shoulders. some strands cutely poking through his own toque top-hat. his eyes were nearly fucking you on its own.

eyes half closed, seducing.

“ah wait. you have more icing on your mouth. tsk, you’re so messy...”

geto leans in, his thumb still strokes and strokes against your mouth before he leans in—and you nearly slip out a whine from his teasing he was. you were about to open your mouth before he raises his brows.

“just say it. i don’t have to use my fingers to clean your mouth, princess.”

just from those words alone was enough to have you dripping between your thighs, your hands gripped against the back edges of the counter before you spoke in a soft shaky voice. “…kiss me, suguru. please.”

“open.”

as soon as he leaned in to kiss you, you immediately moaned, feeling the slow and sensual swirly lick he made just from his tongue.

he laps up the tiny remnants of creamy icing that was just near the side of your mouth. only before focusing himself on your lips now, the kiss was tasty just like the ingredients of his cake.

geto's got one hand on your chin, another on your waist. you’re propped against the counter and he’s so warm…

you could taste the sweetness of his dessert on his tongue, he takes a few seconds to depart from your lips—dragging a tongue gently and slowly from your mouth to your neck.

“you taste so good.” he huffs out, his voice was low, creating kiss trails near your collarbone and you moaned before he went back up kiss you. geto’s strong manly cologne scent wafts against your nose as you tug on his chef cpat, desperate for more than just his sweet tongue.

“yo, suguru do we have anymore—”

the both of you broke away immensely at the sound of a familiar voice, no one another than gojo satoru.

great.

he’s got quite the look on his face, wearing loose sweatpants. his apron was half on and he looked insanely attractive even while dressed down.

a sudden smug grin appears on his face. “oh…!” he says dramatically, hands of his going right on his hips, “pft. is this why you didn’t wanna hang after culinary suguru? you decided finally gonna get laid?”

“shut up.” geto grunts, and his entire mood was ruined. you suddenly felt embarrassed, in such heat of a moment then gojo just had to show up.

“heh,” he snickers before walking towards you, and gojo’s so tall, the both of them are but he’s equivalent to a skyscraper.

he stares you down with pretty cerulean hued eyes, doing the same motion geto did.

a swift thumb strokes against your cheek and he speaks in an almost husk yet playful tone. “hmph. i wanted you first, shame sugu got the first taste. now that’s no fair.”

“…you both can have me.”

they both share the same nonplus expression at your blurted words—you didn’t even know where that came from, but at this point you didn’t care. geto already made a mess out of you, barely even doing anything but kissing you, and oh how wet you were between your legs.

seeing them both in front of you only continued to make you pulse and yearn for more.

“really?” they both say at the same time, in sync. you were already so hot and bothered by geto, you only could have imagined what it felt like being with the both of them.

you nodded, your impatience was wearing so thin.

gojo snakes a arm around your waist before geto grabs him, nudging him lightly. “not here, idiot. we can just go back to my dorm.”

…there, you laid flat on geto’s flat-sized mattress, gojo was directly next to you—a hand cupping your chin as his lips was pressed against yours.

he tasted sweet, your tongue curled against his and the flavor that coated him made you moan in his mouth. the forms of his lips curving into a smile pressed up against you. you felt it, and you moaned again feel geto kneel down to spread your legs open for him.

he took his time, geto’s warm lengthy fingers softly carressed your legs, slowly pulling down your formal jean attire, creating multiple kisses near your inner thighs, and his tongue…

gently dragging his tongue up your leg slowly until he reached your panties, pants halfway on he pulls them down fully before giving you a three second glance.

“feel how soaked she is, satoru.” geto murmurs.

“bet she is,” gojo snickers, and you whined once you felt him trail a hand down between yours legs to give your laced undergarments that were deeply soaked, a good enough squeeze. “hm. wonder who’s makin' her this wet,” and then he hums, bringing a kiss towards your collarbone before grinning—whispering underneath his breath, it fans against your chest and makes you shudder. “…obviously me.”

“don’t get too cocky,” geto rolls his eyes in vex, and you let off a soft whimper once you look down to see the long-haired man stare at you with a relaxed smile plastered on his face. his eyebrows raise just slightly before he gives you a subtle sexy head nod. “mind putting my hair into a ponytail, sweets?”

his voice was so low and attractive, each syllable he spoke throughout his words.

his pronunciation even was just so filthy, his entire demeanor. you were drenched between your pretty thighs to even fathom anything else.

“okay.” you mumbled, taking his thin hair tie, softly pulling a good amount of his soft strands, maneuvering your hands swiftly around before securing it in a tight yet loose ponytail.

“mm….thank you.” he says, and geto leans in to give the middle part of your panties a slow lick towards your legs twitch and you moan, going back against the bed before gojo starts to unclasp your culinary coat.

running his fingers against the thick fabric, he starts planting kisses everywhere around your mouth and neck—until he starts sucking against your skin. and gojo smells so good too, the both of them wore such strong cologne, but gojo’s scent was a bit more loud.

manly and sharp, it was intoxicating. each teasing suck gojo created against your neck, the soft foreplay licks geto made towards the very print of your panties.

just…fuck.

your head went back in rapture—pleasure, a hand making on the crown of geto’s head, giving his ponytail a light yank before whining. “just..eat me out please suguru. can’t take it anymore.”

“poor baby,” gojo fake pouts, and he makes you turn your position, lying flat on your stomach now and he towers over you. he’s pressing his knees against the bed as he’s in front with geto behind. “what, what what…?” he taunts, watching you desperately claw your fingers towards his sweats, his visible bulge looked so appetizing—you could only imagine how big this idiot was. “ya wanna occupy that mouth while sugu eats you out, yeah?”

“uh huh.”

you nodded, and gojo grows more cocky, craving it badly.

geto uses two fingers to slide your panties to the side - starting off slow with a long stripe lick towards your pre-soaked pussy and you whimpered.

geto's eyes close for a brief moment—using both hands to spread your ass just a bit, dipping his tongue between your slit, savoring the sugary taste. once he started there was no stopping, in his dirty mind, he imagined your pussy was the sweetest dessert he's ever crafted with his own two hands.

cake…cupcakes…fucking ice cream…

his saliva was practically syrupy from how much he was nearly being coated from just your mess alone. some of it runs down the side of his mouth and he’s just such a messy eater.

“…don’t gimme that look, baby,” gojo grunts, his smile—a half skittish one at that, his pants sag and droop from his waistline before you pull it down just to expose his white and blue boxers.

gojo brings your head close towards it with a swift hand around your throat lightly, rubbing your face all against his bulge, the stretchy thin fabric protected his lower half to make you whine more.

“see…feel how..how hard you fuckin' make me? put your throat to good use for me,” and he lifts your head up—making sure you keep direct eye contact. “…‘okay satoru’. say it, girl.”

you moaned, geto's so sloppy as he’s continuing to eat you out from behind, it’s devilishly nasty from how good he was at pleasing you…

figures. because he was one of the top cooks, not only would his meals would be considered s-tier, but so would his tongue. every few seconds he’d spit on your cunt just to lap it up.

with the help of two thick fingers of his already stuffed inside you to make your body twitch and shudder beneath his hold.

“o-okay, satoru.”

stuttering for him, adorable…

you mumbled, and he stares down at you with a cocksure expression, your fingers hungrily pull down his boxers…and his dick sprung out, your first initial thought was how pretty it was.

long, lengthy and a little bit veiny, such height to it that it towers. it was a faint shade of beige but with a dash mix of pink. he was well trimmed, although managed to have a few specks of white hair near his base.

his base though… he was so full, stuffed. literal breeder balls, made your mouth water at just having that stuffed down your tight throat…

damn.

you were so eager, you didn’t want to waste time. gojo watches as you slide your tongue out, swirling it around his sensitive frenulum that was splattered with sticky pre-cum all over it, earning a grunt from him.

“oh….s-shit… juuuust like that, yeah. all the way down.”

his girth was simply delicious, scrumptious even. your warm mouth opened him with open arms. sinking down slowly every few seconds, he groans from feeling you moan down his shaft because of geto continuously eating you out at the same time.

geto’s got a mouth on him, or tongue some might say. the way it flicks against your nub only to abuse it by sucking on it tenderly, savoring its sweet candied taste, your muffled moans fueled him with much desire—even he started to feel himself get hard.

the unapologetic strain in his pants, oh…it was there. just bulging and bulging.

you whimpered at the gentle scrap of geto’s nose swiping against your pussy, equivalent to a credit card as if it was checking for balance.

your eyes rolled back, although gojo wants you to keep your focus primarily on him though.

“mhm. fuckin' slob on it.” he grumbles, gripping the back of your head to lightly move you further and further against him.

his fat tip that was aching inside your mouth, pulsing with much content.

it starts to hit back against the very roof of your mouth, so sloppy, he wants you to be sloppy….you gag, drool spilling from the side of your lips and looking up at him with a cock-drunken grin. “yeahhh girl. there’s that pretty smile. keep doin' that.”

gojo’s using your throat, fingers dug into your scalp and he’s got you being such a mess, such a slut.

he tastes so good, your tongue circulates against his tip. the sweetness yet tang of bitterness of his pre-cum coats the very tip of your tongue, the tastebuds of yours tasted everything.

sweet like candy….sweet like a pastry.

“shit, been hidin' this...dirty throat from me?” he moans, trying to laugh it off but failing. he’s giving you a stare, shooting daggers and he’s kind of embarrassed. your own gaze towards him was so intimate, he’s making you go up and down, you’re breathing through your nose and he almost slips off a whine.

“she’s close, satoru,” geto mumbles, departing his lips for a split second to speak—a whimper rips from your voice at the hotly warm breath of his fanning against your clit, he drags a thumb down your pussy before giving it a light spank. “should i, excuse me….should we let her?” he teases.

“….nahhh.”

you frown, the playful repetitive banter between the two of them going back and forth—long strands of geto’s hair tickles against his skin the further he shoves his face between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man, his tongue was at such temperature, it’s very warmth feeling has butterflies co-existing into the very depths of your tummy.

“you wanna cum, baby? ‘s that why you keep poutin' all stupid-like with my dick in your mouth?”

all you could do was nod your dumb head, up and down with the cutest scowl scattered across your face, pulling back up.

a singular pop leaves your lips one his twitching dick exists, and your glossed eyes stare at him. “s-satoru—”

“no, gorgeous. you’re supposed to be moaning my name.” geto grunts, giving your pussy another smack and you whimper. he’s just french kissing with your clit now, his entire technique made your toes curl, feeling such heat swell and build up inside of you, your mind raced and raced. “suguru. not fuckin' satoru. tch.”

“ahah, don’t mind him, he gets jealous when things doesn’t go his way.” gojo sneers, rubbing a hand underneath your chin.

your spit coats his fingers and he sticks his bottom lip out, fake pity as he’s toying with your mouth.

his dick grows soft inside and you’re basically nibbling on it now. your jaw ached a bit, you’re staring up at him and he gives you an abrupt head bat before groaning. “y-you’re gonna make me cum if ya keep sucking me slow like that, girl.”

you suddenly gasp, snapping out of your cock-drunken trance with a mean ass smack from geto, a snicker escaped his lips in return and you’re cumming hard, it’s unexpected and your legs twitch, practical mush.

only pathetic murmuring cacophonies of, “s-suguru,” and “o-oh my f-fucking goddd,” ‘s made its way out your throat once you stopped sucking gojo off for a few seconds.

your orgasm was rough, boisterous, just hit you like a full blown semi-truck.

his lips were still attached to your folds, dark eyebrows tugged together he’s determined on making you say his name, making you cum more than gojo ever could.

gojo rolllllls his eyes, dramatically as possible.

quite the drama queen he was. the actual epitome of it. gojo ends of concluding himself, swallowing hard as he sat on his knees. you instinctively slide your tongue out for him to spray it with many ropes and droplets of his cum.

“thaaaat’s it, clean me up baby.” he pants, his breath was shaky but he still finds time to flash geto a cheesy grin.

just…wriggling his eyebrows, so unserious. gojo turns his attention back towards you, and he watches you swallow every drop, savoring the taste.

it makes your eyes squeeze a little before you detach your lips, your own sheeny coated saliva running away from his dick.

geto stares at the both of you with a cute pique expression—gojo leans down before stroking your chin, brushing his thumb against your lips whilst observing your features, “gimme a kiss. just like ya did to suguru.”

you scooted upwards on the bed, and his smirk…

his white lashes were pretty, they lowered as he stared down at you, lingering over you even while on his knees. gojo always found a liking towards you. he didn’t mind a bit of competition against his culinary peer, geto wasn’t the only one who had a sweet tooth for you after all.

you lean into his touch—and his slender fingers ghosts against the middle part of your neck, you open your mouth for him just a bit for him to swirl his tongue against yours sensually.

his lips brushed against yours, incredibly soft and plump. he couldn’t help but suck on your tongue just a tad bit, not even minding tasting himself, his own stickiness that remained.

“how repulsive,” geto mumbles underneath his breath, pulling you away of gojo’s reach. geto stares down at you - and he’s quite handsome himself, still in a pussy drunken state, eyes half closed.

he looked gorgeous.

“satoru,” he says, raising his head before he pulls you close towards him. with a soft uttered oof, you land against his chest, and he rubs a hand caressingly down your back, brushing the tips of his fingers against the thin fabric of your tank top. “how ‘bout we compete?”

you moaned, geto brings his lips towards the side of your neck while rubbing his hand against your pussy — feeling how overly sensitive you still were, so needy and in such heat, you bit down on your lip as he continued to speak. “hmm… on who can make her cream the most?”

“me, obviously,” gojo immediately chuckles, as if that was the dumbest question imaginable. “i wanna get first dibs,” and then he pecks a kiss towards your nose. “can i, pretty? ya fine with that?”

“yeah...”

you panted, geto’s feeling you up and he’s so toasty, so warm.

you were embarrassed enough as is with how sticky you were between your legs. your own slick stuck against the crevices of your inner thighs like glue, every few seconds you’d catch geto staring at it, swiping a tongue against his lips as if he wanted to eat you out again, and again.

“…baby.” gojo purrs, you’re pressed against your stomach.

the linen sheets rubbed off against your skin, velvet black sheets and you swallowed whatever pride you had left, glancing at the long rectangular shaped mirror that stood in front of the three of you.

“tell me, yeah,” he pauses…and you choke out a needy whine, oh he’s teasing, ghosting his achy tip against your pussy. “how do you like it? rough? soft, aggressive?”

and then he leans directly close towards you—his chest hits against your back, and he playfully grinds against you with just his throbbing cock pulsing between you making you whimper out. “i wanna get to know this pussy before i just go all in, ya know…?”

“r-rough, please. just fuck me, satoru.” you sniffled, glancing up at geto who’s got a relaxed smile—he pursed his lips against each other before starting away with a flirtatious scoff.

he was jealous.

one he started, gojo was a monster, plain and simple. his stroke game was just downright mean.

he’s got you gripping the sheet, hanging on for dear life and babbling the most ludicrous things out of your mouth, you can’t even believe the things you were whining out.

as his dick buried inside of you—your jaw is nearly dropped open at full he’s got you, his length, the girth and the fucking stretch of his cock has you drooling for more. “s-shit, shit more,” you begged, your voice trembling from his mean hits.

no remorse, your ass smacks and smacks against him loudly. it rings throughout your ears, making your teeth chatter just slightly. gojo’s hand wraps against the back of your throat. a tiny squeak comes out and surely enough, you find yourself smiling at your reflection. “not too rough am i, pretty? …she okay?”

pulling your eyebrows together in confusion, you were confused before realizing he was referring to your pussy. of course…

“n-no, i'm fine.” you choked out.

“good, gooood….”

he's sexily grunting, and his hip movements were just animalistic. his frame snaps and jerks against you to where the mattress is just singing out adlibs in harmony. creak after creak after creak, it grows out to be annoying—yet alas…your dumb little brain can barely process anything anymore.

now you knew why they called it backshots for a reason.

gojo’s weight just barely lingers against your ass, your pussy was vocal too. it’d be quite foolish for it not to be.

it squelched and cried and even spat out many other various sounds all from gojo’s mean derogatory target hits against your very core. frail arms just dangling over the bed, being stretched thin by his dick, its expanding and exploring your walls as if it was on a mission.

your pussy craved and yearned for more, pretty soon you were gonna cum again—he’s got your arms pinned behind your back, just driving and bullying his dick in and out of you. you’re speechless, lurching against the mattress your eyes roll back and gojo groans, “your back arch is so pretty, baby,” he taunts, clicking his tongue in derision. “so whiney.”

“…you’re hogging her, satoru.” geto grumbles, and he brings your body up to sit up—gojo scoffs, watching him take initiative to kiss you again. you whimper in his mouth once you felt him bring a hand between your legs. gojo pulls out with a frown, watching geto steal you now.

his warm lips clashed against yours—he tasted so rich and sweet, the flavor, his flavor was just purely appetizing. as your tongue collided against his, he’s hungrily gripping your ass now, the thin middle part of your panties lazily pushed to the side, you could taste the tiniest sugary-coated cream of his pastry still on his lips. not to mention your own slick as well, it still coated his chin, shimmery and all.

with a free hand, he pulls his hair out of a ponytail, and it flies loose. some of it tickles against your skin and you whined once he gave your ass a smack before presenting it with a good squeeze.

“you’re greedy, suguru...” gojo pouts. “you didn’t even let me finish, man.”

feeling the tips of his ears seethe with hotness, gojo didn’t wanna admit how hard it was to see you and geto make out with each other. geto’s hand placement, it was so attractive—one resting on your hip, another on your bare ass, kissing his palm against your rear with a few spanks to make you moan such salacious moans and whimpers in his mouth.

you feel geto’s lips purse into a smile at gojo being jealous now, he runs his tongue alongside yours, and he brings you closer towards him.

you hook a leg around his waist and that’s when his hands slide down your waist. “she wasn’t yours to begin with.”

he mutters, smiling at gojo—pulling away to lick down your neck and you whimpered.

“im joking, crybaby. guess i gotta share,” he pecks a kiss near your collarbone. geto stares into your eyes before relaxing his face, humming before leaning close to your ear. “think you can take both of us, gorgeous?”

both…?

you nodded without hesitation, and gojo presses up against you before you crawl on top of geto’s lap.

he slouched back against his mattress with a smug grin, whipping his dick out. he was thicker while gojo was subtly longer. he still had inches to him, every single second you took to stare made your mouth water.

“tch….should be ridin' me instead,” he snarls underneath his breath, helping you slide your way down onto geto.

“cry about it.” geto shrugs, and the white-haired male only gives him a glare. you moaned, feeling geto’s thickness insert its way inside your pussy, past your folds. barely in and his tip was so fat. it was plump and stretched your cunt out to its supreme.

gojo tsks, stroking himself before rubbing himself against your leaky hole — your arms snake around geto’s shoulders and he’s staring at you. one hand of his slipping underneath your top to brush his thumbs against your perky nipples, making you whimper even more.

his tongue slithered against your bare skin…giving it a good suck, his pearly white teeth playfully nibbles against your nipple and you whine.

“can your pussy even fit two?” gojo pants, his voice was shaky, embarrassingly so—he’s catching himself licking his lips, sinking his way inside you, now you’re just being double stuffed. you’re on geto’s lap with gojo positioned behind you.

feeling every inch, inches stuffing inside of you, gojo spanks your ass. purposely leaning up close to you — he’s warm, his entire body is, the fabric of his hoodie skims up against your back.

you hear him chuckle nervously against you, and you start to move your hips against geto. warm breath fanning against your earlobe before he playfully licks the side of your ear only to nibble on it to hide his moans.

“…mhm..baby…baby,” he grunts, grabbing your hips to rock against him. gojo moans, melodically so, he’s practically jumping against you, you’re taking both of them and you bite down on your lip. geto leans back and watches the view of you riding him while getting inches from behind. “s-still gotta finish, ‘m a little sensitive still.”

“ya think satoru should finish, princess? he looks like he’s about to cry,” geto sneers, his gaze was stoic as ever, he raises his head, a meaningless head tilt at you, locking eye contact and he’s so big.

gojo’s fingertips dig into the fat of your ass, spanking it and spanking it — the recoil turning him on even more and he just can’t shut up. babbling nonsense, his bottom lip pokes out as he feels himself grow hotter, immense pressure building up as he was rutting himself against you, geto as the same time.

tag team.

“n-no.” you giggled, being caught by surprise once gojo wraps his arms around you — body to body, his cold breath danced against your skin after each jittery pant of desperation.

geto only laughs at your answer, watching you keep up a somewhat reasonable pace with your hips, you lightly shove geto down against his back, swerving yourself against him, and he’s stretching you fully. “he’s been too bratty.”

damn…

“eh?! y-you guys are fuckin' bullies…”

he spasms, his pink-reddened lip quivers, glancing down to see your pussy getting devoured by two thick cocks. you couldn’t really talk because you were moaning just as much as gojo, he’s so close to you, his scent, his loud scent that never failed to make you dizzy, “shit, i-i can’t.”

“just kidding, you can cum,” you whimpered, feeling gojo suddenly reach down to squeeze your pussy — kissing it with a few spanks from his hand.

your legs clench and tremble, and he’s so relieved. poor baby, he’s all shaky, it’s almost like he’s the girl.

gojo’s sputtering out incoherent, “thankyouthankyou,” ‘s into your neck repeatedly, taking a moment to swallow before he’s shooting inside your clenching hole, his entire body locks and tenses.

his jaw mimickes the same and his orgasm was soooo loud.

“f-fuck, take it all for me. been savin' it for so long…”

it’s sticky and slimy — gojo’s cum spills out, and he pouts once he pauses, watching it pour out only to stuff his dick back in, plugging it in so it never leaves.

he swipes his thumb against his own created mess and moans. “phew shit... ‘m gonna have dreams about this, ‘bout your nasty pussy soakin' up my c-cum.”

it continues for hours and hours, actually let’s not exaggerate — half an hour.

a good half an hour of you being absolutely stuffed, fucked stupid with your pretty doe eyes staring into space, jaw dead open and legs feeling virtually nonexistent. they made you cum, cream…about at least a dozen times.

you were so conflicted, geto’s praising you, showering you with compliments in that sweet low voice meanwhile — gojo’s degrading you now after getting over his impactful orgasm, he’s so mean.

he grows a liking to spanking your pussy, telling you no, those single two letter words that never fails to make you pout and whine.

“this is so much better than culinary.” geto sighs, and he’s got you currently pressed up against his chest — full nelson, an arm swiftly and safely locked around your neck and your legs were all spread. you looked so stupid, eyes protruding at the position, your legs being just barely over your legs.

“she’s a good cook but an even better squirter,” gojo stares at you, taking full view of your cunt. it’s just spitting out gibberish, squelches…

geto’s got your body swinging and swaying against his own — you’re being stretched all the way out in more ways than one, you didn’t know you were this flexible. “one more, babe. show us your cute little velocity.”

“don’t be shy, you’ve made such a mess for us already,” geto eggs on, peppering your neck with kisses, your head’s spinning and everything feels so good. you can hear your heart pounding and thrashing out of your ears. “relax for me. yeah, like that. it’s okay…it’s okay gorgeous.”

geto’s words made you throb — his cock pulsed inside of you, so deep it makes you suck and kiss your teeth in envy. the curve of his dick hits and raptures against you, dragging out a sweet moan from your spit-glossed lips. “let me make you cream again. easy, girl..”

so much pressure rises and builds up, your head just smacks against geto. eyes subtlety rolling back to where you’re seeing straight black. “f-fuckkk. s-sugu.”

“give it to us, c'mon.” gojo whispers, he starts to maneuver circles against your clit, and since the position in you were in didn’t allow you to close your legs, you just jolted, panting and huffing out irregular breaths. “so sensitive, good girl. ‘s okay. be messy. i’ll clean ya up.”

once you squirt — it shoots out with such force, gojo’s in awe, a stupid grin plasters on his face before he slides a thumb inside your pussy that’s already being stuffed by geto’s lengthy dick. “ooooh.”

geto’s different when it came to his loads, it shot out hefty splotches, painting your insides white to where you’re chewing on invisible words, invisble moans.

he makes the both of you grow quiet so you can hear, himself shooting a filthy sticky load inside, he’s panting himself, sweat raced down the side of his head as he’s catching his breath. the way he used two fingers to pry your pussy open, showing gojo his own cum pour out of you — it’s racing down your folds as if it was in a contest.

“good…girl. f-fuck.” he says, his tone a bit drowsy.

“someone’s tired,” gojo teases, pulling you into a kiss. you moaned, kissing back. still on geto’s lap, he’s still got your legs spread open for him, but he takes you out of the head lock from full nelson, allowing your legs to breathe.

gojo’s tongue drags everywhere on your mouth, he was a sloppy kisser and wasn’t ashamed. he was obsessed with your saliva - moaning as you ran a finger down his toned biceps flexing underneath his tank.

you pull away after a whine, gasping for air only to fall back on geto’s chest, never in a million years thinking you’d screw your two culinary peers.

“we…we should do this again,” gojo sighs, swiping his hand across his sweaty forehead.

geto narrows his brows, still fucked out himself. “you weren’t even invited.”

“y-yeah? well i still made her cream more than you. let’s be honest, suguru. i won, heh.”

“you moan like a woman, just stop talking.”

“….”

then you remembered why, the constant bickering amongst the two of them — so damn annoying. but sexy, fighting over you and everything. gojo leans down, softly nibbling on your thighs. geto smiles, moving close to lick a stripe up your tummy as if your body was coated in nothing but sweets.

“f-fuck.” you’d pant, gojo’s tongue sliding between the crevices of your thighs now, running a finger down your sloppy pussy.

“we aren’t done with you, girl,” geto mutters, his hair strands tickle against your skin before he sits up — tapping a thumb against your cheek before smiling, poking his dick in hand against your lips, smearing it with your own spit. “open that mouth. wanna give you a treat. ‘s got so much vanilla waitin' just for you to swallow.”

maybe culinary wasn’t so bad after all..

[godslino]

PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3

“Dude, I think it’s clean.”

Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?

“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”

That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.

“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”

“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”

“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”

“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.

He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.

“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”

Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.

🏠

The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.

“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.

“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.

“You look hot.”

“I look hot.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”

“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.

“Wait, what the f—”

“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”

Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.

“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”

Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”

The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.

“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.

“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.

Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.

He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.

With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.

“Min? What’d you say?”

Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.

By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.

“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.

A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”

Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.

But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.

“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.

Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”

“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”

“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.

“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.

Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.

“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”

“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.

It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.

He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“What? No—I meant some water.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.

Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”

“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”

Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.

“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.

This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.

This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.

Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.

“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.

Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.

He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.

“Okay.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”

The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.

Y/N [10:34am]

so

when do you want to do that date?

🏠

Are candles too much?

Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.

He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.

Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.

But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.

He needs to find another stain to scrub.

By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.

One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.

(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)

He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.

He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.

As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.

“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.

“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.

I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.

Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.

Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.

“How are your cats doing?”

Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.

“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.

It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.

“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.

“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”

Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.

“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.

Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”

“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”

Oh.

Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?

You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.

Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.

“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.

His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.

“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”

Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.

“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.

“…Oh.”

Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.

He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.

It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!

At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.

Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.

“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”

Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”

The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”

You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.

“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.

Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”

You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.

“Min! Can we play Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”

“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.

“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.

“We make up our own rules.”

The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.

Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”

He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.

Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.

“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”

He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.

“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”

“And if the tower falls…?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”

Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”

Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.

“Deal.”

“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.

The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.

“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”

“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”

“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”

“One question at a time, princess.”

He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.

“What’s one thing you regret?”

“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”

Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?

“Why?” He chances.

“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.

You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”

Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.

“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”

Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.

You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”

Wait, what?

Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.

Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”

“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”

I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.

“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”

Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.

Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”

“You didn’t pull out a piece.”

He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”

Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”

The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.

Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”

Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.

“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.

There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.

He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.

After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”

Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.

“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”

“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.

🏠

In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,

“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.

He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.

Yang Jeongin Fanclub

jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]

chan: AWWWWWWW

jiwoo: i’m gonna cry

changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?

hyunjin: FINALLY

hyunjin: wait

hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]

© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.

[adventuringblind]

charles having a baby fever

Father Material

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genre: fluff but also kinda smutty

Request: I saw this and my brain immediately went down the gutter. I appreciate you for this request 🙏 also my requests are open so send me things

Summary: Charles gets a case of baby fever and you're willing to indulge him ;)

Warnings: sexual themes ahead, not the whole thing but it's definitely in there. Talks of pregnancy.

Notes: I would be lying if I said I'm not a hoe for this man. Written in third person.

Masterlist

The following media is not intended for anyone below the age of 18. If your are under that, please do not interact with this post.

Charles had managed to take notice of every child in the paddock that day.

He'd recently been noticing small things. Things like baby clothes, small children, family interactions.

He'd watched Sergio and Kevin with their kids. Seb had brought his family around. It was starting to get to him.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want kids. Starting a family was always a dream of his. Something him and his wife talked about often. They just hadn't really tried for a baby.

He knew she was at their house. Waiting for him to come home with groceries. It felt peaceful compared to the life they lived during race season.

As he walked, he could pick out every family. Kids bundled up in their winter clothes. Adults holding them upright so they don't slip and fall.

He could hardly take it. He's never walked home so fast in his life.

She was in the kitchen when he appeared behind her in the doorway. She was prepping to make dinner.

Charles looked disheveled, out of breath. She was concerned and yet simultaneously turned on by his appearance.

"Are you alright?" She asked. Charles quickly came back to his senses. Dropped the bass on the floor and wrapped her in a hug.

"We should have a baby." He was looking directly into her eyes. His face completely straight.

She was taken off guard for a moment. Then, realizing the proposal, she started excitedly shaking her head.

Charles was waiting no time. Vigorously kissing her lips. Heavy but passionate.

She was giggling at him. "What are you laughing at?" He asked as he swiftly picked her up and set her on the counter.

"Nothing, I just find you adorable."

He was mumbling French into her collarbone and Italian into her chest. Letting his hands roam her body freely.

"You are so beautiful. Soon, you will become a goddess. Pregnant with our child." He cradled her face in his hands.

"Charles I swear if you don't stop teasing-" She couldn't get any farther as Charles practically ripped her clothes off. Now left in only her underwear.

He ran his fingers lightly across her now bare skin. Memorizing the feeling. Paying attention to the way she reacted to his touch.

His shirt and jeans were next. His lips only breaking away from her for a second. Her fingers begin tracing every line on his body. The way his chest was rising and falling in rapid succession.

“Mon Amour, shall we start here, then maybe move to the couch, then into the bedroom.” He’s voice is dripping with need. He is going to take her on every piece of furniture even if it takes all night.

Her brain was already turned off. The act of thinking to much with the feeling of his fingers worshiping her. She practically fell into him, humming her approval.

Charles lifted her for a second, her only remaining garment now tossed aside.

Then he took her on the counter, then again on the chair, the dining room table and the couch. Finally they made it to the bed where Charles made love to her softly. Her body trembling with every ministration.

Charles is the ‘king of aftercare’ as she likes to call him. Something he occasionally gloated about. Much to Pierre's dismay.

He grabbed a wet rag and a cup of water. Using the rag to clean off the bodily fluids that covered both of them.

She curled her body into Charles. Her head rested on his chest.

"I think you'll make a great dad." She mumbles. Charles laughs at the notion.

"Why do you think that Mon chère?"

"You just seem like father material, ya know."

"Guess I should learn some dad joke then." The two were both laughing now.

Basking in eachothers presence. Fantasizing about what life will be like with a growing family.

[vampirehoon]

bathroom tiles ࿔*࿐⋆

w.c. ⟢ 1.4k

pairing ⟢ yeonjun x afab!reader

synopsis ⟢ a party in which you dragged your other half, yeonjun, and find yourself finding peace and quiet in a bathroom stall. yeonjun finds you after not seeing you since you went off. here you and yeonjun are, on the bathroom tiles - confessing how much you enjoy spending tonight with each other.

genre ⟢ best friends to lovers (fluff)

a/n ⟢ hi! this is a story i had prepared for if i got my tumblr account started and it has! (ty, i’m never gonna stop thanking) and i hope whoever read this, they will enjoy it. <3

⋆ ·˚ ༘ *

choi yeonjun hated parties.

but because of your popularity of getting invitations, he was always dragged to them. of course he never complained but after every single one, he would express his pure hatred for them walking home together.

you promised that this one would be different, and yeonjun hoped you were right.

he always liked walking to the parties; partially because the parties are always close by but also it gives him time to speak with you clearly before having to yell at each other through the blasting (horribly remixed) music.

“whose party did you say this was?”

“a girl in my biology class?”

he looks at you, unimpressed.

“y/n, do you even know her name?”

“no.”

yeonjun scoffs, and you can’t help but laugh at his disappointment.

“but this party promised good service” you attempt to defend your decision.

yeonjun doesn’t bother responding as you two get to the beginning of the stairs that lead to the party doors.

the music is already giving him a headache, he takes your hand.

“why don’t we have our own party?” he invites you two to get out of this party.

“yeonjun, I promised people I'd be here.”

“break a promise for once.” he begs.

“nice try.” you grip yeonjuns hand and haul him up the stairs to enter the party.

yeonjun and you enter the doors and are immediately taken back. the whole gym floor is covered by students in bright outfits. yeonjun’s black tux and your deep blue dress are giving bridesmaid and groom-man.

by the squeeze of yeonjun’s hand, you know he’s not into this.

“food will make you happier.” you say to yeonjun.

a mumble escapes his mouth as you bring him to the food table. sparkling cupcakes and a chocolate fountain catch your attention first.

yeonjun sees you testing out the chocolate fountain. you cover a marshmallow and bite it. it’s so good!

you can’t enjoy your marshmallow chocolate sensation when yeonjuns thumb rubs the side of your lip.

his furrowed eyebrows made you laugh.

“don’t have too much fun.” he cleans your chocolate on your lips and looks into your eyes.

“well, you’ll realize it’s worth it,” you grab a marshmallow, coat it, and bring it to yeonjun lips. “when you have it yourself.”

yeonjun knew you’d shove it in his mouth if he didn’t accept it, so he opens his mouth and took it.

you watch him closely.

his puffy cheeks were adorable as he enjoyed the marshmallow. you knew he was resisting to admit it was good when his lips shook away a small smile.

“it’s kind of worth it-“

“yeonjun!” you swat his arm, he breaks out in a laugh.

“okay, it’s worth it.”

“you’re being annoying tonight.”

he sighs. “it’s annoying you brought me.”

you two eat a few more marshmallows and then a song you two know well turns on.

“oh?” you look at the dance floor.

yeonjun wipes his hands and looks over also.

“do you want to?” you look at yeonjun.

he meets your eyes with a nod.

you two travel to the dance floor, the music getting louder.

he first dances small and when you begin doing a ridiculous sprinkler. his laughs become music to your ears.

both of you laugh and smile while dancing. he looks at you everytime the song increases in bass.

maybe even 2 minutes in the song you pause. yeonjun dances in front of you without noticing.

the headaches that feel like your brain is bruised, you have only ever heard about from yeonjun, is happening to you. i need to go somewhere quiet, you thought.

“yeonjun, i’ll be back.” you yell.

yeonjun raises his eyebrows.

“bathroom!” you yell.

he gives you a thumbs up.

through the crowd you exit, your headache grows more. you hit the door with your arm and then finally get out into the hall.

yeonjun found no reason to stay dancing so he returned to the snack table. drinking a sweet drink as he waits for you to return.

pounding, your head is pounding. the music was further away as you went down the bathroom stalls. you open the last door and rest on the wall to rub your forehead.

5 minutes, and yeonjun was just by himself. he wondered if you left. yeonjun first decides to check the bathroom.

as he approaches he’s weary to enter the girls bathroom but knew he needed to see if you were in there.

a creek in the door, he pops his head in first. surprisingly, this bathroom was dim. most likely from the bright energy consuming party, yeonjun thought.

he enters and looks down the bathroom stalls.

“y/n?” he first whispers.

he kneels down to see if he can see anything and when he sees the deep blue dress of yours, he heads to the stall.

yeonjun knocks.

“y/n?”

you stood up to open the stall door. yeonjun’s hand stayed in the air from knocking and dropped when you gesture for him to enter.

“why are you here?” “did you go to the bathroom?”

“no.” you sit back in your original spot and yeonjun finds a place in front of you.

resting on the back of the wall, yeonjun asks another question.

“why did you stay in here?”

“the music was killing me. i had to leave.”

“we could have ditched together,”

“but you were having fun..”

he scoffs which grabs your attention.

“fun? i was having fun with you.” “i stopped dancing after you left.”

you don’t say anything, just thinking.

“sorry.” you say.

“what for?”

“this whole party. i’ve never asked you if you want to go or if you like coming to them with me.”

yeonjun rests on the wall, his suit flowing over him. you look at his tie and he adjusts it.

“i don’t mind,” yeonjun confesses.

you furrow your eyebrows. yeonjun has only ever told you how much he hates them.

“we are talking about parties yeonjun?” you ask, in case he’s talking about something else.

“yeah i know.”

yeonjun’s eyes meet yours. he looks at you for a second before speaking again.

“of course i hate them, but spending time with you is so fun.”

“so i don’t mind them.”

you swear he looks like a dream. his suit fit him well and looked very attractive on him. you wonder if it’s because of the headache you are feeling this way.

yeonjun laughs under his breath which interrupts your thoughts. you look at yeonjun, and he sighs.

“you’re not falling for me right?”

you burn up instantly, pink cheeks you attempt to cover.

“what! no!”

“i’m teasing.”

his soft smile grows as his eyes move to the ground. could he read your thoughts? you want to say something but the music is heard through the walls again.

a faint popular love song.

you adore this certain song and it always makes you think of an ideal kiss with someone in your fantasies.

you sigh, fixing your dress “if only my headache went away, then we could return to the dance floor”

“why?”

“so we could, at least, remember tonight..”

“i mean we still can.”

you look up at him and meet his eyes.

the bathroom becomes suffocating, you feel your heart race as yeonjun looks into your eyes. reading your exact thoughts.

as cliché as a romance movie, time slows down in favor of the tension between you two. he’s leaning into you slowly with the chorus of the song leading up.

as he sits up and makes his way to you, his hands crawl on the tile and stop right next to your hands.

yeonjun’s right there. so close that you could count how many eyelashes he has.

“may i?” yeonjun asks, just in case you don’t want this.

but you want this.

“yes.”

the way his lips fit yours, and his hold on your lips made your body go weak. your hands go to his face, cupping him to deepen the kiss.

his hands are comfortably holding your waist. his fingers tickle you as he brings you closer to him.

and to make it better, the song just made the kiss last forever. the passion between you two grows with the flow in the song.

you would have never expected to kiss yeonjun, let alone make out with him.. in a bathroom. this party turned out better than yeonjun anticipated.

𓉸ྀི ©vampirehoon

[gortashs-skidmark]

There are many brilliant ideas about Gortash and Durge. I would like to point some out below. Not all are mine.

HEADCANONS -

!! Some bulletpoints were taken from sources, from Gortash Fanficition. I have highlight the ones I know I got from fanfiction, I’ve linked all original source posts !! READ PLS !!

!! I do not want to be a plagiarist! if it's your fanfic, pls let me know if it makes you uncomfortable and I will remove it !!

*Orange means it's canon

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The way Durge and Gortash know their doom is inevitable, but it was nice while it lasted trope.

<3

Durge’s Prayers to Bhaal for forgiveness: Every time durgetash do the nasty, Durge whispers little prayer of forgiveness to their god.

<3 found reference!

Durge is the “good child” out of Bhaal’s children. Which means they have an image to keep up, and keep up with Bhaal’s plans. They’re under constant stress and fear from their father. Treating him like a father and God gets tough.

<3

Gale’s line “with you, I forget my goddess” I love the idea of applying that to Durgetash: “You scare me. You make me feel like an individual, not like the spawn I am destined to be. I should not see you as an equal or take your companionship. But when I’m with you, I forget my god.” Something along those lines.

<3 found reference!

Durge is a fierce maniac but in no way competitive. I think there’s a laziness Durge and Gortash share. Unkempt. Uninterested in competition. Gortash just makes them an employee instead of killing them.

I love the idea Ketheric is just done with their bs. They’re two reasonable individuals but little giggly school girls in love at a catholic boarding house.

This headcanon is shared across Durge lovers! I will add one example but it is not unknown across the community!

<3 example!

Durge has personality. Scared to lose the rest of themself but scared to indulge when they’re with Enver. On one hand- handsome tyrant who wants to rules the world with them and peepaw. The other- fulfilling the worlds suffering for their father. Do they want either outcome. Durge’s neutral is to feel bittersweet or somber. (Or carnal damning lust)

When Durge has all those holes poked in their brain, and they’re with their travelling companions. They get nauseous after battle, they gotta sit down for a few. Sickened with themselves, or, feeling too much lust at once. Gale doesn’t ask why they need a rest, his knees need a break.

Durge has unusually soft spots on their skin. Made from Bhaal’s balls. Or from Bhaal’s inner arms, like the inner bicep or forearm. Soft and plush, possibly looser, where the skin is tougher. “He made me in his own image” fucked up kinda stuff.

Durge doesn’t harm Gortash. “When I like something I keep it good condition, I cherish it, I hone it, I keep it polished”

Durge is a clean person. Sloppy perhaps but their room is made up of minimalist decorations. A bookshelf and a small desk. They sleep on the softest fluffiest bed, anything to try and sleep as an insomniac. Bottles of empty angelic sleeping potions around the bed and on the side tables. They make their room up themselves. Some part of them wished they could share as much personality as their room does, so openly.

Durge has a hobby. Only hinted to those who are close. Cooking, cleaning, knitting, whatever you like. But it’s not something they share so much. They might comment on the poor stitching quality at Carmen’s Garms. Or how the fishermen on the docks will lie about the cod being sea bass, only a real cook would know.

Durge did/does temple services. I think they said that in the game. Lead everything. But also the Bhaalists are LAZY AS FUCK. And the Bhaalspawn spends hours cleaning the alter and other parts of the temple. The blood and guts and possible diseases?? Bhaalists def die off from blood diseases.

Being a Bhaalist means that it’s about the number of kills and the suffering of their victims, something Sarevok prefaced in game. Durge takes a different stance, placebo-ing themselves so they only kill a small number to last for awhile without blacking out and losing control. Like “I killed them in a manner I haven’t before- I’ll take satisfaction in their unique death more than usual”- spiraling and trying to make up for their guilt. OCD behavior.

Sarevok and Durge are toxic besties. Sarevok hates Durge but Durge comes back bc they’re lonely and need friends to relate to. Until Gortash.

Durge takes a liking to the Intellect Devourers before their fall- that special one named “Us”. Their brief interaction on the Nautiloid Ship when they lose their memories, Us was something they felt connected to. Adored it like a puppy. They feel a sense of incredible loss when they wake up on the beach without Us. But why? It’s a nasty brain with scaly claws, they shouldn’t feel sad.

[fredwkong]

Genie: Pete’s Wishes

Pete was a little 20-year-old nerd who had just started interning for a big securities firm. He didn’t top 5’4”, even the extra-small button-up shirts looked baggy on his skinny body, and he seemed even smaller because of his habitual slouching posture. At his first day at work, his new boss yelled at him, causing him to have a panic attack in the bathroom.

That evening, he walked by a thrift store and decided to go in. He wasn’t making much money as an intern, but he wanted to buy something small to cheer himself up. He spotted a traditional brass lamp on the shelf, the kind that genies sometimes come out of. At $20, it was a bit pricey for a thrift store, but Pete grabbed it anyway. It would make a cool conversation piece, if nothing else.

Once he got home, Pete started trying to clean the lamp, which caused it to begin glowing and convulsing until a cloud of smoke billowed out. As the smoke dissipated, it revealed an absolute muscle man of a genie. He wore tiny daisy dukes on his striated thighs, along with a top cropped just above his big, dark nipples. The genie stroked his finely cropped beard as he looked down at Pete.

“So, babe, here’s the deal,” said the genie. “You make the wishes, and I’ll turn them up to eleven.” He looked over Pete’s tiny body and cringing posture again, and curled his lip. “And girl, let’s make those wishes count. We have a lot of work to do here.”

“Um, uh.” The only thing in Pete’s head was the moment earlier that day when his boss had yelled at him. “I… wish I was more assertive?”

The genie smirked. “Good idea.” With a snap of his fingers, the genie filled the room with purple smoke. As Pete inhaled it, he felt like it shot right up into his brain, filling in spaces he hadn’t known were there. He suddenly realised that the way to get ahead in life was to be decisive and commanding. His posture uncurled, and his gaze became sharper. No one was ever going to overlook him or yell at him again.

The smoke also embedded itself in his throat, and he coughed, letting out a much deeper, more resonant sound than he had been capable of before. He now had a thunderous bass voice, a sound that was impossible for anyone to ignore.

Pete met the genie’s eyes for the first time. “Thanks,” he thundered, his new voice incapable of whispering.

The genie gave him an ironic salute. “Come back tomorrow for another wish, babe.”

The next day, no one was able to ignore Pete. He walked with power in spite of his tiny body, and nobody could ignore him when he spoke up to his boss in a meeting in his booming new voice. However, with his tiny stature and ill-fitting suit, they laughed off his advice. When he got home, Pete summoned the genie again, filled with righteous rage.

“Genie,” he roared, “I wish I had the cash to really show up my coworkers.”

“On it, babe,” said the genie, and snapped his fingers. It seemed for an instant as if nothing had changed. Then Pete got a notification on his phone. “You should check that.”

Pete had received an email from someone who said they were his secretary, informing him that his company had closed a deal to trade stocks for a multibillionaire client. Pete was a high-powered stockbroker. As he saw the number of zeroes on his contract, he felt another rush of knowledge into his mind. He knew exactly how to play the market, buying and selling to make sure that he and his clients ended every day with more money than they started with. He wrote a terse reply to his secretary:

“Understood. See you tomorrow. Peters.”

For a moment, he wondered why he had written that name. His name was… Peters, of course. Just like the exclusive boarding school where he’d first started day trading, he still preferred to go by his surname, but kept it casual by dropping any honourific.

“Enjoy those millions, darling,” said the genie, vanishing back into his lamp.

The next day was an exhausting one for Peters. He had the money, he was the boss, and he had an assertive attitude and booming voice, but he was still a shrimpy kid in his early 20s. Clients raised their eyebrows when a short young guy walked into the boardroom to present, and the secretaries, most of whom were older than him, seemed to resent Peters’ success and advantages.

When he summoned the genie, Peters was ready with the wish he had been thinking about all day. “I wish I was truly impressive.”

The genie grinned wide. “Absolutely, master,” he said, and snapped his fingers again. Another thick cloud of purple smoke emerged from the lamp, and this time it cocooned Peters’ entire body. He felt his clothes dissolve, leaving him naked. As he inhaled the smoke, Peters felt years of experience fill his mind. His already deep and assertive voice dropped a few more steps, gaining an imposing rasp.

As the smoke sank into Peters’ skin, he transformed. His black hair went grey, styling itself into a precise, stylish look. His face aged until he looked like a handsome man in his late 40s, with piercing eyes and a stylish grey beard. His whole body filled out as his height shot past 6 feet, bulked up with perfectly maintained muscle. His little cock thickened and lengthened as his pubes lightened to grey, becoming an impressive third leg with churning balls to match. Finally, the last of the smoke coalesced into a scattering of grey hair over his chest, back, and legs, and an immaculate blue suit.

Mr. Peters, the 49-year-old stockbroker, nodded to the genie. “Good work,” he rumbled, testing out the sound of his new, even more thunderous voice.

“Oh, I’m not done yet, master,” the genie purred, and clapped. The hotel room Mr. Peters had moved to with his newfound millions the previous night was immediately replaced with a huge, well-appointed penthouse. Instinctively, Mr. Peters moved to the humidor he kept next to the genie’s lamp. He expertly trimmed and lit a cigar, enjoying the luxurious flavour.

The genie looked him and the penthouse over one more time, and nodded. “See you tomorrow, sir,” he cooed, and blew a kiss to Mr. Peters as he vanished.

The next day, Mr. Peters was on fire. He closed several deals for his company, making himself and his clients even more money, and got taken out for dinner by the director of a competing corporation attempting to headhunt him. The power got him hard, and he was pent-up with a raging boner by the time he got home to make his wish.

“I don’t have time for any dating,” he told the genie brusquely. “I wish for a husband to fuck right now.”

“Order up,” the genie said, laughing, and snapped his fingers.

On the street outside, Larsen was looking for his friend Pete. They had been good school friends, both being little nerds, but Pete had suddenly stopped answering his messages a few days ago, and then seemed to have been scrubbed from existence. No one else remembered him, and people kept mentioning someone named Mr. Peters instead!

Just as Larsen was about to ask one of the building’s valet parking attendants if she knew a Pete living at this address, he felt a tug, as if someone had grabbed him around his belly, and he was suddenly in a dimly lit room. Outside the window was an exquisite view of the city, while inside of the room was a stern-looking man in a suit alongside a dark-skinned man dressed like a slutty himbo.

As the genie continued his work, Larsen became surrounded by a cloud of pink smoke. His muscles grew, his skin became porcelain smooth, and everything about him became classically handsome, like a perfect statue of a man. He grew to a respectable height, still shorter than Mr. Peters, and his dick swelled up, but not quite as large either. Instead, his ass grew into a pair of fuckable, jiggly globes that would be visible no matter what he wore.

The last of the pink smoke shot up Larsen’s nose and into his brain, rewiring him into a dumb himbo slut. Lars had been a German model until Mr. Peters had approached him after a show and offered to give him a luxurious life as his arm candy husband. They had a good enough relationship, and Mr. Peters—Sir—was a good, dominant Daddy, which Lars liked. What made their marriage really special, though, was that while Sir was at work, Lars went and picked up boys for the two of them to share. It was the only way he could get enough fucking during the day to keep up with his unbelievable sex drive.

“Guten Abend, Daddy,” Lars said, as the genie released him. “The boys are waiting in the second bedroom for us.” He stepped up in front of Mr. Peters and undid his tie and top button before Mr. Peters grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him forcefully. A moment later, Lars led Mr. Peters out of the room and to the designated sex den, his bared dick leading the way.

The genie watched them leave. If he stayed any longer, the former Pete was likely to ask for something boring and unsexy like world domination, so it was probably time for him to put his lamp in the gym bag of one of the horny himbos Lars and Mr. Peters were fucking.

Idea with assistance from a bot of my creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

[vampykween]

hi mic :D

i just read your toxic!husband!ghost fics and would like to ask if u could write one where the reader just gives up on their relationship, maybe they finally file for divorce?

loved your writing btw! ♡

hi hi! thank u! i’m so glad y’all are enjoying toxichusband!ghost hehe

i hope i did your idea justice. i have a problem with just letting asks get away from me oops! but kiss ur brain for this idea cause i loved this! i get way too excited writing angsty stuff

you would realize you’ve had enough on the most random of days. after looking after your kids all day and finally getting your house cleaned, laundry all done. simon would come home and not even stop to greet you. he instantly strips from his fatigues and tosses them somewhere on the couch, turns on the tv to watch the game, and kicks up his feet and perches them on the clean coffee table. just the sight of him makes your blood boil. you make a mental note right then to talk to a divorce lawyer cause jesus you couldn’t take anymore of this.

you’ve been agonizing over doing this for the past week. hidden in your nightstand drawer was an envelope that was going to change your life forever, and not just yours, your children’s lives too. that thought has stifled your desire for a divorce just ever so slightly, as much as you can’t take a loveless marriage anymore you know your kids will be hurt by this.

you and simon are lounging in your bed and you’re losing your edge to serve him the papers. you’re worn out from cooking dinner and doing the usual nighttime routine with the kids. you suck in a deep breath and remind yourself that this decision is for the best; you don’t deserve to be chained down by someone who won’t appreciate you.

“simon…”

“yeah?” he doesn’t look up from whatever he’s engrossed in on his phone and you roll your eyes exasperatedly. you’re swiftly reminded why you’re in this position.

“i- um, we need to talk.” god your palms were sweaty and your heart was hammering in your chest. why was this so much harder than you thought it would be. simon still doesn’t give you his attention and you figure you should just rip the bandaid off already.

your shaky hands open the nightstand drawer and fish out the large yellow envelope you’ve been holding onto for the past week. you nudge his shoulder with enough force to get him to look up at you, and shove the envelope in his now free hand.

he quirks an eyebrow at you curiously, “the hell is this?”

you gulp painfully and whisper at him to just open it. his large digits tear open the paper easily and as he’s scanning through the lengthy paper, you can see it clear on his face the moment he realizes what’s happening. he turns his body fully towards yours and you can see the fury in his eyes.

“have you lost your fuckin’ head. why on earth would ya want a divorce?” the bass in your husband’s voice rattles his words around in your head, simon doesn’t yell often, but god do you hate it when he does.

“simon, i just can’t anymore.” his eyes bulge incredulously at your words, but you ignore his idiotic look and continue. “i’m constantly bending over backwards to do everything for this family and you don’t even appreciate it. hell it doesn’t feel like you love me at all.”

“fuckin’ hell. you think you’re the only one putting in work for this family. what do you think i’m doing all day? and when i’m deployed? ya think i’m just fuckin’ around for fun?”

“oh my- are you serious?! of course i know that you work hard to provide for this family. did you even listen to a word i just said? i have to nag you to clean, to do laundry, to stop giving the kids all the things i tell them they can’t have. i have to literally beg you to kiss me and take me on dates! you never tell me you love me anymore simon!”

the rage behind simon’s eyes dims and he grasps both your hands in his. “love. baby, please you can’t leave me. you’re right, you do so much for us all and i know im shit about saying thank you, but who’s going to do all the stuff ya do if you leave?”

your face starts to grow hot as you begin to boil over with anger. you rip your hands from his hold forcibly. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! you can’t even convince me to stay because you love me. you want me here so i can do everything for you. you know what? fuck you! i’m so sorry your poor mommy is gone and you need someone to fill that void, and i was stupid enough to play that role for this long, but i’m not doing it anymore.”

“oh you’re a fuckin’ cunt for that. bringing up my mum, you’re fucked in the head!” simon barks at you. you should feel bad, it was a low blow, but you couldn’t care less.

you scramble out of the bed, storming around the room looking for a pen. you’re throwing open drawers with so much force they’re just a hair from ripping straight out. when you eventually find one, you thrust it into simon’s large hand.

“don’t fucking care. you’re an absolute piece of shit. sign the fucking papers, please, so i no longer have to hold back the urge to kill you with my bare hands.”

“what about the kids? you’re just gonna take them away from me?! if you do, i’ll spend every day trying to remind them they’ve got a right bitch for a mum,” simon sneers at you.

all the love you had for simon has vanished, but hearing him say he’d spend eternity making sure your kids hated you? that tore your heart in two. your throat begins to constrict as tears begin to build behind your eyes. you really didn’t want to cry in front of him, but you were suddenly hit with the realization that the life you dreamed of was never going to be real.

you think back to your wedding day, your husband had written the most beautiful vows, which shocked you as you hadn’t expected him to be able to express his love for you that way. he had promised to always make you feel like you deserved the world. suddenly you woke up one day and the man you once loved was gone, replaced by a shitty, co-dependent, workaholic who sucked out all the life in you.

in this moment, you simply prayed that one day, you wouldn’t feel like every choice you made lead to this terrible life you have now.

[katebishopshands]

One shots!!

💥= smut, ✨= fluff

Red Wine Supernova💥

Kate Bishop/Reader

Request

You’re not one for clubs. They’re hot, sweaty and too loud most of the time. You’re not one for clubs, until a pretty stranger catches your eye from across the dance floor.

Call it What you Want✨💥

Kate Bishop/Magic user!Reader

Request

After a long day of missions, you want to sit down and relax with your girlfriend, but Kate has other plans.

I Can See You ✨

Kate Bishop/Spidergirl!reader,Training edition!

Request

Trying to hide a relationship from an entire team of superheroes is hard, but it gets ten times harder when you're asked to spar with your girlfriend as a punishment for being distracted.

Caught in the Web✨

Kate Bishop/Spidergirl!reader

Request

a year ago you were bit by a radioactive spider and granted power beyond your wildest imagination. Now a year later, bruised and bloody from a fight all you want to do is get back to your apartment, clean up and relax but your plans are thwarted when a certain archer is standing in your bedroom.

A Nonsense Christmas✨💥

Kate Bishop/reader

After not seeing Kate for some time, she invited you over to her place for some Christmas decorating.

You Can See Me as a Secret Mission 💥

Enemies to Lovers!Kate Bishop/Reader

When paired up with Kate on a mission, playing the roles of a young millionaire and her fiancée, emotions get mixed into the mission and things get complicated

Simmer Down and Pucker Up💥

Kate Bishop/Reader

Kate entertains you in her apartment after leaving a Bishop Security holiday party, during which you find out she’s plays the bass, proving that she really is good with her fingers ;)

KILLSHOT💥

Kate Bishop/Reader

Things with Kate are going really well, or at least you thought they were. She’s kind, funny, caring, everything you’d want to commit to. What happens when a picture you find while internet stalking changes your whole perception of her?

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶ ➴➵➶➴➴➵➶

SERIES

But I’m a Cheerleader ! !✨💥

Cheerleader! Kate Bishop/Reader

Enemies to lovers

You’re rivals, always have been and always will be. When the competition for the coveted spirit stick gets heated between your team and Kates team, The Archers, you discover something. You want your rival, The Archers cheer captain, Kate Bishop, to fuck your brains out.

• Part 1

• Part 2

• Part 3

• Part 4

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➴➵➶

BLURBS

“Can you watch my girlfriend” with Kate

Kate w/puppy dog eyes

Kate who Manhandles you a little

Kates strap 💥

At home with Kate

Fem/masc balance Kate

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 3: louder than hell.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - living with eddie continues to have its ups and downs, but maybe you two can find an understanding. or, maybe not.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 5.3k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - mentions/description of deceased parents, descriptions of drug use/smoking, mentions/description of hard drug abuse and overdose, ridiculous sibling arguments, fluff and wholesomeness and excessive transcription of scenes from a real episode of the partridge family

You groaned as you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, a thin sheen of sweat having formed from all the effort you’d been putting into trying to clean your room.

Eddie had all but trashed the place, random junk all over every surface; he seemed to have a habit of setting something down the first spot he could find when he was done and just leaving it there.  When you told him to clean up, he usually ignored you— or pretended not to hear you since he either had headphones on to listen to a tape or was practicing his deafening guitar— so you’d gotten into a habit of doing it yourself.  You were on your knees on the ground now, trying to separate the dirty clothes, unfinished homework, and trash into three different piles.

“Liquor store receipt, trash,” you mumbled to yourself.  “First page of an essay about… General Custer?  Homework.  I mean, kind of trash but… technically homework.”

You made your way around the room, eventually getting to clear off your desk and vanity; of course, when he got home from Hellfire, you were doing the one thing you didn’t want him to catch you doing— thinning out the shelf of albums.  You were in the middle of pulling one of his records out when he slammed his hand over it to push it back in.  “Hey!” he yelped, glaring at you.  “Don’t touch my stuff!”

“My room, my stuff,” you replied, trying to pull another record out, but he grabbed your hand this time which startled you.

“Our room,” he corrected, “my albums.  No touchy.”

“Your records are crowding mine!” you explained.  “There’s no room!”

“Yeah?  Your records are tainting mine!” he replied indignantly.  “I mean, Escape and Frontiers I’ll forgive, Journey has a few bangers but come on— your Make It Big next to my Animalize is criminal.  It’s going to infect it with its… suckiness, somehow.”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there because George Michael is a god,” you sneered, “that your little pea brain simply can’t comprehend!”

“George Michael is a hack!” he spat back, and you gasped— like he’d put out his cigarette on a statue of baby Jesus or something.  Except that this was infinitely worse.

“You take that back,” you ordered.

“Prove me wrong,” he offered instead, “or admit you just think he’s hot and don’t even care about the music.”

“Oh— oh!” you yelped, laughing in pure frustration as you turned and knelt down in front of the stacks of records.  “I’ll prove you wrong.”

“I swear, if you try to make me listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go—” he began to warn you.

“No, no way,” you shook your head, “we’re listening to his masterpiece.”

The drums started, and already Eddie was trying to turn the record player off.

“No,” you insisted— not quite a bark, but very stern— as you grabbed his arms.  He stilled and looked at you again, swallowing as your fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket.  “Just listen.  Wait for the bass line.”

It came in a second later.  You watched his face as he listened: he didn’t react too visibly, but you waited in anticipation for him to be forced to eat his words.

“Somebody told me—” the lyrics began, in George’s beautiful voice, and you saw Eddie’s eyes narrow.  The bass was more prominent as the first verse continued, and you smiled as Eddie nodded slightly.

“Okay, that’s…” he trailed off, smiling as he met your gaze.  “That’s actually kinda sick.”

“I know!” you agreed.  

“Man, that bass with some guitars would be so good!” he whined.  “Why did he have to make pop and not metal?  He would’ve been amazing.”

“He is amazing,” you frowned.

“Fair enough,” Eddie nodded.  “I don’t know about a god but, sure, he’s pretty good.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled as you reached to take the needle off the record, but his hand suddenly landed on your wrist.  

“Uh, you don’t— um, have to turn it off so fast,” he stammered, and you smiled.

“Do we have a new Wham!-head on our hands?” 

He scoffed.  “No way.  Just giving them a fair shake is all— after this song’s over I wanna play you something by Poison that I think you’ll like…”

Your mom pulled her translucent shawl up over her shoulders as she stepped out onto the porch.

"Have her back by eleven, mister," Eddie wagged his finger at Wayne, who chuckled along with your mom as they walked down the steps together.

He waved one more time before shutting the door, and letting out a quick breath as he turned to look at you.

"We throwin' a rager or what?" he prompted.

"A rager that ends by eleven?" you raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t look up at him for more than a second from where you sat on the couch— you were too busy reading Persuasion for far from the first time.

"I was just kidding," he smiled, "but next time we'll get them to stay out all night so we can really do something."

"I don't like the idea of them out all night," you shuddered, focusing on the book in front of you— but of course, you couldn’t really focus with him bothering you still.

"Don't be a prude, they're engaged," he crossed his arms.  "It's not like they haven't—"

"Stop," you groaned.

"It upsets you that much?" he laughed.

"I'm not saying they're not allowed to do it, I'm just saying I don't want to think about it."

“Then just be thankful their bedroom’s on the other side of the house from ours,” he grinned as he hopped over the arm of the couch to sit next to you.  You scooted further away.

“They should be, too; they don’t have to hear you snore,” you returned, still looking at your book as you turned the page.  Unfortunately, after that, you had one of those thoughts that, once you had it, you had to ask.  “Oh god,” you groaned, looking up from your book and grimacing slightly at him, “my mom stayed over at your place some nights, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged.

“You didn’t… hear them…” you trailed off, widening your eyes and leaning your head forward a bit.

“What, fuck?” Eddie laughed.  “No— when Wayne was bringing her over he’d let me know in advance and I would… find other lodgings for the evening.  You know, give ‘em some space, crash at Rick’s or something.”

“How… considerate,” you offered, though it was mostly sarcastic.  You didn’t like imagining this ‘gentleman’s agreement’ Eddie and Wayne had concerning your mother.

“I mean, that’s just common courtesy,” Eddie smirked, “you know— when the trailer’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’, and all that.”

“Gross,” you frowned.

“He’d do the same for me,” Eddie explained.

“If you were actually getting any,” you added.

“Well,” Eddie clarified, “if I had a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Oh,” you grinned, “so you don’t just bring any girl back to the trailer, huh?”

He snorted.  “No, definitely not.”

“Because she’d turn and run as soon as she saw how filthy that place was?”

“Hey,” he frowned, “it wasn’t filthy… there was just a mild griminess.”

There was a long pause, but it was only awkward for one of you— he was rubbing his hands on his jeans and looking around while you paid attention to your book again, hardly noticing he was there anymore.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” he wondered.

“We?” you repeated.

“I mean, house to ourselves has to be good for something.”

“You better not smoke any fucking pot,” you snapped.

“That was only one of my ideas,” he smirked.  “You’ve really never smoked?”

“I never said that,” you mumbled, and you saw him peer at you over the top of your book with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh, I wanna know that story,” he pleaded.  “Was it high school?  Wait, did Rick sell you stuff?”

“No, and no,” you sighed.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me!” he insisted.

“So do a lot of things that don’t actually matter,” you shrugged.

His finger hooked around the top of your book, in the spine’s crease, and he pulled it down to meet your unamused stare.  “C’mooooon,” he whined, “I’m curious what occasion would make a good girl like you decide to get stoned.”

“It was after I broke up with Gary,” you explained, sighing as you shut your book and set it down.  He pulled his legs up onto the couch like he was waiting for some juicy, riveting story.  “I went to a party with some people from my Intro to English class.”

He blinked at you as he waited.  “And?”

“And, we smoked.”

“Oh my god!” he groaned, his head falling back dramatically.  “That’s so boring!  You skipped the good part.”

“What good part?”

“Why you did it,” he answered.

“I wanted to fit in, I guess?  They were passing it around, I felt weird being the only one not smoking.”

“Did you cough?”

“Of course I did,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m not a professional pothead like you.”

“Hey, I’m cutting back,” he defended, raising his hands defensively.  “Just nights and weekends now.”

“Just— just nights and weekends?!” you repeated.  “So… what?”

“So, I don’t get stoned at school anymore,” he explained confidently.

“Wow,” you congratulated flatly, “better start writing your valedictorian speech.”

“Don’t need to be the best, unlike some of us who are terminally competitive,” he grumbled, “just need to graduate.  Sick of being in fucking high school.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded.

“Is college cool?” he wondered.  “Like, are the people chill?”

“Uh, I guess…” you shrugged.  Not that that’s something you need to be worrying about with your grades.

“Do you have any friends?” he asked, point blank, and you kicked him semi-lightly in the side.  

“Shut up!” you frowned.

“Okay, that’s a no,” he widened his eyes as he looked away.

“I mean, I have friends,” you disagreed, “just not like, close friends?  I guess?”

“You never have anybody over,” he recalled.  “And you never call anybody.”

“Not when you’re home,” you corrected.  “I can’t ‘cause you’re always on the fucking line with your Hellfire pals.”

“You could talk to them!” he offered.  “Might be the only chance some of them would get to talk to a girl at all.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you rolled your eyes.  “Believe it or not, I’ve kind of outgrown high schoolers.  Unlike some of us who are terminally immature.”

“Aw, look at us,” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he smiled at you.  “The witty repartee, the flinging of insults— this is better than throwing a party.”

You groaned and pulled up your book again, opening it to where you’d left off.  “Okay, I’m done,” you mumbled.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, but he was smiling mischievously.

“In fact, now that I know it’s fun for you, I’m never arguing with you again,” you decided.  “Conversation over.”

“Don’t say that,” he pouted, but there was a dark shine to his stare as he continued.  “You know it’s never over with us, sweetheart.”

You really, really hoped he couldn’t see the way you shivered when he said that…

Before you could worry about how to respond, he got up— your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, lingering on the bandana dangling out of his back pocket— before he turned around and you shot your eyes back to the pages of your book.  Why is he so distracting now, just standing there?  I can’t even tell if this book is in English anymore, I swear it was before…

“I’m gonna practice guitar,” he informed you.

“Not while I’m trying to read, you’re not,” you frowned.  “That thing is so goddamn loud—”

“Acoustic,” he explained with a small, condescending smile.  “Won’t offend your delicate little ears.”

“Great,” you hummed in reply, and he disappeared back into your shared bedroom as you focused in on your book again.

You could just barely hear him, but it wasn’t so bad, so you didn’t shout for him to shut the door.  He tinkered around with a few songs, none of which you thought much of until halfway into his practice.  Your mind was so occupied with reading Jane Austen that you didn’t even really consciously realize that you were listening to the riff he was playing, or that you recognized it in the back of your mind.

You didn’t even notice that you were quietly singing along.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,” you mumbled, “then we wouldn’t have to wait so long…”

The music stopped, and you swallowed as you realized you’d sung; his head popped out of the doorway, smiling wide.  “You have a nice voice,” he offered.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he smiled, setting the guitar down against the wall and stepping up to the couch.

“I’m surprised you know that song,” you admitted.

“It was one of the first ones I learned,” he recalled.  “My mom really liked The Beach Boys.”

You glanced down awkwardly; you were pretty sure he wasn’t using the past tense because she stopped liking the band…

“Sing along to whatever you want,” he offered.

“N-no, I’ll just keep reading,” you decided.  “But you can keep playing… you can play here if you want.”

“Really?”

You shrugged, and he grabbed the guitar by the neck, sitting down and setting it up in his lap oncemore.

You only recognized a couple more songs after that— Hotel California, Tangerine by Zeppelin, and You Can’t Always Get What You Want— but didn’t sing along to any of them.  Occasionally, you heard him humming the melody or mumble-singing the lyrics, and you smiled to yourself.

After a while, you weren’t even reading anymore, just listening.

You furrowed your brow as you listened to him singing something, only able to make out a few words.  Something about she’s so lovely and she’s so fine and take me home— pretty vague, could be anything.

“What song is that?” you finally asked.

“O-oh,” he choked, “um, I wrote that one, actually.”

“You write your own songs?” you realized, impressed.  He shrugged.  “Is that what Corroded Coffin plays?”

“Oh— not this one,” he shook his head, “too sappy.  But yeah, sometimes we play stuff I wrote.”

“That’s cool,” you smiled.  “Is it about a girl?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” he blurted out suddenly.

“Aw, come on,” you teased, “it is, right?  Is it about a specific girl, or just… a hypothetical girl?”

He laughed a little.  “Um, a real one.”

You raised an eyebrow.  “Did you guys ever go out?”  You tilted your head when he scoffed and looked away.  “Really?  Maybe if you played her the song, she would’ve wanted to go out.”

“Does that work?” he wondered, looking at you again.

“I mean, seems to work on most girls,” you shrugged.  “She’ll forget that the guy’s a total dog or a douche or just a good old fashioned loser— so long as he’s a sexy guitar player or whatever.”

“Which one of those am I?” he laughed.

“All of the above,” you decided, “except sexy.”

Of course, one instance of Eddie practicing quietly couldn’t last.  The next day, he was back to the abrasive, headache-inducing squeals of his electric guitar on the amp, impossible to block out even as you covered your ears and put all your mental effort into studying.  Finally, when you were frustrated with trying to ignore it, you stood up defiantly from your seat at the kitchen table and marched across the hallway.

You swung the bedroom door open, hit with a wave of even louder sound, and the sight of him strumming quickly— his head was hung low at first, though it fell backward as he continued and you could see that his eyes were closed.  

“Hey!” you barked.  “Eddie!”

He was still playing, starting to rock his head back and forth and sending his hair flying every which way.

“Munson!  Pencildick!” you tried to get his attention, but you couldn’t even hear yourself with how loud it was.  “COULD YOU TURN IT DOWN?!” you screamed.  He either couldn’t hear you still or was simply ignoring you; you stormed across the room, interrupting his headbanging, and grabbed the neck of the guitar tightly.  The sounds came to a literal screeching halt, leaving only the ambient buzzing of the amp to fill the air.

“Hey!” he defended.  “I was shredding.”

“Yeah, shredding my eardrums,” you spat.  “I’m trying to study.  I have a test coming up.”

“Oh wow, big photography test?” he rolled his eyes.  “What studying do you have to do, making sure you know which button actually takes the picture?”

“No, it’s for my math class,” you frowned, “now could you please keep it down!”

“This is just the volume of metal, my dear,” he sighed, “can’t help you, sorry.”

You groaned as you turned around, kneeling quickly to find the volume knob on his amp and spin it to the left.

“Damn it!” he snapped, bending down and turning it back.  “What did I tell you about touching my stuff?”

“Do it more ‘cause you love it so much?” you guessed.

“First my records, then you grab my guitar, now the amp?” he sneered.  “Is nothing sacred?  How would you like it if I touch your stuff?”

You thought it was a hypothetical until he took the guitar off over his shoulder and set it down, the motion making a slightly-melodic buzz come out of the speaker.  He stormed across the room to your closet, throwing it open as you tried to reach around him to stop him.  “Get out!” you whined as he dug around through your clothes, taking a pink dress off the hanger and tossing it over his shoulder.  “Hey!”

He found another dress, a black one, and he snickered at it.  “Cute,” he decided before throwing it, too.  You ran to try to pick up your clothes from the floor, but when you turned back to look at him, he was holding onto your stuffed bear.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned him.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” he grinned.

You ran up to him and reached for it, but he held it up high above his head and watched you struggle with a proud smile.  "Eddie, give it back!" you whined, jumping up to try to grab it.

"Nuh uh," he laughed.

"Stop!" you groaned.

"You can come get it for yourself, sweetheart," he taunted, knowing you couldn't reach.  When you almost managed to grab it, he held you back with his free hand to keep you away.

"Just give it back, Eddie," you begged, starting to get really upset, "my dad gave me that!"

He brought his arm down in a split second, and you snatched the bear from him to hug it to your chest.  "I'm sorry," he said instantly, clearing his throat and looking around sheepishly.  "I didn't know… I was just trying to— I didn't know."

You sniffled a little, and he looked at you again, eyebrows tilted with a guilty, almost pleading look.  "It's okay," you assured quietly.  "Just don't take my stuff anymore, please…"

"I won't, I swear," he promised.

You nodded, resting your chin on Barry's head.  Eddie sighed a little, looking at you more gently than you could ever remember him looking at you before.

"How old were you when your dad…?" he asked quietly.

"Twelve," you answered.  "He got sick when I was eleven, but he died a week before I turned thirteen."

"That's a hard time for that," he nodded.  "Not that there's any good time for that but, damn, thirteen is hard enough."

You widened your eyes and blew out a breath as if to say, yeah, no shit.

"I wish I had my mom that long, though," he added, and you looked up at him.  He scratched behind his ear for a second, looking off to the side and staring at your wall.  "I was nine."

"Was she sick?" you wondered.

"Yeah, something like that," he sighed.  "She got better for a while— for me— but she started using again, she didn't know her limits… I found her, actually, and she still had the needle in her arm."

"Oh, god," you breathed, "Ed, I'm so—"

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged, looking at you again and wearing a more familiar, playful expression on his face.  "I got to go live with my dad after that, and he was buckets of fun.  It was like summer camp with the Boy Scouts, but less knots and more crime."

You snorted a small laugh through your nose.  "Sounds cool."

"And now that you know my sob story, you can't get on my case for being a delinquent anymore," he grinned.

"But can I still silently judge you?" you pouted.

"Of course," he winked.  "Anyways, point is— sorry for taking the bear.  I guess I just wanted to try out some of the annoying-older-brother classics."

"Don't apologize to me," you suggested, "apologize to him."

You held the bear out with one hand, pointing it right at his face.

"His name is Barry," you informed him, something he could incorporate into his apology.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Eddie spoke to the stuffy, "you were collateral damage in my war on my sister.  Won't happen again.  If you want, I can make it up to you by setting you up with this saucy little throw pillow from the living room—"

You giggled briefly, and Eddie's eyes darted over at you for a second, with a glimmer in them that made your heart skip a beat.

He looked at the bear again.  "We square?" he asked and after a pause, he reached up and pinched Barry's right paw, gently shaking it.

"Give him a kiss," you demanded suddenly, and Eddie crinkled his nose in disagreement.

"Uh, I think the handshake oughta do it—" he began to argue.

"Give. him. a kiss." You wiggled Barry in front of his face a bit, emphasizing your demand.

Hesitating for a second first, Eddie pursed his lips and gave Barry a kiss on the head.  You pulled the bear back into your chest with a smile.  

“I’ll try not to touch your stuff,” you offered.

“I’ll try to keep the music down,” he replied.

“Great,” you sighed, and you slowly turned and left the room, shutting the door behind you.  You grabbed your textbook and took it outside to study on the porch— it was a little warm outside for it, but sunset was coming and you knew it would cool off quickly.  The silence was so precious after all the noise, and you found yourself losing focus on your practice questions so you could admire the way Hawkins looked bathed in fading purple light.  You didn’t love living here all the time, but it had its perks— and really, you weren’t sure if you could ever bring yourself to leave.

Having to tell Eddie about how you got Barry brought the memory to the forefront of your mind— that must’ve been why you dreamed about it that night, about your dad.

Maybe some people who lose a loved one enjoy dreaming about them, it’s like the last way they can see them anymore.  But you hated it; it was easier just to not think about him.  It was easier to pretend none of those happy memories ever happened, so you wouldn’t have to remember the worst ones too— the medications, the hospitals, the surgeries… the deterioration, right before your eyes.

The dream itself was fine, really; it was sweet.  It was waking up that you hated, because for a split second, you forgot.  And you had to remember all over again that your dad fucking died when you were still just a little kid.

Barry was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, by your pillow, and you grabbed him as you sat up to go do something other than lay here and cry. 

Of course, when you sat up, your head slammed into the fucking bunk beds again.  You crinkled up your face, more from the frustration than the pain, and let a little fuck slip out as you held your forehead.

Still, you ducked down and got out of bed, navigating your way to the living room.  You glanced at the clock— 1:17 AM.  Something’s probably still on, you thought to yourself.  You grabbed the remote and the folded blanket off of the couch’s back, throwing it over yourself as you flipped it on and turned the volume down to something quiet enough for the wee hours of the morning.

Yes, something was still on— after flipping a couple channels, you found something funny and comfortable to hopefully lull you back to sleep, and you adjusted yourself on the couch as you cuddled up with Barry.

Maybe it was the TV that woke him up, or your head injury on the underside of his bed, or maybe just his instinct to show up and bother you at all times; regardless, within a few minutes, you heard the bedroom door open again.  Eddie’s shadow moved through the dark until you could just barely see him in the light of the screen, sporting his classic pajama combo of soft plaid pants and his necklace and nothing else.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.  You shook your head, pulling the blanket up higher on your chest.

He sighed a little, crossing the room and standing at the end of the couch— he made a little shooing motion until you moved your feet out of the way and he could plop himself down by your scrunched up legs.

“Whatcha watchin’?” he asked.

“Partridge Family rerun,” you shrugged.

He laughed a little.  “You were totally in love with David Cassidy when you were a little girl, weren’t you?  Shoulda known.”

“Dude, I never stopped loving David Cassidy,” you snorted.  “That’s my man.”

“Uh huh,” he grinned.  “And does Detective Sonny Crockett know about this?”

You smirked.  “He understands.  I loved him first.”

“Yeah, never forget your first love,” he agreed.  

“Who was yours?” you wondered.  “You know, on TV.”

“Is that even a question?” he scoffed.  “Wonder Woman— Lynda Carter.”

“Really?” you giggled.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, sticking his lips out a bit.  “I had it so bad for her and the little, uh… the little thing she wore…”

He gestured to his waist and crotch vaguely as he tried to think of the word.  “Hotpants?” you offered.

He grinned and snapped his fingers at you.  “Hotpants!” he agreed.  “Yeah, anyways, I watched that show way too much for someone who really isn’t into comic books.”

“You’re just into everything else geeky,” you assumed.

“Hey, listen— I’m not some kind of nerdery slut,” he corrected with raised hands. “I like D&D.  And Lord of the Rings.  And metal, if that counts.”

“The way you like it?  Definitely,” you nodded.  “I’m afraid you’re gonna wear that new Metallica tape out, you keep listening to it over and over.”

He smiled proudly.  “Okay, yeah, I’m a metal geek, then.”

The commercial break ended and with that classic sitcom musical sting, the episode continued.

“Hey, there’s your man,” Eddie nodded at the TV, “and his glorious mullet.”

“Mm,” you hummed appreciatively.  “He does have great hair.”

“Uh, hello?” Eddie prompted, and when you looked over at him, he fluffed his hair with one of his hands.

“Yours is okay,” you offered, “but doesn’t have the same, you know… lusciousness.”

“Pfft,” Eddie scoffed, but he offered no defense as both watched the show again.

It was Keith— aka David Cassidy, your preteen awakening himself— and his middle brother Danny walking to school together.  “I got one!” Danny pointed at him as they strolled.  “You’re so ugly your face oughta be arrested for littering.”  The canned laughter offered support for the mediocre joke, and you smiled a little.  “Top that one.”

“Alright, uh…” Keith replied, “you’re so dumb—”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Not another ‘you’re so dumb’ insult, not very original.”  Keith frowned as he tried to come up with something better.

“I always wanted a family like that,” Eddie admitted quietly.

“Like what, a band?” you wondered.

“That too,” he nodded.

You frowned as you adjusted on the couch, struggling to get comfortable.  “Can you get up?  I can’t stretch my legs out,” you pouted.

“Yeah you can, just put your feet on my lap,” he offered.

If you were entirely awake, you would’ve questioned that more— but it was that time of night where even the strangest ideas seemed sort of fun, and so you stretched out a bit to let your feet slide across his thighs.  With one arm up on the back of the couch, his other hand came to rest on your ankle, and it made your breath catch slightly (though he didn’t seem to notice) before you relaxed.  Once you accepted it, it was actually kind of soothing— yeah, your heart raced for a second, but then your eyes kept getting heavier as you tried to blink them open to look at the glowing screen.

Sleep overtook you quickly, like a weight that sunk into you and just kept pulling you down.  You didn’t have any more dreams that night.

After you’d dozed off, Eddie’s gaze lingered on your still face for a moment; he smiled to himself, looking down at his hand on your ankle.  Gently, he stroked your skin with his thumb, checking your face again to make sure it wouldn’t wake you up.

He turned down the volume on the TV two more clicks, focusing on the scene before him again— something about Laurie having a date coming over to pick her up.  Mrs. Partridge greeted him at the door, before he joined Keith on the couch.

“Boy, glad that’s over,” the date sighed as Mrs. Partridge went upstairs to fetch Laurie.  

“What?” Keith asked him.

“Meeting the mother,” he answered.  “But your mother’s pretty cool… yeah, they usually give you the third-degree— you know, ‘where are you taking her’, ‘what time are you gonna bring her home’...”

“Ah, I know what you mean,” Keith agreed, not looking up from whatever he was reading— Eddie obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention to keep track of that.  “Where are you taking her?”

“Huh?” 

Keith shut his book and narrowed his eyes.  “What time are you gonna bring her home?”

“Early, after the movie,” the date replied defensively.

Keith scooted closer to the other young man.  “You, um, taking her to a walk-in or a drive-in?”

“A drive-in,” he answered.  Keith immediately began shaking his head.  “A walk-in?” the other offered instead, and Keith nodded approvingly.

“As long as it’s rated for the general public,” Keith added.

Eddie looked at you again, watching the blanket swell and sink each time you took a slow, deep breath.  He thought about getting up and going back to the bunk bed to sleep, but he was too afraid to wake you up if he tried to move your feet away.  Yeah, that was definitely the only reason that he wouldn’t get up now, now that he had you so close and you weren’t awake to try to push him away or tell him to fuck off.  Not that he didn’t enjoy that a bit… he just liked this more.  So, he’d stay for now and hold onto your ankle until you woke up and told him to stop.  Just because he could.

[dozing-marshmallow]

hi! i was wondering if you could write duncan and courtney dating headcannons with a fem reader on the show? (separate) if not that's ok!

Awww no, it is okay! Thank you so much for the request, enjoy!<33

DATING COURTNEY HEADCANONS

From what we know about Courtney, it wasn’t hard to guess that her type was someone contrasting her.

So you were a bit of a cheeky contestant.

Okay, “a bit” was an understatement. Courtney didn’t like to admit it, but she found jubilation in your many ploys on the show.

Because of them though, she’d be on the assumption that you weren’t taking the competition seriously (even though you weren’t actually there to win the money), but you appreciate her reminding you to focus on the game and her helpful tips.

She wouldn’t want to openly say you guys are in a relationship as she’s aware that some people may try to exploit that for their own motives, but makes it clear that you’re off limits.

At night, you often share a bunk with her. Courtney would insist to be the little spoon, all the way through to the morning with her head on your chest.

Your darling Princess!

She loves sharing school stories with you.

“They actually had to rush her to the ER! Can you believe the manners some people have? How much of a litterbug do you have to be to throw your juice box out of a window from the fourth floor? We have bins for a reason!”

“Woah... So your teacher got a concussion from someone doing that?”

“Yeah! It sounds pathetic, but it’s what happened! The school assigned me to be in charge of delivering work from her and delivering notices to her. Makes sense since I was the only qualified student to take up that responsibility while still ace all my classes!”

She’s also fond of discussing hair with you and you play with hers and vice versa.

You like giving her little plaits, ponytails or a bun as high as it can go.

Additionally, she tries persuading you to do karaokes with her.

“It’s way better if we don’t have any instruments! You have nothing to hide behind and we’ll get used to being vulnerable with each other!” she smiled when she said it.

Looks like that couldn’t apply to her,“Oh, man...”

Though she’s a perfectionist, she loves complimenting you a lot.

“If you took that cap off your head and wore a headband instead, you’d look even more adorable! Would you do it for me at least?”

And her occasional feedback.

“What do you mean you haven’t read a single book this entire year!?” she jumps to her feet, horrified.

“Courtney, relax! It’s not a big deal.” you try to assure her with a grin.

She was more shaken at your presumably clueless behaviour to reading,“No, it is a big deal! You can’t just have everything on the outside and nothing in here!” she taps a tense finger to the side of her head,“My girlfriend’s gotta have brains with her beauty! I’m not dating no dummy!”

So she ordered you to sit down on the entrance steps of the Killer Bass cabin while she searched for a novel to give you- girl brought ten.

Out of her choices, she decided to provide you with Mercy Among The Children.

“There!” she hands you the clean copy, no crease or wrinkle, like all brand new,“You will read all of that and when you’re done, you will answer ten summary questions that I came up with to show me how much you learnt. And I will know if your answers are accurate, because I happened to give a presentation on this very book! I did it with ease thanks to my experience as a CIT.” her CIT talks got tedious very quickly, however if it made her happy, you didn’t want to take that away from her.

Therefore you gave something of your own instead,“What if I don’t know how to read?” you knew such question would aggravate her.

She shakes her head in disbelief, perfect autumn hair swaying,“Oh, you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that! You read the fine print of the contract to participate, didn’t you?”

Nope, but let’s pretend you did.

After a few seconds of “reading”, you call her name, to where she sat next to you, watching.

“What’s on your mind now?”

“I uh...” you turn to the back of the book, eyes scanning over the blurb,“Kinda don’t like the voice in my head narrating this. Could you read it to me?”

It seemed this request had halted her brain for a moment as she had stared at you with eyelids split apart again before her loving reprimand frolicked in the air,“Are you crazy? (Y/N), you know I love you, but I can’t do that! You gotta do this on your own, get used to reading in your head! How will you do in an exam when you have to stay quiet? I refuse to hear you getting disqualified over something as little as that!”

She’s so irresistible when she gets worked up,“Then I’ll transfer to your school so I can hear your voice everyday and be sure to pass my next exam.”

Her aim to lecture you had evaporated,“Oh wow...“ her eyebrows sprung back and she couldn’t believe herself for laughing at your not so futile charm,“Okay okay, just this once!” she declares, gently taking back the novel with both hands so it was still open.

As Courtney’s elegant voice embellishes the passage written down on the pages, you make promise to yourself to continue reading it in your own time.

After all, you know she’s just looking out for you.🤎

DATING DUNCAN HEADCANONS

You thought he asked you out as a joke, but he was serious.

Serious in love.

And he loved to be open about it. Not with words, but with his arm around you, calling your name.

He sprayed your hair for a day to see how green would look on you, however you got worried when it didn’t come out.

He would share stories from juvie and usually had an edible treat to give you as you talked. You always thought he had brought a stash of sweets, but looking at his luggage, you realise there was no way any high caliber food could survive in it.

“Mm, thanks Duncan! Where did you get this from?”

He winked,“Don’t worry about it.”

So you didn’t.

Duncan’s surprisingly very good at drawing; you use that talent as a couple’s activity.

He also likes drawing his initials on your arms with a marker, never forgetting to add a skull.

Loves playing with your hands and placing his one on your leg.

Sometimes you wear his shirt or use it as a blanket.

While Duncan wouldn’t really like to hug in public, he’d do gestures like rubbing your head or squishing your face.

He fantasises you someday getting a matching piercing, since you refuse to let him give you one.

“This nose piercing wasn’t painful, like a lot of wet wussies say, but it is a bit uncomfy for a few days. You sure you don’t want me to pierce ya? It’s free of charge~”

The treatment for the infection won’t be,“No thanks! I might decide to pierce my ears!”

“Ear piercing?” his face scrunched like the choice was boring, but his voice held hope,“Where exactly?”

“The lobe would be nice... But I’d also want to get one on the inside! Like industrial!”

“Now you’re talking.” Needless to say, he approved of those ones.

Duncan’s a night owl, so found his favourite part of the day being at night, when everyone else was certainly asleep. You two would go out to a different part of Camp Wawankwa every time to breathe in the wildlife air and have conversation crafted for the dark.

The first nights, you were hesitant. Your chest was tight. It was hard to enjoy the secluded moment with Duncan when your mind was racing with panic.

“Oh Duncan... What if someone sees us? I don’t wanna get in trouble...”

“We won’t. We’re not doing anything wrong.” his calm tone of voice somewhat helped, head swivelling to the closest functioning camera duck tapped on a tree,“The worst Chris’ll do is tell us to go back inside, though knowing him, he probably doesn’t care.”

You trace a finger on his chest,“I wish I could sleep with you in your cabin. But the girls would be suspicious if my bed was empty, and let’s not talk about what the guys would do.”

“Keen, huh?” his unibrow forms a squiggly line as one of the separate eyebrow bones upreared, making you push him gently out on exposed instinct,“I’m pretty sure everyone knows about us by now and the guys would be fine if you crashed in for a night or two.”

“I know...” Duncan’s friends were nice guys. When they wanted to be,“I just don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable.”

His laugh gets clogged by his nose,“You? Make anyone uncomfortable? Babe, trust me, unless your name starts with H and ends in arold, you don’t gotta worry about being alienated. If it means that much to you, we can wait until more people go home for us to share a bed.”

Ohh! You had forgotten about the competition and how it worked! Love makes you forget about the everyday things like the collection of the fires supplementing the sky just being rocks floating in space,“Until more people go home... How...will we make sure it’s not us?”

“Welll. I like you so that’s one less person to vote for you.” he starts,”The rest of the guys like you so you can count them out. Now for the chicks... Anyone you think wants you gone?”

Instantly, someone came to mind,“Heather,” your boyfriend makes gagging noises at the name, vining a smile on your lips,“Ever since I turned down her offer to join her alliance, I must’ve ended up on her watch list. Sure, we can act civil, but I can tell she’s impatiently waiting for my elimination.”

He snorts, brushing his hand on your back,“Seriously? Chicks hold a grudge over anything! Well, that alliance of hers can’t be doing so good when one of her so called members don’t even like her, so it’s not like you’re missing out on anything.”

“True... I get to enjoy the Duncan instead,” you look into his blue vision for that, seeing his irises sprout in ardour. You leave a tangible mark of your lips on his, finding your eyes wondering to a large robust tree not so far away from where Duncan held you,“I wonder... Do you think we could secretly build our own secret treehouse?”

“Up there?” he follows your gaze and whistles,“It is possible... All I’ll need are some tools to steal from Chef and it’ll be there in no time.”

“Duncan!” his romantic selfless take on your suggestion is piled over by his out of place mention of Chef’s inventory, which clicks something to your attention,“Is that...where you’ve been getting the snacks from?”

An unbeaten chuckle rippled out of his ribs, how carefree he was,“Looks like the cat got outta the bag!”💚

[admiringlove]

[1:00] . . .

as the dim evening sun cast long shadows across the college campus, you found yourself reluctantly attending a party, all thanks to atsumu’s incessant pestering. the day had been nothing short of a nightmare, and your mood was about as gloomy as the approaching night. the barista had gotten your order mixed up and in the process of getting your right drink, you’d embarrassingly walked into class late. then, you’d embarrassed yourself again by slipping and falling in the middle of the cafeteria—simply because you hadn’t read the sign that said the floor was wet.

the bass-heavy music thumped through the house, drowning out any semblance of conversation. you felt out of place and awkward, clinging to the solitude of a corner, clutching your red cup with a weak smile in a white sweater and jeans.

atsumu had disappeared into the throngs of people, leaving you alone to fend for yourself. you should have known better than to trust him with your night, but you didn’t have the heart to refuse him. your eyes darted around the room, seeking refuge from the growing discomfort.

you were aware of familiar faces around you. perhaps you convinced yourself that the girl you exchanged smiles with in the hallway was someone who knew you, or that the guy who once kindly retrieved your dropped pen had some awareness of your name.

you wanted desperately to leave. yet, dealing with atsumu meant dealing with someone with an uncanny ability to catch wind of events happening clear across the country. he could rival a news station or an international radio, for all you knew. the prospect of leaving without him knowing seemed futile; either someone would spill the beans, or atsumu would uncover the information in his uniquely unpredictable way. understanding the ways of that guy's brain was a feat beyond comprehension.

you wish osamu was here. or suna. but god knows where those two were.

"oh my god, it's you!" you felt someone tap at your shoulder. you turn, seeing someone from high-school. no, no, no, this is not what you expected when that piss-haired setter said "all the cool people will be there" or something like "how long will you sulk at home".

"hi, kira," your voice falters as you meet her gaze. she used to share managerial duties with you back in the high school volleyball club. memories flood in of the numerous times she'd relentlessly targeted you just for your friendship with the twins and suna. her animosity persisted even when you extended kindness. there was that one instance she trapped you in the broom closet post a volleyball match, and you'd sat in there surrounded by cleaning supplies. osamu eventually discovered you, with your hair plastered to your face from hours of confinement and sweat.

"look who made their way to tokyo," she grinned, "didn't know you had it in you."

you almost scoff. after the dreadful day you'd had, you didn't want to deal with her. this wasn't high-school anymore. you were adults. hopefully, she'd grown a brain by now.

"yeah, i'm trying to pursue physiotherapy," you nod along. she rolls her eyes, "what, so you wanna follow around atsumu for the rest of your life? don't you have your own interests?"

"i'm sorry?" you furrow your eyebrows, "where did you get that from?"

"everyone knows that the only reason you even have a social life is because you grew up with the twins," she says, matter-of-factly. you grit your teeth, clutching your cup. you'd had enough for today. you really did. you were trying your hardest not to say anything back.

"in fact, the only reason osamu never went for me is because of you," she takes a sip out of her cup, "i wonder why he even looks at you like that when i'm literally right here-"

emphasis on 'trying' your hardest. fuck that, you think.

"look, i've had enough of your bullshit," you spit out, "either get a life or leave me alone. not everyone wants to fuck their friends. now, if you'd excuse me-"

that's when she does it. spill her wine all over your white sweater. you look down at the stain, wool sticking to your skin. horror fluctuates through your face for a moment before you say, "god, real mature of you, kira. ruin someone's sweater just because they don't want to be near you. fuck."

"good luck getting the stain out, you little shit," she whispers in your ear, walking away. people give you stares, and suddenly you feel like you're back in school. whispers fester themselves into your ears and you feel small. you wish you could tell atsumu off right about now. that this party would suck and end up making your already shitty day worse. but he was nowhere to be seen and your eyes felt heavy. you weren't even sad—just stressed and angry that your sweater got ruined.

osamu gave you this sweater a few months ago for christmas. you hated that you wished he could've been here to save the day or something. you hated that you always wished for that. for him to see you, care for you, or save you. the weight of the day, the wine-soaked sweater, and the longing for someone who wasn't there pressed on you, a symphony of discontent crescendoing in the backdrop of the party's superficial revelry.

when were you going to learn that no one would come to save you?

and so you ran, out from whoever's house this was. tears threatening to drop, you sniffed in a sharp breath as you clutched yourself. your throat felt dry, and when your eyes landed on a smiling suna who widened his arms to say hi, you turned the other way. he seems confused, calling out for you—but you keep walking. you should've never come.

when you reach your apartment, closing the door behind you swiftly, is when you finally let yourself cry. why couldn't you simply walk away? why couldn't you ever pick yourself in a group of people? was it really that important for you to stand there after the first insult about how you made it to tokyo? why was she even there, anyway? as you collapsed onto your worn-out couch, the weight of teenage angst pressed against your chest. the city lights flickered outside your window, mirroring the turmoil within. tokyo, with its bustling streets and neon signs, felt like a maze of emotions, and tonight, you were lost. suddenly, everything about your home seemed suffocating too.

your phone rings. you ignore it.

but then, notifications start piling in out of nowhere. you hear the specific 'ding!' of the groupchat around seventeen times before you pick up the phone.

videos, texts, and calls stare back at you. two videos that suna had sent, then spammed the chat along with atsumu. calls and texts from osamu, asking for where you were.

the doorbell rings.

you look up from your screen, blinking profusely. lips parted and brows twisted into a knot, you walk up to the door—still in the soiled sweater and black jeans—and open it. a panting osamu stands in front of you, holding the side of your door for support as he looks up and says, "hey."

"hey," you mumble, "what are you doing here?"

he narrows his eyes at you, standing up straight, "what do ya mean 'what am i doing here'? i texted and said i was comin'. didn't you check your phone?"

"not really, no. i was just about to, though," you shake your head then you look down at your sweater,, "i've had quite the shit day."

"i see that," he chuckles, "can i come in?"

you swing the door open wide, and he slips off his shoes at the entrance, shooting you a sheepish grin. "might wanna check the group chat now," he suggests.

with a sigh, you retrieve your phone from your pocket, fingers dancing across the screen to open the groupchat first. suna and atsumu's inquiries about you fill the screen, but as you scroll further, a wave of emojis and messages like "DESERVED LMAO" catch your eye. and then, a video.

you tap on it, and suddenly, the screen is alive with the sight of miya osamu vehemently berating the woman who had insulted you. the clip unfolds with him ordering her to leave, or face even harsher consequences. a barrage of swear words fills the air, leaving you almost breathless as you try to process the intensity of his acts.

"what's wrong?" he asks, when you toss the phone onto the coffee table. you shake your head, "you don't have to come rescuing me every time i'm in trouble."

"well, honey," he smoothly looks at you. you shake your head, "no. do not use that word. you've lost pet name privileges."

"hey, that girl trash talked ya and terrorized ya for all o' high-school. and now she ruined the pretty sweater i got ya. that's the first gift i gave ya after i confessed!" he says defensively.

"no one even knows about us, 'samu!" you chuckle. he looks at you judgily, as if asking whose fault it is that your relationship is so private. you pout, changing the topic, "although i'm sad about the sweater. it's all pink now."

"i'll get you another one," he groans, walking to you, "i'm learning how to crochet from ma on video-chat every weekend. granted, i can only do granny squares for now, but i promise you'll have a new sweater in no time."

"you're going to make me a sweater from scratch?" you coo, "what a great boyfriend you are."

"stop cooin' at me like i'm yer childhood dog," he grunts, "let's get this sweater off and you in the shower."

"what, so you can join me?" you raise an eyebrow. he gives you a cheeky smile, and you shake your head, "i feel like shit. maybe afterward."

"pizza and movies?" he immediately suggests.

you grin, "that too. maybe some hot chocolate."

"on it."

note: headcanoning that atsumu and suna come to reader's apartment and find osamu there the next morning and wreak absolute havoc.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[naminethewriter]

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Seven: Outside a Bar, Just the Two of Us

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: Innuendo, Heavy Flirting, Kink mention, Drunkenness, Alcohol consumption off screen

🌻🌻🌻🌻

Janus gulped down the fresh air as he stepped out of the warm and loud bar. Remus had begged him to stay in this town for the rest of the day when he’d seen it and the poster advertising a gig of a local punk band playing there that evening. He hadn’t minded staying, it seemed like a fun evening, and it was! But it was getting close to midnight and Janus needed a break from the used-up air and bass vibrations that he still felt rattling around his brain.

Or maybe that was the alcohol.

He hadn’t drunk all that much – he never did. He enjoyed the buzz but not more than that.

Remus on the other hand had taken a few more shots. But he also had a higher tolerance than Janus, so he wasn’t worried. His boyfriend was currently having fun on the dance floor and while Janus hadn’t felt comfortable there, he would never take Remus’ enjoyment away from him.

He’d made sure Remus had seen him head outside. He wouldn’t make him worry.

Janus took another few, deep breaths. He looked up, admiring the starry sky for a moment. It was a smaller town, so he could see a lot more of the stars than he could at home.

It made him not want to go back.

But there were responsibilities. And this trip was already three months long.

…Maybe he should check his e-mails. He hadn’t this entire time, knew it would make him anxious about how much work he’d return to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Janus pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the icon of his e-mail program, but before he could tap it, the bar door swung open and Remus came stumbling out.

“Where’s my snake boy??” he slurred, looking around. Janus had enough time to put his phone away before he was spotted and as soon as Remus did, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Janny! Love of my life! There you are!” He giggled, clumsily making it over to Janus and pulling him close. “I missed you. So much.”

“I was gone for not even five minutes, dear. How much more did you have to drink?” Janus chuckled, gently rubbing Remus’ cheek with his thumb. He was running rather hot but considering the temperature inside, the fact that he had been dancing and a good amount of alcohol, it wasn’t concerning.

Remus leaned into his touch and sighed.

“The band like, paid for like three rounds for everyone. I probably shouldn’t’ve taken all three shots directly after the other, but c’mon! It was fun!”

“I’m sure it was, darling. Don’t you dare throw up on my shoes, though.”

“I would never. I love your boots, they’re so sexy and way too good to be ruined by puke. If it happens anyway, I will clean them for you though. With my tongue. Or I can clean them now, I would love to worship your boots for you, Janny.”

Janus listened to Remus’ drunken rambling while gently guiding him away from the bar and towards where they parked the van. He definitely had enough for the night and while it wasn’t uncommon for Remus to declare his various kinks so openly, the fact that he was swaying on his feet and slurring slightly was enough indication that it was time to call it a night for him, too.

“I know you would, darling, and we can experiment with that when we’re back home and I have cleaned these properly. You’re not touching them with your tongue after I’ve worn them outside. Especially not before the wedding.”

Remus whined and Janus sympathetically patted his cheek.

“I know, I’m so mean to you.”

“You’re not,” Remus insisted immediately, pushing himself away a bit and trying to stay more steadily on his own so that he could look Janus in the eyes. “You’re the one person that isn’t mean to me. At least not in any way I don’t like. You’re the best and I love you. Want me to prove it to you? I can kill a guy for you!”

“I know you can, darling, and I love you, too, but what I want from you right now is to get back to the car and cuddle me until the sun comes up again.”

“I’d love to.”

“Good.”

[gettingfrilly]

Young, Wild, and Ed

A/N: This fic is based on my first experience getting high. eddeddy, but whether it's platonic, pre relationship, or post getting together is left up to interpretation. Rated T. Read it on AO3.

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‘Boring. Boring. God damn. Why is everything so boring all of the time forever?’

These are the deep, philosophical questions for the ages that run through Eddy’s shapely head as he gazes up at the torn upholstery dangling from the roof through the smoky haze filling the back of The Van (the three of them took to calling it that years ago after bouncing around a bunch of different names that never stuck.) Ed occupies The Van alongside him, banging his head to the noisy mess of music pouring out of the speakers that mount the walls on either side of the waterbed. The bass is loud enough to make the whole bed jiggle, reverberating through Eddy’s jeans and making his eardrums itch.

“Ed, could ya turn that noise down?”

No answer.

“Hey, lumpy!” Now the noise is accompanied by Ed’s fist slamming against the wall, greasy, ginger hair flopping in front of his eyes as he makes what looks like his best attempt to snap his head clean off his neck.

“Ed!” He shouts, losing his permanently short temper. “Turn off your awful fucking music!!”

The scream rips painfully out of his smoke irritated windpipe, but his efforts aren’t for nothing. Ed finally realizes he’s being talked to and turns down the volume on the speakers before answering him.

“What was that, Eddy?” Ed yells his question as if the music were still blaring.

“Just keep it down,” is Eddy’s grumpy response, taking another rip from their shared bong. That’ll be his last for tonight. Ed’s shit does some crazy nonsense to his brain if he doesn’t limit himself.

“Roger dodger.” Ed replies cheerfully, holding out his hand towards Eddy. Eddy takes the hint and hands the bong back over.

“No more for me, Ed. Knock yourself out.”

“The old man is snoring, Eddy.”

“Uh huh.” He collapses backwards onto the water bed, the jiggly sack undulating underneath him and slinky-ing his spine. He’s just gotten bored enough to start counting the fairy lights Ed hung up some time ago when more loud banging gets his attention.

“Ed—!” He sits up to tell him off, but is surprised to see Double D standing in the doorway to the back of The Van. The sound of the doors slamming against the exterior of The Van still echo against the walls of his skull, the creaky hinges squealing like they’re about to give up the ghost. 

‘Great,’ Eddy thinks with a grimace, ‘here comes the fun police.’

It’s been quite some time since Double D tried to police this particular activity. He has taken to quietly slipping off back home once the glassware comes out, and in return Ed and Eddy had spared him from teasing him for being a goody two shoes wuss. But he seems more adamant than ever this time, shoulders set and jaw clenched as he searches The Van for his target. Once his eyes land on the bong in Ed’s hand, he steps forward, hand held out rod stiff, his voice clear, calm, and hard.

“Hand it over.”

“Boo!” Eddy jeers. “What are you, his mother?”

“I’ve been a bad boy, Mama D.” Ed chuckles, tongue sticking out through his teeth as he holds the bong out of reach. “Ed, I mean it! I—” Double D cuts himself off, taking a deep breath and then coughing as the smoke filled air enters his dainty virgin lungs.

“I want—” he waves at the air in front of his face, getting a lungful of slightly fresher air before continuing. “I am going to partake in smoking marijuana with my peers.”

The stale air in The Van grows even more stagnant. Eddy’s not sure he heard Double D right, and Ed’s expression has gone completely blank. Something must have eventually clicked into place, because before Eddy can formulate a response, Ed’s eyes light up as a wide smile splits his face.

“All right, Double D!” He cheers while re-stuffing the bowl. “Welcome to the club, brother! Some wacky tabacky to celebrate we shall have.”

“Holy shit.” Eddy lets out a laugh as he finally catches up with everyone else, slapping his knee before standing to sling an arm around Double D. “No foolin’? You’re gonna break the law? Use an illegal substance?” The blush that rapidly spreads across Double D’s face is as pretty as it is hilarious, and Eddy wishes he knew if it was from the teasing, the close proximity, or both. 

“Well… no pun intended, but it’s high time, don’t you think? It’s a ritual of youth to rebel against the norms and standards of our well ordered society in an attempt to express individuality and independence. It’s a rite of passage, if you will; it’s criminal activity, yes, but ceremonial in its own way, an inevitable metamorphosis that we must all undergo, consequences be damned, as they say, and furthermore—”

“Dee! Relax. Yeesh. You don’t gotta justify it to us, we ain’t cops,” he interrupts his impassioned rambling, taking note of the way Double D’s fists clench and unclench, the way his tongue runs over the front of his teeth, how his eyes pierce straight into nothingness.

‘Criminy. Why’s he always gotta be so serious about everything?’ Eddy wonders.

“Is it like the ceremony in ‘They Came from the Back of the Fridge: Part Four’, when the chuck roast from the mutated omega cow gains sentience and plots to sacrifice Timmy, Tommy, and the string bean boys to return from whence it came?” Ed asks excitedly, his red eyes wide with wonder and sleep boogers.

“Yup, exactly like that.” Eddy answers just to shut him up, then gives Double D’s back a hardy slap and leads him over to the bed. “C’mon, let’s pop that cherry.” “Must you be so vulgar?” Double D complains with an accompanying pained expression, rubbing his assaulted spine. “Eddy is saucy like gravy, Double D.” “Shut up, Ed.” Eddy reaches over to grab the bong, placing it and his lighter in Double D’s waiting hands. “Thank you, Eddy.” Double D studies the bong carefully, holding it up at eye level and squinting at the contents inside. After rotating the bong a few times, he lifts out the bowl and peers inside the down stem, then puts the pieces together again. Gentle fingers run around the rim of the carb as he places the mouthpiece under his nose and takes a delicate whiff, followed by a grimace. All the while, Eddy watches Double D with an innocent smile, feigning ignorance as he fights to hold back his snickers.

“... Oh, just help me already!” Double D finally relents, face heated as he shoves the apparatus in Eddy’s direction. That does him in, laughter pouring out of him as he clutches his sides.

“Don’t sprain your brain there, Professor Bunsen Burnout!” He teases as the last of his laughter dies out between them, “Ed, get some ice. Gotta protect his baby lungs.”

“They grow up so fast, Eddy.”

Once the ice from the cooler is in the catcher and Double D has wiped down the mouthpiece with a disinfectant wipe, (‘Where the hell did he pull those from?’) Eddy holds the bong out in front of his face. “Lips on the mouthpiece—not like that, jeez, it’s not a blow job, Dee. Yeah, like that. Okay, thumb here. I’m gonna light the bowl. Don’t inhale until I start to lift it. Ready? Suck it up, babe.”

Eddy doubts the smoke even made it into Double D’s lungs, his thin, wiry frame wracked with an almost immediate coughing fit. It sounds bad enough that Eddy doesn’t even laugh, looking on in uncharacteristic concern as he gives Double D’s heaving back a few firm thumps.

“Good Lord, that was awful!” Double D finally cries out once he’s caught his breath, pounding his own chest with a firm fist as he tries to completely vacate the smoke from his airways. “Why on earth does anyone do this?”

“It turns my brain into a soft and fluffy bunny.” Ed supplies unhelpfully.

“That rip sucked shit, Dee.” Eddy chastises the newbie, giving his back a few rubs before  putting the bong in front of his face again. “You need to take a slow, deep breath, then hold it. Ya know, like how Ed takes his inhaler.”

“A world where I can’t pet kittens is a world I don’t want to live in anyway, my friends.”

“You told me to suck it up.” Double D pouts petulantly, eyeing the offered bong warily. “I didn’t mean it literary.”

“Literally, Eddy.”

“Literally suck my nuts. C’mon, try again.”

He’s fully expecting Double D to reject him, that his failed rip was enough of a confidence destroyer to halt his experimenting before he ever really got started. But to Eddy’s surprise, he takes the bong, lights the bowl himself this time, and takes a deep breath as instructed. Tears fill his eyes as he holds the smoke in his lungs, valiantly restraining himself from hacking up a lung again. He still coughs on the exhale, but not nearly as much as he did before. Eddy feels something resembling pride; whether he’s proud of Double D for finally being a little more adventurous, or proud of himself for being a bad enough influence to sully Double D’s innocence, he’s not sure. “You always were a quick learner.” He says in a congratulatory voice, giving Double D a soft pat on the back to help ease his wheezing coughs.

“Yes—well. I never suspected that my eagerness to learn would assist me in a situation such as this.”

“Knowledge is power, Double D, and power keeps the lights on.” Ed takes the bong back and Double D watches on quietly as he hits it easily, not a single wheeze to be heard or tearful waterline to be seen. “True, but my powers will never match yours, Ed.”

Ed grins proudly at the compliment as he hands the bong back.

“Whoa, slow your roll,” Eddy starts, trying to intercept the bong, “that’s enough for one night. Ed gets the strong shit and you’re new to this.”

“Oh?” Double D interjects with a raised brow, looking down his nose at Eddy. “Now who’s behaving like someone else’s mother?”

Eddy’s glare could kill if Double D wasn’t so used to being on the receiving end of it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sockhead.” For his considerations, Eddy gets a tongue stuck out at him. That’s what he gets for giving a shit, apparently.

The evening goes on as it usually does, The Van continuing to fill up with smoke and laughter. The addition of Double D is a welcome surprise to the mix, and as he gets more acquainted with the bong, his smile grows wider and wider, his usually tense shoulders relaxed and jumping with laughter. Eddy can’t help but smile in kind at Double D’s easy grin, struggling to remember the last time he saw him this unclenched.  There’s a nagging at the back of his brain, but he decides to ignore it. Why question a good thing? Double D is actually telling naughty jokes—using scientific innuendo and vocabulary neither he nor Ed can understand, but they get the gist of it. He doesn’t even cover his mouth when he laughs at his own raunchy humor, guffawing loudly with no attempt to hide his gap. God, Eddy hopes Double D keeps joining them for this.

Eventually, they all start to wind down, basking in the glow of a good time with good friends. Ed, as usual, keeps talking shop, making sure his friends stay up to date on the world of cheap comics and B rated monster flicks. Eddy gives him half-hearted responses, eyes drooping as he feels his bedtime fast approaching him. Ed isn’t immune to the passage of time, either, obnoxiously loud yawns escaping his gaping maw in between sentences.

It’s not until Ed’s lighting up the very last of the bowl that Eddy realizes Double D hasn’t said anything in a while. He gives the body lying next to him a cursory glance, frowning at what he finds; Double D’s face is pale and his eyes are wide, arms pinned to his sides as he stares at the roof, chest just barely rising and falling with shallow breaths.

‘Shit.’

“Uh, Double D?” Eddy tries to get his attention, Ed noticing the sudden silence as he peaks over at the two of them. A long silence stretches between the three friends as Double D continues to stare at nothing, his whole body going more and more rigid the longer the silence continues. Eddy’s about to freak and try to snap him out of it when he finally answers in a tiny, breathy voice.

“I can’t move.”

“Oh, brother.” Eddy bemoans, rubbing his face as Ed looks on in terror.

“Oh no! Double D’s been paralyzed by the mist creatures of centurion moon six!”

“No, burhead, he’s just high,” he gives Double D a wary look before adjusting his statement, “like, really high.”

“Oh.” Ed says with a frown. “Poor little guy.”

“I need to go to the hospital,” Double D whispers, voice strained as if every syllable is a battle.

“No, you need to go to bed. Lumpy.” Eddy snaps his fingers demandingly, standing and pointing at Double D’s motionless body. Ed gives him a solemn salute before grabbing Double D and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of clean laundry and taking him out of The Van and into the humid night air. He hangs there limply, beanie flopping up and over his head while his hands dangle near Ed’s ass.

“Ed,” Double D speaks, his words muffled by the green fabric of Ed’s jacket, “when was the last time you washed this jacket?”

“Not since many fortnights ago, brave soldier,” Ed commiserates, giving Double D’s bony butt an apologetic pat.

Eddy makes sure to hide the goods and turn off the music before stepping outside with them and closing the doors shut. Mosquitoes immediately go for his pale, pink skin, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to shoo the buzzing annoyances away. The acrid stench of the junkyard is worse than ever after a day sitting under the summer sun, leaving Eddy itching to get home and get in bed.

“Vamoose, Ed.”

“Moose? Where, Eddy?” Ed shouts excitedly as he whips his body around this way and that, trying to spot the megafauna himself. Double D ragdolls in Ed’s grip, arms swaying comically as his face bumps repeatedly into Ed’s back.

“Ed, please—” Double D whines.

“Give it a rest, lumpy. You just missed it. C'mon, let’s go.” “Aw, I wanted to see the moose, Eddy.”

They make their way to the lane, needing no light to guide them along the familiar path out of the junkyard. The night air is full of the sounds of crickets and peepers, nostalgic and familiar and fucking annoyingly loud. It doesn’t pair well with Ed’s rambling, recounting the gory details of one of his more recently read comic books to his two friends. As much of a bombardment on his senses as it is, Eddy still finds it somewhat comforting, like the way his room smells or waking up and hearing his mom listening to the same news anchors every morning. On the other hand, it makes their situation feel extra jarring, filling Eddy with unease as he watches his friend be so out of character, listless and silent as he dangles, stoned, from Ed’s sloping shoulder. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t really imagine what could have made Double D suddenly go back on the D.A.R.E. pledge he’s taken so seriously since the fifth grade, never mind why he made no attempts to limit just how much he smoked.

He doesn’t have very long to think about it, though, the three of them already arriving at the turn that will take them towards Double D’s house. Making the assumption that his parents aren’t home, he fishes the house keys out of Double D’s pocket once they've made it to the front door and lets them all in, Ed still mid-ramble about a particular panel where the heroine’s breast had been ripped off.

“Couch.” He doesn’t even need to look at Ed while issuing his command, the big oaf going straight for Double D’s living room to place him gently on the cushions. Neither of them wipe their feet at the entrance mat, and Double D doesn’t make a single peep about it, further worsening Eddy’s unease about all this.

“Go home, Ed. I’m gonna keep an eye on Mr. Psychedelic over here.”

“Ya sure, Eddy? I haven’t even gotten to the part where her eyeballs melt into her skull and out of her nose.”

“With the way your mom’s been talking about military school, you really shouldn’t be missing any more curfews.”

“Camo makes me chafe, Eddy.” Ed answers, lower lip jutting out while he goes into full puppy eyes mode.

“Then get home. I’ll call my folks with Double D’s phone.”

Ed gives one last solemn salute before trudging outside, closing the door behind him. When he glances at Double D, he finds him with his eyes closed, muttering something rapidly under his breath. While he’s occupied with… whatever that is, Eddy takes the opportunity to use the phone out in the hallway, letting his mom know that he’s sleeping over at Double D’s. He returns to his prone friend once that’s taken care of, standing above him and giving him a skeptical once over, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Double D’s lids snap open, eyes darting around in their sockets as he takes in his new surroundings. “Where am I?” He asks stiffly.

“Your house.”

“Oh. How did I get here?”

“Ed carried you.”

Much to Eddy’s annoyance, Double D’s eyes start welling up with tears. “Lovable oaf.”

“Look, I don’t get to say this often, especially not to you, so I’m gonna savor it.” Eddy pauses for dramatic effect, taking a deep breath as he raises his hands up near his face, pointer fingers and thumbs pressed together and eyes slipping shut. On the exhale, his hands slide away from his face like a conductor waving two batons, eyes staying shut as he gets on his tiptoes and leans down to say his piece. “I told ya so.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go to the hospital?” Double D’s voice wavers, causing Eddy to open his eyes and frown down at him.

“Yes, I’m sure. You’re having a bad reaction and panicking over it. You just need to sleep it off.”

“I still can’t move,” is all his usually verbose friend can say. Typically when Double D’s in a state of panic, he can’t shut up, gesturing wildly as emotions play openly on his animated face. Seeing him so stiff and at a loss for words is upsetting, even if Eddy knows why.

“Your gears are jammed.” He explains unscientifically, gently rapping his knuckles against Double D’s forehead. “Like I said, you’ll sleep it off.”

“I…” Double D starts, trailing off with narrowed eyes. “I have… the munchies? That’s what they’re called?”

Eddy rolls his eyes and sighs laboriously. “I guess I’ll make you a sandwich, your royal highness.” He lifts a brow at him, a complete lack of amusement in both his expression and his voice. “Get it? High? Ness?”

Double D just gives him a confused look.

“Yeah, my heart wasn’t really in that one.” 

He leaves Double D in his state of confusion, and as he walks down the hall and turns into the kitchen, the first thing he notices is another atypical site for the evening—a mess in Double D’s kitchen. More specifically, it’s a mess of sticky notes piled on the floor in front of his unusually barren fridge. 

‘The heck?’ Eddy thinks to himself as he approaches the pile, his hair standing on end. He kneels down to start picking through the notes but doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary; it’s the same old list of chores and reminders he usually sees hanging all over the walls and furniture of Double D’s house. Determined to figure out what the hell’s going on with his friend, he keeps digging, reading them all until one of the notes at the bottom of the pile gives him pause.

‘DEAR EDDWARD,

YOUR FATHER AND I WON’T BE ABLE TO ATTEND YOUR RECITAL. HAVE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS RECORD IT FOR US.

♡ MOM’

Eddy scowls as his fingers grip the edges of the note, heated breath huffing out of his widened nostrils. Fucking of course that’s what tonight has been about. Double D’s once-every-two-years steel pedal guitar recital is one of the few things his parents still both show up for; it’s the only reason Double D still plays the hated instrument. Sure, when he was a kid, he made sure to follow all of his parents’ notes to a T, but as he’s gotten older and been left alone more often and for longer periods of time, he’s become a lot more lax about the notes. The notes about his steel pedal guitar, though, he always follows, and though he’s never admitted to it, Eddy knows it’s out of a desperation to impress his absent parents. 

All that work he puts into the stupid thing, and now his folks ain’t even showing their faces—won’t be showing their faces for who knows how long.

Eddy hastily crumples the note in his hand before grabbing fistfuls of the rest of the discarded notes, cramming them tightly in his fists. He stands and makes his way to the garbage can, foot pressing down on the pedal to lift the lid when a better idea occurs to him. Letting the lid fall back down, he marches over to the sink, shoving the crumpled up balls down the drain and running the water before he flips the garbage disposal on. The sound of the blades churning the soggy notes brings him a small amount of satisfaction, and he lets it run until all he hears from the drain is a gentle hum.

“Eddy.”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, Eddy slams down on the faucet and turns to face the hallway leading to the living room, heart beating a mile a minute. For a second, he thinks he might have just been imagining things, but then he hears it again.

“Eddy.” Double D calls out from the living room, sounding more frantic this time.

‘Shit.’ Alright, forget the sandwich. He swings open cupboard doors in an attempt to find something Double D can snack on, grabbing the first food item sees.

“Hold yer horses!” Eddy calls back to him before making his way to the living room with a box of chunky puffs in hand. He's eager to make sure Double D is okay but stops in his tracks when he sees what’s going on. Eyes wide with wonder, mouth agape and gap on display, Double D carefully tracks the movement of his own arm, which he repeatedly lifts up into the air before dropping it back to the couch again. Eddy stands still in the doorway and watches him repeat the motion a few more times before he steps over, looking down at Double D with his brow furrowed and lips turned down.

Finally taking notice of him, Double D’s gaze drifts from his arm and up towards Eddy’s face. “I can move my arm.”

“... Congratulations.”

“It goes up, and then down. Up, and down. Up… and down.” Double D narrates, gaze falling back to his miraculously mobile arm.

“I think Ed has more brain power than you right now.” Eddy shares his scary thought. “Think you can move that arm down into a box of chunky puffs and up into your mouth?”

Double D’s hopeful expression let’s Eddy know that he’s gonna try his damnedest, anyway. He puts the box on the floor next to the couch, nodding in satisfaction when Double D succeeds in stuffing a handful of cereal into his maw. He chews his lip as his mind wanders back to what he found in the kitchen, feet shuffling awkwardly on the clean carpet.

“Hey, Dee? You know that recital you have coming up?”

Double D freezes mid transport, fist full of cereal hanging over the edge of the couch as he gives Eddy a deer-caught-in-the-headlights stare.

“Well, there’s a movie coming out that day that Ed really wants to see. Bad enough that he said he’d shell out the cash for our tickets. You should skip the recital and hang with us.”

Double D lets out a slow breath, arm relaxing before he brings the cereal to his mouth. He chews slowly, gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling as he sits with Eddy’s suggestion.

“Mm. I may take you up on that.”

“Great. That rebellious streak is finally coming in full swing, huh?”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite the rapscallion now.”

Eddy snickers, then goes silent when he sees Double D’s eyes welling up with tears again. He lifts both hands to his chest and clutches them together, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he goes back to lying motionless.

“Jesus.” Eddy rubs the back of his own neck, grimacing down at the display. “You want your weighted blanket or something?”

“No.” Double D whispers his answer, tears threatening to spill over his cheeks, still plump with baby fat.

“Why not? You love that thing.”

Double D blinks and the tears finally fall, running down his temples and getting absorbed into his beanie as he starts whispering again. “Because that was the present my parents got me the last time they bothered to be home for my birthday.”

That tears it. Eddy groans in frustration and moves into action, stepping closer to the couch so that he can lay himself down on top of Double D, chests pressing together as his shorter legs lay over Double D’s longer ones, arms folding at the elbow and squeezing against his sides in an almost hug. The couch creaks unnervingly before settling, the both of them sinking further down into it. The soft breath he hears him let out makes Eddy shiver, the mixed odors of Double D’s laundry detergent and the pot he smoked earlier unfamiliar and enticing.

“There. Weighted enough for ya?”

Double D’s snotty sniffle doesn’t do much to let Eddy know if this is working or not. “Yes. Thank you, Eddy.

“Don’t mention it.”

Silence fills the air around them, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, Eddy too wrapped up in his own thoughts to worry about whether pretending to be a weighted blanket for someone is weird or not. He can hear Double D’s breathing start to even out, and he decides to get out his last thought while Double D is still in an agreeable mood.

“Hey. Next time, you’ll start with one hit, and we’ll see what that does to you. Maybe we’ll bump you up from there. Alright?”

Double D hums sleepily, and Eddy can feel his smile pressing against his hairline, his breath tickling the short hairs there. “Alright. Thank you, Eddy. You take such good care of me.”

[anystalker707]

Bitter little nothings

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Genre: Angst/Comfort Word count: 1 100 Summary: Gerard and (y/n) are... something.

A/n: not proofread, and just a little something I wanted to write <3

There was something different in the air that turned everything different on days like that—maybe it was my brain playing pranks on me, but even breathing is a little difficult and I just can’t keep up with everyone else’s good humor. Ray already knew that, offering me a gentle smile when I opened the door to the band room and stood in the doorway for a little, shaking the excessive water off the umbrella so I could leave it on the rack along with the other ones. My bag and my coat also got wet, though not too much, but nothing that some time hanging from the empty chair in the corner wouldn’t solve until it was time to leave.

“So,” I exhaled, moving to grab the free guitar from the corner, “I— Good afternoon, I mean. What you playing today?”

Gerard cleaned his throat, his hand that wasn’t busy holding a plastic bottle of water skipping through the pages of his messy notebook. “Practicing Venom, Skylines and Sorrows for today. Sorry for calling you again and at the last moment, but these songs really need something else with the guitars to make it work, and since Frank isn’t here all the time...”

“You should make part of the band already,” Mikey commented with a cough and fixing his glasses. He was almost out of my sight, somewhere still enough to see his slender figure holding his bass with all the power and plenitude in the world.

“You know I wouldn’t work for that.” I blinked, stepping back to the amp and pedals to check if everything was at least minimally fixed. “You know that. And taking Frank’s place wouldn’t be nice.”

Ray hummed, ducking his head. “A band can work with three guitars.”

“It works better with a drummer as well.” I pressed my lips together for a moment. That sounded unnecessarily rude. “I’ll tell you if that friend of mine is available.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Gerard nodded. “But do think about our offer.”

I remained in silence because as much as they knew me a lot, there were layers of myself I would like to keep to myself for as long as possible. Playing with them was fun and I was good at it, but it worked for me only as long as it was exactly that—for fun. The moment it turned into something serious, a responsibility, my brain would collapse, and I didn’t want Gerard to see me in such a state. And why him? Well, Gerard was... Gerard.

Some words were shared before the first distorted notes started echoing through the room, primarily coming from Ray’s guitar, soon followed by Mikey’s bass then my own guitar’s.

They weren’t not changing much on the song’s structure that day—they only did that when I wasn’t playing so Frank could keep up with everything and also share his ideas—, so it was swift. Witnessing everything coming together into something beautiful just out of their minds brought me some sort of comfort along with a warm sparkle in my chest that did intensify whenever my eyes lingered over Gerard. Each of his movements carried such a dedication that spreads to everyone else, though not at the same level. It was like his life depended on it; a free fall he dared to take, but kept taking false steps around the edge of the cliff. Of course, he’d eventually fall into it; My Chemical Romance would turn into something great even if he didn’t see it yet. And I wished I’d be there for them.

The last note of Skylines echoed through the room, followed by cheers and claps of high-fives before we were setting our instruments aside and reaching for bottles of water or stepping outside. I mean, only I went outside at first, just to soon be followed by Gerard, who’d have a cig between his middle and pointer fingers already if it weren’t for the warnings he received from everyone. You could notice how the lack of it bothered him by the way he took an irregular deep breath, not knowing what to do with his hands until he finally tucked them behind his back then leaned against the wall.

Just his presence was enough to make my chest warmer, something extremely unusual. Sometimes I wished Gerard wouldn’t always be so sympathetic and attract everyone—otherwise, I would be clinging to his side already despite how humiliating and out of character it would look for me—instead, no, I had to keep this one–foot distance from him with a repressed awkwardness just so no one would know what was going on between us in case they walked out. Not like his whole family and Frank didn’t witness us coming out of his bedroom the morning after the halloween party at his house, both of us with messy hair and necks covered in purple marks.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore,” Gerard mumbled, voice merely louder than the sound of the rain soaking the ground. The back door of the band practice room opened to a beautiful space, with a little clearing before the woods took over.

The words hit me like thunder struck something over the hills, flashing a white light before everything for less than a second. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to react. Not in front of him. Was he crazy?

“Explain.” I deserved an explanation, after so long longing for him.

“I...” He breathed, and fell silent for a moment. I wondered what was going on through his head. He was a difficult person to read. “Things are weird. It’s good for you, but I don’t know whether it’s good for me or not.”

“Why would it be bad for you?” The words escaped my lips before I could even think about it as my eyebrows knitted together. This couldn’t be happening.

Gerard didn’t answer immediately—of course, there was tension and doubt lingering his words and his movements, as small as they were, because there was no reason for him to dismiss me like this after everything that had happened. It wasn’t just about him sleeping with me, it went further to paying for my lunch, holding my hand, keeping my clothes. Something else laced his thoughts, and it probably was the goddamn insecurity again whispering bitter nothings in his mind.

“Don’t think things like that,” I breathed in defeat. “Give it longer. We don’t have to rush anything or compromise with anything yet. It’s just... us, and maybe we should enjoy it while it lasts.”

There was no answer. Only the sound of the rain falling heavier over the roof above us and against the ground filled our ears before a cold breeze hit us. I wanted to go inside, but it wasn’t an option while things still weren’t solved with Gerard, even if I hopelessly believed it all ended there, making something bitter and sharp twist in my chest. It didn’t last long though—neither did the cold—, with Gerard’s warm and soft lips suddenly meeting mine for a peace–making kiss.

_______________________

tagging list: @trans-ylvania | @newgirlinhell

[poppy-metal]

this is the first ask i’ve ever done ♡ i’m sorry if it’s cringy LOL, i literally just haven’t been able to get this out of my head and it’s 1:00am. steve!centric.

whatever you do, don’t think about how steve’s parents definitely forced him to play a classical instrument when he was younger. they wanted to use him in his adolescence to impress the other stifling parents in the rich neighbourhood of hawkins’, so they chose the cello. something deep, alluring, leading, etc. young steve would be hauled up in the living room of that near vacant house, watching longingly as the neighbourhood kids played rambunctiously on the sidewalks while he was tethered to darkness as the curtains closed, blocking his view of salvation. a brand new cello practically the same size as him would fight against his scrawny arms, weighing down on the right side of his chest suffocatingly. his firm instructor, one of the best in the country, sat across from him as he relentlessly instilled the art of classical music into steve’s brain day and night, until the soft pads of his nimble fingers were bloody and bruised.

once steve got to high school, he fought tooth and nail with his parents to not continue cello lessons, much to his parents now still evident resentment. he was afraid that if anyone found out that he knew how to play the cello, and god forbid, was continuing in junior high? they would group him in with the ‘band geeks’, thereby ruining his future ‘king’ title before it could even get up off the ground.

flash forward to the future (eddie didn’t die, duh) and it’s the summer of ‘86 after eddie has graduated (yay). the metalhead’s name has been cleared by hopper. town splitting earthquake? who’s she? so! eddie’s been struggling to find a bass player for corroded coffin, since maybe their old bass player decided to go to college, or get the hell up out of hawkins, or they broke their hands somehow, anyyyyways. eddie’s been sticking up audition signs all around hawkins with sticky, uneven sections of tape on every pole and establishment wall that he can touch. not to mention driving recklessly in his van, only to throw a few hundred matching signs out of his windows wherever he can, never failing to disturb the surrounding neighbourhoods’ of hawkins’ as they shoot him the bird before grumbly cleaning up the signs off the road.

it isn’t until a few days later when steve, robin, and eddie are in family video on a very dead saturday evening after the 5:00pm rush. eddie came to bug the two best friends, leaning against the counter as he played with his butterfly knife, deep in thought. steve was sat atop the counter absentmindedly with a mouthful of pringles, while robin lazily merchandised tapes near the till.

robin: “so, munson, you get any bites on your band’s bass player auditions yet?”

eddie: “no one except for ollie trout. he plays the cello, which is basically the same, but.. he’s just so.. stiff.”

steve, being the himbo, but genius he is, offhandedly mentions that he played the cello from when he was five to fifteen. for ten years, because his parents wanted him to and paid ‘fortunes’ for lessons from an old new yorker who smelt like olives. since he isn’t ashamed to talk about something that he found absolutely mortifying a short time ago, anymore. plus, robin plays the trumpet, so obviously it wasn’t that big a deal, right? he doesn’t see the awe in his friends’ faces until he reaches down to grab another pringle, the can suddenly gone. he looks up to see eddie’s jaw dropped incredulously, pringle can in his ring adorned grasp as robin is frozen in place, speechless. steve nearly sputters as he swears, believing some upside down thing was happening again before eddie practically got down on his ripped denim knees and BEGGED steve to play at least one gig with them.

i’m thinking that eddie bribes steve with maybe like, free work on his bmw for life whenever it needs to be repaired, or he’ll take initiative on driving the kids, particularly dustin, wherever they need to go for the rest of the summer. steve agrees at those propositions, but he’s hesitant, because it’s been a long time since he’s played. it’s something his parents made him do, and he doesn’t fit the image, but the bass feels different to him somehow. i’m thinking it’s kinda morphing into a school of rock! au. in addition to eddie teaching steve how to garner his confidence back into playing music again, he shows him how fucking cool black sabbath, metallica, motley crüe, etc. are. how the same chords that contributed to a piece he found static can electrify a space, how the sound he emits can become his, instead of his parents. it isn’t until steve finally picks up the glossy black bass that the band collectively owns, and fucking NAILS a complicated bass solo that eddie had walked him through moments before, that the metalhead silently thanks steve’s shit parents for allowing eddie to turn their goody two shoes boy into an entity his parents would loathe. the other two corroded coffin boys are SHOCKED, because they know they did not just watch the prince of hawkins’ get possessed by the gods of music for a good five minutes before reverting back into a nice guy. needless to say, jeff and gareth are more than down to have him join for a gig.

and whatever you do!! don’t think about robin calling your parent’s landline and asking you if you want to see steve’s first gig at the hideout with corroded coffin that night, because she doesn’t want to be alone, and you shyly saying yes. because you’ve always held a certain desire deep within the pit of your chest for the mature babysitter. and the thought of steve harrington? playing metal music? at the dingiest bar in hawkins? alongside the town outcast? it made your heart flutter and your core clench with anticipation and want.

you and robin dress in your best ‘metal’ outfits. if you’re more outgoing, you can definitely spice it up. practically painted leather leggings, shredded corroded coffin makeshift tank, glossy black boots that lick the bottoms of your thighs. or!! if you’re more of a coquette/girly girl, you could wear a really cute crop top and a verrryyyy short tennis skirt with slightly scuffed up mary janes (all black, because you still want to fit in with the band). those are just some options! anyways-

you and robin are near the outskirts of the crowd, away from the pending mosh pit (they’ve garnered quite a crowd, as word had spread fast that steve ‘the hair’ harrington had joined the only metal band in their small town of indiana). the chipped stage becomes bathed in a faded low light as the band walks on, and your breath hitches in your throat because there, on the right side of the stage closest to you, is the man of the hour.

steve’s dressed in a shredded band tee that’s been altered into a makeshift tank top, revealing the wiry rug of chest hair that makes your head go a bit fuzzy, with the way the chestnut strands glint in the slightly yellow stage light. not to mention the toned muscles in his arms flexing each time he moves from shoulder to fingertips, casting shadows within the indentations. black denim jeans, skinnier than you’ve ever seen on his legs are hanging low on his hips. the same hips you rarely ever see with how his large hands are always casing them in disappointment. except now, those same hands that make a pool of warmth spread within the base of your panties, are wrapped around the glossy black bass that’s strung around his torso. his dusky gaze is surrounded by an eyeshadow shade that resembles soot, with white glitter spilling down his waterline and onto the soft skin of his under eyes. a light sheen of sweat is beginning to cascade over his sun kissed skin, causing your saliva to become gelatinous as the tip of your tongue tingles longingly. he looks angelic.

and oh god, when they start playing? the crowd is going fucking nuts at eddie, steve, gareth, and jeff making the stage their absolute bitch. they sound like professionals, absolutely tearing the house down as the crowd moshes. broken teeth, black eyes, and nose bleeds inevitable at this point. your doe eyed gaze becomes cloudy as steve looks right at you, his hair damp with sweat as it droops over his sly gaze. you watch with parted lips and a searing warmth cascading you, as his rosy mouth morphs into a devilish smirk, pearly white teeth glinting ominously in the light. you can’t help the shiver that dances down your spine as steve puts on a true show. long fingers skillfully encasing the rough strings on his bass as he lets loose, screaming into the mic along with jeff as they act as background vocals for eddie, bass toned voice broken with the feeling of finally being free, alive. hopping and kicking around on stage with his steel toed combat boots as if his lungs had just taken their first real breath of air. tinged with stale cigarette smoke, metallic liquor, torn leather and cheap perfume.

and you swear, in that moment, that you would let his entire being swallow you whole.

hehe, thanks for listening to my word vomit! ♡ can i also be this emoji ‘🐇’ pretty please! ♡ if not than this one ‘💌’ 🥺🥺 i love your writing and hope you liked this! feel free to add on too hehe. i’m a slut for corroded-coffin!steve ♡

love, R! ♡

im going to pass out??? i need to suck his cock backstage immediately.